Thus, when Visitors finally arrived, three years ago, there was delight and consternation among all the Castes of Durga. These Avatars landed near Kel, which is one of only three cities that must be rebuilt. Most of the High Caste said it was because Kel was their principal city, but those who serve in the temples of the Gods were not as certain, and spent hours in meditation and trials to determine the import of this momentous event.
The Scribe of Ajna set down all that he heard, which was spoken through a spirit kept in a box; this spirit knew the tongues of all places, or so it claimed. The Visitors learned from this spirit many things, and informed the Visitors of the things the Scribe revealed.
Thus the Visitor who held the spirit-box addressed the Scribe in this way.
“We are from”—there followed the name of a God we had not heard before, the God Fleet, or a similar name—“and we’re looking for lost Earth colonies.”
The Scribe replied, “We are not lost. This is Durga, where the All-Mother Janja sent us.”
“They look human, Commander,” said one of those Visitors accompanying Him. He had two Attributes in his hands, but neither were as yet familiar to any of us.
“Can we get a fix on the language?” the Visitor addressed as Commander asked His underling.
“We can try,” answered the underling. “We’ll get some representative recordings and see what they can do with it back at Records Central.”
Now the Scribe of Ajna realized that the title of the Visitor was significant, for only an avatar of the Highest Gods would be addressed as Commander. He also sensed that the wars between the Gods was part of the issue, for the protective garments these Visitors wore was surely armor. He knew it was not acceptable to ask questions of these great beings, and so he waited in respectful silence until they would once again address him.
“What place is that?” the avatar Commander required to know a short time later.
The Scribe of Ajna knew that he was being tested, for surely the avatar Commander was aware of where He was. “This is the city of Kel, which was rebuilt but three years ago. It is the two-hundred-ninth rebuilding of the city.”
“That’s a city?” the underling inquired.
“Kel is one of the three great cities that must be rebuilt,” said the Scribe.
“Must be rebuilt,” the Commander said, stressing the importance of what the Gods command. “What are the others like, do you think, Spandril?”
“I wouldn’t like to guess, sir,” he answered.
“I suppose we’d better find out,” the Commander said, and once again addressed the Scribe of Ajna. “There are six of us. Is there someone here in charge?”
“There are High Caste living here at Kel, and there are the servants of the Gods in the temples. Any of them would be honored if you spoke to them, Commander.” The Scribe touched all seven of his fingers together at the fourth joint, raised them to his forehead and bowed, showing the greatest reverence.
“Weird-looking, isn’t he?” asked the underling of the Commander.
“Are you Zivi or Vizna?” the Scribe dared to ask, then bowed over, his head touching his knees in shame for-the great error-he had made.
“I am Horder. I have five men with me other than Spandril here,” said the Commander, looking about at the walls of Kel. “Can you imagine living like this?”
“It looks like a pretty harsh world, Commander,” said the underling.
“Better stow it, Spandril. We may need help from these . . . people.” The Commander calling himself Horder stepped nearer to the Scribe, who trembled at His presence, for he had read of the caprice of the Gods when they change their Aspects in their dealing with men.
“Tell me, O Commander, O Horder, what I am to do, and I will obey at once.” He remained bent over, hoping that the avatar of the God would not strike him down for his insolence. He did not recognize the name of the avatar; this meant that either a new God had risen or there were other faces to the Gods than the ones in the sacred texts we have preserved.
“I need to speak with whoever’s in charge here.” The spirit box made sounds like our carrion birds, but continued to take in and give out words. Clearly the God manifest in the spirit-box did not want to encumber itself with a more usual incarnation. This puzzled the Scribe who had never known a God to choose such an unlikely form.
“The High Caste assemble each day at sunset to make offerings to Durga so that She will favor us while we are under her Dark Face.” The Scribe regarded the Visitors and waited once more for them to make a decision.
“It’s bound to be a couple hours, sir,” said Spandril. “We could check back with the Fleet, tell them what we’ve found.”
“Good idea,” seconded the Commander. “You,” he addressed the Scribe. “Tell your superiors that we will be back shortly. We have to . . . make our reports.”
The Scribe did not quite understand what this meant, but he knew he would not be permitted to question a God again, and so he raised himself up and bowed again. “I will do it, O Horder.”
“Why does he act like that?” Commander Horder asked.
“You know what primitives are like, sir,” Spandril said, indicating the chariot in which they had descended from the Celestial River. “They’re apt to misinterpret everything.”
“Do you think we’re in any danger?” Commander Horder asked, watching the Scribe closely. The Scribe kept himself bowed and submissive through this scrutiny, trusting that he would not be struck down at the God’s whim.
“I doubt it, sir,” Spandril answered. “This guy looks too respectful to cause you any harm.” He motioned toward the Scribe with one of the mysterious Attributes he held.
“Maybe,” Commander Horder said, taking a few steps back. “You tell them we’ll be-back shortly before sunset.”
“A most auspicious hour,” the Scribe was bold enough to reply, his ‘bow deeper than ever.
