The skogs adjusted again at the last second, veering away. If Herm had been a diving raptor that relied on its talons, he’d have missed his prey. Instead, he thrust the white spear left, impaling a skog through the back.
Herm adjusted his dive, but the weight of the skog impaled on his spear threw him down, so he went crashing into the tangle. Herm shrieked for help as he hit, and Zeus leapt up, whooping and clapping, “Wahooo, wahooo! You got one!”
But he celebrated too soon. Herm was two hundred meters out, three hundred down. Zeus had difficulty spotting him. Herm landed in the top branches of a whipparoong tree, with its platelike leaves. They cushioned his fall, and halfway hid the winged man, but suddenly Zeus heard a vicious bark, almost a hacking cough.
Herm scrambled to get out of the tree. The broad leaves swayed, alternately concealing Herm and revealing him.
The skog Herm had impaled thundered into the air, still trailing the spear, covered with gore—its own violet blood. The skog shrieked, then winged toward Herm, slashing with its razor-sharp tusks.
Herm dropped back in terror, ducking beneath it, struggling to stay aloft in the upper branches of the tree by bracing his wings against the foliage. He lost his footing, dropped between some branches. He covered his face with an arm, just as the skog slashed him.
Zeus bellowed and shook from a belly laugh. In a moment, the skog turned away. Herm had the presence of mind to grab the end of the spear, rip it free, and jab as the skog made a second charge. Quite by accident, Zeus felt sure, Herm impaled the beast under the right eye.
It seemed the skog was dead, but Herm cried in dismay. To the south, the flock had wheeled, and now the skogs flew swiftly toward Herm, barking in anger. Apparently the coughing and grunting sounds of battle made by one skog called the whole flock to its defense.
The settlers on Ruin had named the creatures skogs—a contraction of sky and hogs—because their tusks so resembled those of a pig. The skogs used their tusks to pierce the upper limbs of dew trees to get at the nectar beneath. Skogs tasted marvelous; like young pork marinated in fruity sweet sauce. On Ruin they were considered a delicacy, but hunting them like this was foolhardy.
Zeus’s throat grew tight as the skogs approached. The flock held at least twenty beasts. Herm had no way to protect himself from so many. If he lived through the attack, he’d be covered with scars. Almost, Zeus ran to get the medi-droid, but he decided to stay, to watch.
As the flock drew down, Herm struggled in the canopy of the trees, then folded his wings and dropped from sight.
The skogs slowed, as if considering whether to risk flying under the canopy to kill the winged man, then thought better of it. The skogs could fly well under the dark canopy of the tangle, but could also get trapped in the nets of a sfuz or find themselves struggling in the jaws of a grumpin. Besides, they could not save their comrade.
The skogs circled once, then veered, whining in grief.
Zeus waited for Herm to reappear, but the winged man did not come up. A soft gust of wind played over the trees, making their upper branches wave and bob. No sounds rose from the tangle.
Zeus called a dozen times, but got no answer. Zeus wondered if his brother had taken a worse wound from the skog than he’d imagined—a mortal wound? Perhaps he’d fallen through the first level of the canopy and broken a wing. Or maybe a sfuz had him. Heaven knew the devils could run along those tree limbs faster than any creature had a right to.
That was the problem on Ruin. Speed. Every predator on the planet moved faster than it had a right to.
At any rate, if Herm had fallen into a sfuz’s web, he’d probably already be dead.
Zeus laughed. For years Herm had wanted to try spearing a skog from a full dive, but his Guide had always held him in check, making sure he didn’t try anything too dangerous.
So of course Herm tried it this morning. It was a stupid way to die, but Zeus admired Herm’s courage.
Zeus turned to go tell Felph that Herm had killed himself, when he heard a halloo.
Herm poked his head from the purple canopy, raised his spear, skog impaled. “Had to go down to fetch dinner!”
Herm struggled onto a limb, then jumped up, flapped his wings, and laboriously climbed into the air, carrying the skog. When he landed on the merlon beside Zeus, Herm’s brow was covered in sweat. Purple leaves and bits of candy moss clung to him. His right arm bled profusely from a wicked gash that ran from wrist to elbow.
