Past Imperative
Page 45
What was the proper form for greeting a god? A local chieftain could be accorded respect, within limits, but Tion was not a secular authority, nor even a high priest or witch doctor. He was a brigand, a parasite, a first-class fraud. A native would undoubtedly throw himself in the dirt at this point, but no Englishman should grovel like that to anyone, and this young bugger ranked lower than a Sarawak pirate. Grovel? Edward wanted to smash that pretty face to pulp.
“I suppose you’re Tion?”
The boy uttered a high-pitched laugh. “And you are the Liberator! Do you like this body? It was a present from Kirb’l.” He turned around to display it. “He’s a maniac, but he does appreciate my tastes.”
“A present?”
“Or you could say I won it in the festival. I win one every year—my prize! Do you like it?”
Was there any good answer to that?
“It’s a fine representation of the young Apollo.”
Apparently Tion understood the reference, for he flashed white teeth in a smile of pleasure. “Thank you! You’re quite nice-looking yourself, you know. I say so, and I am the ultimate authority on such matters.”
Fury! He must be mad as a March hare and dangerous as a hungry shark. With his superhuman power, he had turned up like a deus ex machina and then done nothing at all! “Why didn’t you save her?”
The god pouted. “Why should I? She was only one of those meddling, idealistic nobodies from the Service! They won’t last. It’s been tried before. I’ve been around a lot longer than the Service, and I shall be around when they’re all dead and forgotten.”
“I’m sorry she’s dead!”
“Well, you shouldn’t be!” The Youth sounded peeved. Then he smiled. “We mustn’t leave the evidence lying around, though. It’s unsightly, having bodies all over the place. Drop them in the river.”
“I won’t take orders—”
“Yes you will,” Tion said quietly.
Before he knew it, Edward had bent to take hold of Onica’s feet. He tried to let go, but his hands refused to open. His feet started to move, and he began dragging her out onto the bridge. There the roar of the river was deafening. A cold, misty wind blew along the canyon. The planks were slippery.
“Damn you!” he shouted. “She deserves a decent burial at least!”
“No she doesn’t. This should be far enough.”
Sick at heart, Edward pushed the body out through the chains and watched it dwindle away to a speck before it vanished in the surging foam of Susswater, far below.
He found himself hurrying back to the corpses, and then he stopped resisting the compulsion. He did not care about the reapers, but he felt shamed at having treated the woman so, even if he had had no choice. Tion strolled beside him, making no effort to assist. Manual labor must be beneath a god’s dignity.
“This one she ran down with the dragon,” he remarked. “But too late to avoid his power, of course. And you got the last of them, dear boy! Nasty vermin. You are a very good thrower, aren’t you?”
Edward almost choked on his anger. “Why didn’t you save the woman?”
“Because I chose not to, of course. She was trespassing. So were the others. I warned Zath to keep his trash off my lawn. Giving powers like that to natives is quite disgusting.”
When Edward came to the man he had felled, though—trying not to look at the bloody wreckage inside the hood—he discovered that the victim was still moaning.
“This one’s not dead!”
“A purely temporary state of affairs, dear boy. Go on.”
Unable to refuse, Edward dragged the man to the bridge and disposed of him as he had disposed of the bodies. He felt more nauseated by that than by anything else that had happened. He was really a murderer now. The Vales’ equivalent of Inspector Leatherdale would be justified in swearing out a warrant for the arrest of D’ward Liberator.
The last reaper followed the others. When morning came, travelers crossing Lameby Bridge would see no evidence of the massacre.
“There, that’s better!” Tion sighed. “And I suppose I must let you be on your way, tempting though you are. Mustn’t upset any of the prophecies! The pass is clear, you’ll have no trouble. You did frightfully well to dispose of that reaper without mana—but you are altogether the most interesting thing to come along in centuries, dear boy! I can’t imagine how you’re going to settle that horrible Zath, but I do so hope you succeed! I can’t wait to see how you do it.”
“You heard what I told Mrs. Mason—I’m not fulfilling any prophecies! I am going Home.”
The Youth shrugged disbelievingly. “Beware the Service, D’ward Liberator. Remember Verse 114!”
Edward Exeter must be the only man on Nextdoor who had not read the Filoby Testament. “Which one’s that?”
“Oh, let me think…. How does it go now? Men plot evil upon the holy mountain. The servants of the one do the work of the many. They send unto D’ward, mouthing oaths like nectar. Their voices are sweet as roses, yea sweeter than the syrup that snares the diamondfly. He is lured to destruction by the word of a friend, by the song of a friend he is hurled down among the legions of death. Horrible prose, but you see what I mean, darling?”