“Yes,” said Commander Horder uncertainly. “Watch the rear, Spandril.” He turned back toward His chariot, His assistant coming behind him. Just before He entered the chariot, He looked at the Scribe once more. “There’ll be four of us.”
“You’re going to leave someone behind?” asked His assistant.
“Just in case,” the God Horder replied enigmatically. “We don’t know what we’re getting into in this place and—” The rest was lost as-the spirit-box was taken within the chariot once more and Its accommodating flow of words was cut off.
The Scribe hastened away from the chariot and went to his temple where he prostrated himself before the largest of the statues of his God Ajna. He kept at his prayers and meditations for some little time and then went, as he had been ordered to do, to tell the Highest Caste what he had learned.
Admih was the one who met the Scribe and received him with interest. “What God has come?”
The Scribe raised his head an. addressed Admih. “He has named Himself Horder and is called Commander. He is clearly of the High Gods. He has said He is from the Fleet.”
Admih looked to his fellows, the Thirty-one Highest Caste who were descended in direct line from the Founding. According to the Sacred Passenger Manifest there had been well over two hundred at the Founding, but Durga is not an easy place and many of those lines had been lost with time. These of the Highest Caste were all that were left in Kel; they were terribly aware of their diminishing numbers. As all of us could remember a time when there were more, those of the Highest Caste felt this more keenly than any. “This God,” said Admih. “What does He offer us?”
“He has not said,” the Scribe told them.
“Surely we must not ask until His identity is known,” said Derir, who was growing so old that he could no longer sit upright but was curled over in an ever increasing bow. “To do otherwise would court disaster.”
“Derir is right,” said Kazei. “Whoever this God is, H
e will not reveal His gifts until we have learned His rightful identity.” He wore his four crisscrossed strands secured at the front of his chest with an ancient medallion which had been in his family since the Founding. Its purpose had long been forgotten, but it was venerated for its origins.
“You may be right,” said Admih, who would serve as head of the Highest Caste until the year. “We must not act too hastily or we will have cause to regret it.”
“There is also the matter,” said Gazili, who had seven children and was considered the most fortunate of all the Highest Caste, “that we are of Durga. Durga has many faces and we hope that She will keep only her most pleasant toward us, for She is unforgiving.”
All of the Highest Caste nodded, and the Scribe of Ajna bowed his head, knowing it would be wrong to speak unless in answer to their questions.
“This God, this Horder, what, again, did he say was his origin?” Muthali asked, raising up his grizzled head to look at the others of the Highest Caste.
“He said he was from the Fleet,” answered the Scribe.
“The Fleet,” mused Muthali. “If we understood that word, we would know what we deal with.” He looked at the others and they shared slow nods of agreement.
“Fleet means swift,” the Scribe dared to say.
“Yes. So the God is from swiftness,” said Admih. “Swiftness. A strange Attribute to select, and therefore a telling one.” He approached the altar by the door, prostrated himself before it, and began to recite his prayers, for even the Highest Caste have Endless Prayers which they chant all through their lives.
“Fleet. Swift. Speed.” Derir ticked off the words on his seven fingers. “What God would select those Attributes for His avatar? It is not what we expected.”
“Gods are not expectable,” Muthali said, reminding them of their shared puzzle. “To expect Them to be is to make Them less than Gods.”
The others gestured agreement.
“When are they to return?” asked Gazili. “We must be prepared to receive Them when they return.”
“Shortly before sundown,” said the Scribe. “They will speak with you.”
The Highest Caste were more apprehensive than they cared to admit or reveal. One of them joined Admih before the altar and the drone of two Endless Prayers filled the room.
“Sundown is growing near,” announced the youngest of them, the frail youth Telo, who had kept his place at the far end of the room. “What must we do?”
“Prepare,” answered Bezin. “We are honored by the God Who is Fleet, and we must show our understanding and appreciation.”
“Provided we do not offend Durga,” they were reminded by Gazili. “This is Her place and we are Her people before all other Gods. She is Mother of All.”
Again there was solemn agreement among the Highest Caste. They made their ritual gestures of understanding and acceptance, ignoring the Scribe until finally Bezin spoke once more.
“We must send for the priests. We need their guidance.” He was purposeful now, and we of Durga will eternally venerate his memory for his insistence that priests would be needed. Without their inspiration for guidance, we might have chosen wrongly then, and would be forever beyond the favor of Durga in all her forms.
“You—Scribe.” Admih, addressed the Scribe directly once more, and there was a look of boundless determination in his face, for he was certain that now there was an opportunity for the people of Durga to show their devotion to the Goddess. “You are to go to the temples, all of them. You are to summon the priests to speak with us, for doubtless they will know more of these Visitors, this Commander Horder, than we do. We of the Highest Caste keep the knowledge of our people, but it is the priests who bring us nearer the Gods.”
The Scribe bowed double before he hastened away, first to his own temple, the largest erected to Ajna. Then to Zivi’s temple, where statues of demons flanked the walkway to the altars. Then to Zivi’s other self, Zakti. This temple was built on the same ancient foundations as the first of Zakti’s temples and was regarded as a temple of great power, second only to the monumental temple to Durga and all Her forms. In each place he summoned the priests of highest rank and greatest wisdom, and told them of what he had learned. At last twenty-four priests came to the Highest Caste; an hour before sunset.