He tossed the spear to the stone roof, the bloody skog still twitching. The creature had a thick body, almost neckless, and a pudgy face with a jutting lower jaw that held two vicious tusks, each as long as a man’s hand. The purple-black feathers on its back were thin as hair. Unlike many avians that lived in the tangle’s canopy, skogs did not have hands at the apex of their wings—only a single vestigial claw, which the skog used for clinging to a tree while the creature burrowed for nectar. This particular specimen might have weighed fifteen kilos.
“Ah, that will make a fine dinner,” Zeus said, stepping over to look into the creature’s huge black eyes. He moved its head with his toe.
Herm laughed. He plopped down on a merlon and held his bleeding arm. “A real gentleman would rip off a piece of his clothing to make me a bandage but then a real gentleman would be dressed in some sort of clothes in the first place.”
Zeus leaned his head back and laughed. “If it’s a bandage you want, I’ll be happy to get you one.”
He lurched forward and ripped off a swath of Herm’s dirty tunic, so the winged man was now naked from the waist down. For a moment Zeus looked at his brother’s organ, then jested, “If one of us must hang, then let us both hang together.”
Herm laughed, looked at Zeus’s organ, and said, “You call that hanging, oh shriveled one?”
“It’s cold out here.”
“Not that cold.”
“Here now, let’s fix you up. The loss of blood must be making you delirious if you think you’re hanging any farther than me.” Zeus wrapped the rag around Herm’s wound, then tied both ends in a square knot-cinching it down harder than he needed, just to see Herm wince at the pain.
“There, that should save your life,” Zeus grinned.
“A fine knot,” Herm chuckled, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his arm. “I didn’t know you knew how to tie a knot.”
“I am better at untying them.” Zeus chuckled, rubbing his fingers together. “It builds dexterity—a trait one needs if one is to ever gain any degree of finesse at unfastening a woman’s … uh, fastenings.”
Herm climbed down from the merlon, leaned with his folded wings against the back of it, and shook his head. “Whew, I really am dizzy.”
“Do you need a blood infusion?” Zeus asked.
“No, ah, I think I’m dizzy from love.”
“Love?” Zeus asked. “You never speak of love. What, was one of those skogs more voluptuous than the others?”
“It’s no skog that has my eye—it’s the red-haired woman.”
“Maggot?” Zeus asked in mock surprise. “You have your heart set on a woman? On a Lord Protector’s wife?”
“Ah, yes,” Herm laughed, his green eyes flashing. “Don’t tell me you didn’t notice her, too.”
“Perhaps,” Zeus admitted, “but mine is a professional interest. As a sampler of women, I’d like a taste of the fair Maggot. She does have a nice face.”
“Hah,” Herm laughed. “She has a face? I hadn’t noticed. But those legs—I did not know the gods could make them so long. Do you think she has red hair all over?”
“Aye, she’s a fine-looking woman,” Zeus conceded.
Herm was eyeing Zeus’s crotch. To his consternation, Zeus realized that the memory of Maggie—or perhaps Herm’s description—was more arousing than he’d thought it would be.
Herm laughed, “So, the little wrinkled fellow has some life in him after all. And here I feared it had died.”
“Not dead. It was merely resting. After last
night, it deserved a good rest,” Zeus groused.
“So you do want Maggie?” Herm asked. “I knew you would. Dangerous quarry, that one.”
“No more dangerous than your skogs,” Zeus said, and he saw from the veiled look in Herm’s eyes that the winged man really hadn’t been interested in Maggie. Indeed, Herm had only discussed the matter so he could arouse Zeus, forcing him to embarrass himself.
Herm had a devious mind, the trickster. Perhaps that is why Zeus liked him so much. Herm was better at the Great and Dreadful Game than Zeus. Herm resorted to craftiness when he wanted something, while Zeus tended to charge recklessly toward his goals, landing in more trouble than he’d like.
“Perhaps she is no more dangerous than my skogs, or perhaps she is. If you bed her, Gallen will kill you.”
“If he finds out. Besides, it would be worth it, wouldn’t it, to die between her legs?”
“You plan to bed her then?” Herm said.