If he was telling the truth, that did sound ominous. Holy mountain must refer to Olympus, because there was no other holy mountain. It was odd that Tion had made the connection, but he had known of Apollo, too.
“Well, that completes the night’s business,” Tion said. “It’s been a most entertaining evening. Bye-bye!”
“Wait!”
The Youth cocked an eyebrow, almost as if he had been waiting for the word. “Yes?”
Edward braced himself to plead with this monster. “If you enjoyed the show, let’s pass the hat. The girl who’s mentioned in the Testament, Eleal—she deserves the credit for staging it. She’s only a child. She has a crippled leg.”
Tion switched on a smile that was too sudden to be genuine. “You want me to heal her for you?”
“Would you, sir?” It was hard to be respectful to this seeming-boy who had so callously let four people die, but Mason had said he was not as bad as some of the other strangers. “She’ll go mad with joy.”
“That’s trivial, D’ward! Nothing to it. Delighted to do you a favor.”
There was bound to be a catch, though. Cautiously, Edward said, “Thank you, sir! I’d be very grateful—and she’ll be ecstatic!”
“You can’t have omelette and roast goose, of course.”
Trapped!
Tion’s smile grew broader.
Edward wiped his forehead. He owed his life to Eleal, but to repay that debt would force him to stay here on Nextdoor, and inevitably he would find himself fighting in the wrong war. His war lay on another world.
What would his father have done?
Zath and the Chamber had killed his parents…but he had only Creighton’s word for that.
Zath had killed Creighton. What sort of chap did not try to avenge his friends? But he had only Eleal’s word for that.
He could cause Eleal’s limp to be cured and thus repay her for saving his life…but he had only Tion’s word for that.
Tion was smiling gleefully. “You understand what I mean?”
“You mean I can’t have my cake and eat it, too.”
The boy smiled sweetly. “I mean, if we’re into doing favors…You have an Eleal problem, I have a Gunuu problem, that unmanned aspect. You’d make an excellent god of courage, D’ward, you really would.” The childish face glowed with innocent appeal. “Even a beginner ought to be able to raise that much mana in a fortnight or so. To pay me back. I mean, that would only be fair, wouldn’t it?”
“A fortnight? Just a fortnight?”
Tion pursed his cherub lips. “Perhaps a little longer. It’s hard to say…. I’d have to see how you perform.” His pal
e eyes shone very bright.
Speak ye one word in elfin land…If Edward bit, he would be hooked, somehow. Perhaps forever.
Where did honor lie in this morass? Where were courage and duty?
King and Country! There were no doubts about those. They took precedence over anything else.
“I cannot accept a favor from you on those terms, sir. I withdraw my request.”
Tion sighed, but he did not seem surprised. “Good-bye, then, D’ward Liberator! I wish you luck—god knows you’ll need it, and I speak with authority.” He shrieked with childish glee and faded away.
Edward was alone.
He didn’t even have Eleal to look after him now. Oh, Eleal!
Would the dragon find her way home to Olympus? Would she return in search of her mistress? He could not control her if she did. The only course of action open to him was to head on over the pass and find Kalmak Carpenter.
Having nothing else to do, he walked over the bridge and began climbing the trail on the other side.
He was going Home! That was what mattered, he told himself. Duty called. Onica’s death gnawed at his conscience. So did his despicable betrayal of the child who had saved his life, but there he had made his own choice and it was too late to back out now.
Nextdoor was a snare and a temptation. He must answer his country’s call. Zath was not his proper foe. He would go Home and enlist to fight in the war he was meant to fight in.
There a man at least could know who was right and who was wrong. There a man fought with bullet and bayonet, not hideous sorcery. There a man could hope for honor, trust in courage, believe in a cause.
End of Round One
Round Two: Present Tense
Round Three: Future Indefinite
In Round Two of “The Great Game,” Edward Exeter goes Home and discovers that even there he cannot escape the workings of the Filoby Testament.
Acknowledgements
I have been granted willing assistance by many people. Some merely confirmed a single fact, others slaved over the manuscript for me word by word. To list them in anything but alphabetical order would be invidious, but to all of them I extend my sincere thanks:
J. Brian Clarke, Janet Duncan, Michael Duncan, Jean Greig, Betty Hutton, the Public Library of Wiltshire County Council, Jean-Louis Trudel, and John Welch. All responsibility for the text, however, is mine.
The Embu and Meru are authentic tribes of Kenya, although I have taken some liberties with their history.
I have no desire to offend anyone’s religious sensibilities. To the best of my knowledge, there never was a Lighthouse Missionary Society. This is a work of make-believe. Even on its own terms, the “gods” it depicts are divine only in the eyes of those foolish enough to worship them.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1995 by Dave Duncan
ISBN 978-1-4976-2715-4
This edition published in 2014 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
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