“We have little time,” said Admih, indicating the shadows that fell through Kel, rendering many of the streets as dark as night. “The Visitors will return, and we do not yet know who they are or what they want.”
“It was spoken that the Gods would send avatars from Janja to us, to show us the way,” said the revered priest of Yaneza, the God of Learning, Whose Head was monstrous with all He knew. “There are many writings to confirm this.”
“Yaneza is powerful in knowledge,” said the priest of Engri, who wore vestments painted with exploits of his God. “Yaneza is more powerful in knowledge than all others. But He is not able to read the hearts of men as Engri can, for Engri has more of man about Him, than does Yaneza. For that reason, we must also appeal to Engri to guide us.”
“But these are not men; the Visitors are avatars of the Gods.” Admih was distressed by the way the priests bickered, though he had seen it often enough before.
“Even then, we are men,” said Engri’s priest stubbornly. “I know we are in need of His council if we are to deal with these strange-beings.”
“We must remember,” said the formidable priest of Zakti “that Durga is the Unapproachable, and we must regard the circumstances that bring these avatars to us as significant. We have been left alone for so long, it cannot be anything less than another great battle of the Gods that would bring them to us now.”
There were buzzes and mutters in response to this: Admih was annoyed at the priests for confusing them. “I am a man who must regard all this as suspect,” he declared at last. “As long as I am serving as head of the Highest Caste, I must keep my senses no matter what the provocation to lose them.”
The priest of Yeimei scowled at him. “You do not know what you are playing at, Admih, to say that. This is Kel, and those of us who serve Yeimei know that our God serves Durga in all Her forms, as all Gods must. As long as Yeimei judges us, He will do so at the behest of Durga.”
Admih folded his arms. “And what do you intend by that?”
“I intend only to remind you that each of us will account not only to all of us of Durga, but also to Yeimei and the All-Mother. These avatars, no matter what God they are, must be secondary to Durga Herself.” He lowered his eyes. “Durga created Zakti as Her son and Her lover. She created Yeimei to judge men. All Gods are Her children, and we are the children of the Gods.”
“And therefore what?” Admih asked, seeing his own puzzlement reflected in the faces of the others.
The priest shrugged. “If we do not serve Durga, we cannot serve the others.”
The Scribe of Ajna, who had been commanded to remain, had been watching by the larger of the two windows, and he now bowed to the Highest Caste and the priests. “It is nearly sundown and the Visitors are returning.”
“We must go and meet them.” Admih was more resigned than pleased.
“Listen to what he says,” suggested the priest of Yaneza. “Listen and learn.”
There was a brief clamor of other suggestions as the group prepared to leave the chamber for the gates of Kel where they would meet the Visitors who were from the Fleet.
As a last reminder, the priest of Vizna spoke up. “Recall that Vizna encompassed all of Janja in three strides. It may well be Vizna who comes to us, for He has always chosen strange guises for his avatars.”
“And if it isn’t Vizna, then who?” challenged one of the other priests before Admih motioned them to silence for their procession.
As with every sundown, gongs were sounded from the four corners of the city of Kel, and the people of all Castes came into the streets to
say farewell to the light. It was a restless, apprehensive time, and many of those who called out the praises of the Gods watched the Highest Caste and the priests from the tails of their eyes.
Commander Horder was waiting impatiently at the southwest gate. He was accompanied now by three attendants: Spandril and two others.
After the Highest Caste had bowed and made ritual gestures of welcome, the priests showed their respect. That done, they waited for a sign from the Visitors.
“We’re grateful for your welcome,” said Commander Horder through the spirit-box. “We hope that you will listen to what we have to say and be willing to aid us in our work.”
“The work of the Gods is the duty of man,” said Admih for all of them.
“Ah . . . yes.” Commander Horder glanced at the others. “Do you really think the records were right? I find it hard to believe that they came from Earth, I don’t care how long ago.”
“We came from the Source, from Janja—” began the Scribe of Ajna, only to be interrupted by Spandril.
“There were over three hundred colony ships sent out of India at the time of the Great Famine,” he said. “It’s all in the records. There’s enough to link them with that expansion.”
“Still . . .” Commander Horder said, then sighed. “I guess we need all the help we can get.”
“Yes, sir,” said one of the other two.
Commander Horder addressed the Highest Caste once more. “We come to you for aid.”
All the Highest Caste bowed double.
“There’s . . . ” he looked at Spandril and his other men, “hell, how do you explain the Khalia to people like this?”
“Khalia?” asked the High Priest of Durga, who had been called Lallin when he had had a name.
Commander Horder turned back toward the Highest Caste of Kel. “Yes.” He wore a wide belt with three Attributes hanging from it, and though he had no twisted cords crossing his chest, there were mystic markings on his clothes that fascinated the priests. “They’re . . . they’re hostile. They’re destructive.”
The Fleet Book 2: Counter Attack Page 27