Something in the tone of Herm’s voice hinted at more than minor curiosity. It hinted at a proposal in the shaping, an offer to play the Game. “I’ll poke her with my spear before you poke another skog with yours, oh mighty raptor.”
Herm lifted his arm, looked at the bandage. The tan strip of tunic had soaked through with blood, and the wound was deep. It would be weeks in healing. “I’ll be hunting skogs again before you know it, perfecting my technique.”
“Technique? What part do you want to perfect, the part where you crash into trees, or the part where you defend yourself by throwing your arm into a skog’s mouth?”
“Both.” Herm laughed.
Just then, a service droid roiled up the entrance ramp to the top of the citadel and swerved toward them. “Zeus!” it called. “Your father requests your presence. He and Gallen are going on a minor expedition into the tangle, and would like you to accompany them.”
Herm’s green eyes flickered with interest. “Will Maggie be coming?”
“No,” the droid answered.
“How long will they be away?” Herm asked.
“Three days,” the droid said, rolling toward them.
“Ah, the poor woman,” Herm whispered under his breath low enough so the droid’s sensors wouldn’t hear.
“Who shall warm her bed while Gallen is gone.”
“The Game is on?” Zeus mouthed.
“Three days, only,” Herm whispered. “Three points if you bed the Lord Protector’s wife—” he hesitated, then considered, “so long as you get her willingly.”
Three points. At the moment, Herm was ahead in The Game by two points. If Zeus could bed Maggie willingly, he’d take the lead, and as a reward, he’d get to hold the bottle that held the Wind of Dreams. “How many points if I take her by force?” Zeus hissed.
The whole purpose of The Game was to entertain. Zeus would prefer to seduce the woman, thus getting the full value from the bet. But if he raped Maggie, he would have to suffer the consequences—death at Gallen’s hands, perhaps; the entertainment value of that spectacle ought to be worth something to Herm.
“One point,” Heim whispered.
Zeus smiled. Not enough to take the lead in The Game. Still, it was a free point, no matter what the outcome of his seduction attempt. Zeus whirled as the droid rolled near.
“Tell Father I won’t go with him. I’m staying home.”
“I do not believe that he requested your, presence. I perceived it as an order, though I may be mistaken in this,” the droid apologized.
“Tell Father I am not his slave anymore,” Zeus bellowed. “I don’t take orders!” He turned his back. The droid simply stood, perplexed. “Wait,” Zeus said. “I know a better way to get the message to him. Come here.”
Zeus walked to the edge of the citadel, till he stood in the crenel, looking down hundreds of meters. The droid rolled to him; Zeus grabbed its metal frame and shoved it over the edge. The droid flipped end over end, bouncing against stone as it dropped; bits of its golden frame broke off. The droid crashed heavily into the canopy of the tangle. Woodland creatures hooted and squawked.
Zeus stared after it. Each droid had an emergency transmitter to notify the palace’s central Al if the droid became incapacitated. The droid would have sent a message telling how it was destroyed. The Al would notify Felph.
Zeus imagined the look on Felph’s face when he learned how he had refused to go on this expedition. If I’d merely said “no,” he thought, Father would have forced the issue.
By destroying the droid, I’ve sent the message forcefully. Felph would be afraid to bring him on the expedition. Better to leave Zeus home. With Maggie.
Herm stood on the lip of the citadel, laughed, and said, “One point if you bed her in three days. Two more if you get her willingly!”
From inside his tunic, he brought out a small vial of blue. glass, held it outward and up, in ritual. He remained very quiet, almost respectful, as he pulled the stopper. The Wind of Dreams.
The scent that issued from the tiny bottle was over whelming. It filled the air, sweet as gardenias, gentle.
Yet immediately, the heady scent took effect: the wine was a concoction made by Hera’s perfumery, a very sophisticated machine. By combining a devil’s brew of proteins that stimulated one’s emotions, then putting it into a scent, the perfumery was able to concoct a most intoxicating brew. The Wind of Dreams made one feel effulgent, euphoric, invulnerable.
It made Zeus feel the way that he imagined he would feel at some distant time, when he took his rightful place as Lord of the Universe. Zeus inhaled deeply. The scent had a singular, unusual effect on him. It made his organ hard. He stared at it through veiled eyes. Ah how he craved this little bottle. As one who has lived his life in servitude, as one born to crave power, yet who had always been denied the most basic rights, Zeus craved it more than he could speak. The scent brought water to his eyes.
Herm held up the Wind of Dreams. As the current high scorer in the Great and Dreadful Game, it was Herm’s right to keep the bottle. Herm chanted, “Through darkest deeds this prize is won by murder, theft, and dreams undone. “
Zeus intoned his portion of the chant. “If l succeed, I’ll hold the Wind: Let the Great and Dreadful Game begin!”
A cold gust blew over the tower, filling the air with the bottle’s marvelous scent. For once Zeus felt that the draft refreshed rather than chilled him.
Hem put the stopper back on the bottle. He broke into a deep, booming laugh.
Chapter 12
“You feel all right about this?” Gallen asked Maggie that morning. “You don’t mind if I leave for a couple days?”
Maggie lay in bed beside him, her dark red hair in her eyes. She shook her head. “Just get your cloning done before you leave.”
Gallen studied her face. Maggie looked pale, though her morning sickness had passed. He did not want to broach this topic, but he had to. “I’m not going for Felph, you know.”
“I know. You want to beat the dronon. So you’re hunting for a magic potion? I have to tell you, Gallen, I wouldn’t hope for too much. I don’t understand how such a potion could do what Felph claims.”
“Why not? We have that vial of Hope we got … where? I don’t even remember the name of the world.”
“Cyanoses, Maggie said. “And it wasn’t a magic potion, just a spray containing the same chemicals that arouse hope in anyone.”
“It felt magic to me, coming as we did from Tihrglas, never having seen such a thing. It felt magic. Who knows what the Qualeewoohs might have done. Try on the spirit mask, if you don’t believe me.”
Maggie glanced to the mask, lying beside the bed, shook her head thoughtfully. “For your sake,” Maggie whispered, “I hope they’ve found magic.”
Gallen took her hand, clung to it. He felt guilty. He whispered, “I don’t like the idea of leaving you alone.”
Maggie patted her tummy. “I have our son to keep me company. Believe me, if he’d kicked you as much last night as he did me, you’d know you w
eren’t alone. Besides, you’re the one who needs to run off into the tangle. I’m in no shape to follow. I’m just going to stay here and work on getting fat. for a couple of days. Hera is here, and Arachne. This will give me a chance to get to know them.”
Gallen could not put a name to his concerns. Maggie smiled, then took his left hand, pulled it under the covers, placed it on her womb. Gallen felt her warm belly stretch as his son kicked.
Maggie’s eyes blazed with a light of their own. That is how I want her to be, always, Gallen considered. Shining with joy. He leaned forward, kissed her softly and with passion. Her breath tasted sweet, even this early in the morning. In a few moments she climbed atop him, and they became tangled together for a long hour.
When their passion was spent, Maggie whispered heavily into Gallen’s ear, “Don’t take any chances out there.”
“Ah, you’re a madwoman, Maggie. First you nearly kill me with lovemaking, then you tell me to take care. You’ll make me old before my time.”
“I just wanted to remind you that you have something to live for. I-I don’t want to make love to your clone.”
“Too late, I already am a clone. You’re making love to Belorian.”
Maggie shook her head. “No, he died centuries ago. You’re my Gallen O’Day.”
Gallen kissed her eyelids and said seriously, “I know.”
Moments later, a service droid announced itself at their door, requesting them to follow it to meet Lord Felph. Gallen dressed quickly in the black robes of a Lord Protector, put on his mantle, gathered his weapons, and packed his clothes.
The droid led them deep into the palace, along yellow corridors where holoimages gave radiation warnings. The doors were unmarked, but the droid told them that this was Felph’s technical center, the birthing chambers where he made his children.
At a green door, the droid bid them enter a large darkly lit oval-shaped room perhaps fifty meters in diameter. Storage tubes for clones lined each wall, gray round lids smattering the white room with giant polka dots. In the center, of the room lay a vivification table, a plain white table with various pumps around it that would allow Felph to infuse nutrients into a clone as he downloaded it with memories.
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