by Dave Duncan
Edward followed carefully. The boy just pushed through as if they were long grass.
Yes, Edward had worked it out—and even seen glimmers of it in himself after he had played holy man in the campground. Obviously the effect disappeared if the stranger returned to his home world. Creighton had possessed no “authority” back on Earth, but as soon as he had returned to Nextdoor, he had been able to smite a reaper with a thunderbolt. Mr. Goodfellow had been a stranger on Earth, an immigrant from Ruatvil.
"I think I picked up some tonight—a sort of tingle? Can I work miracles?"
She shook her head. “Unless you're on a node, it's pretty much impossible to collect enough to produce physical effects."
The campground where he had faced down old Graybeard had been a node, and he'd acquired real mana there. He had used that power to learn the language so swiftly and to cure Dolm's guilt. All the same, his tongue could find no cavities in his teeth now. What should be surprising about minor repairs? The guv'nor had lived somewhere in this world for thirty years without aging a day.
Even the charisma itself was dangerous. Edward Exeter could be the greatest actor in the world if he wanted. He could pluck women like daisies. He could enter politics and be a dictator in no time. He could raise an army and conquer the world. Now he knew why Creighton had wanted older recruits—they might be able to handle this sort of power without being corrupted by it. How long would Edward be able to resist adulation on that scale? How long before his moral standards collapsed like a wet soufflé? At last he understood why the guv'nor had wanted to break the chain and prevent him from becoming the Liberator.
But Eleal! ... What sort of rotter was he to walk out on her like this?
They were past the bushes. He fell into step with Onica.
"What constitutes worship? Blood? Degradation? Public prostitution?"
She stalked on without looking at him. “Sometimes. They don't all go that far. The general principle is that sacrifice must hurt. The believer must voluntarily do something he doesn't want to do—give money or perform unpleasant acts. The greater the pain, the greater the crop of mana. Adoration works too. Tion's better than most in that regard. He bribes his worshipers with roses. He probably gains more mana from one hard-fought singing contest on his node than Zath does from any of his distant murders."
"Human sacrifice is the most powerful source?"
"With one exception. Look out for the burrower holes here."
They were closer to the temple now, and well below the city. Its roofs were a jagged blackness against the sky. Good-bye, Suss! Oh, Eleal!
"What does a god of courage do?” he asked miserably.
"He gives supplicants courage, of course. It isn't difficult to make young men behave like suicidal maniacs.” Onica's voice held traces of the adenoidal accent of Lancashire. “The fact that they're still worshiping there on a node that's been unoccupied for two hundred years shows that most of the effect is wishful thinking. As I recall Gunuu's rituals, they're quite honest. The worshiper offers blood and is granted courage, but it's conditional on abstinence. As soon as he takes a woman, the deal is off. That must bring in lots of return business in the course of a long campaign."
He remembered what Piol had told him about the monastery at Thogwalby. “The god of strength works the same sort of swizz, doesn't he?"
"Garward?” The woman chuckled. “Yes, that's a potent sacrifice! All those young men in training, right on his node, forbidden even to think about their groins. Every night the mana must just pour in. Insomnia to the glory of god! They've been at this for centuries, remember. They've worked out all sorts of twists. Why? Are you seriously—"
She stopped and listened. “Blast! We're being followed!"
"How can you tell?” He could hear nothing.
"Come on!” She began to run down the slope. He loped along beside her, stumbling more often than she did. Either of them might break an ankle any minute. The youth went out in front, jogging steadily. His lack of shoes seemed to make him more surefooted, although he must have feet like hooves to run on this terrain.
"Who's after us?” Edward panted. “Tion? Or Zath?"
"Zath. Reapers. I can smell them. Look, make up your mind, Exeter! Do you want to come with me to Olympus, or don't you? Go to the bloody temple if you want to bare your neck for Tion. Or bare anything else, for that matter."
"Would he really make me god of courage?"
"He might. It's prophesied. Strangers are in short supply, and he needs to reclaim that attribute."
Eleal! Eleal was the problem. Tion might cure her leg out of gratitude, or Edward himself would be able to as soon as he had collected enough mana. A god did not have to be evil, surely? He could do good. A few years on Nextdoor, like the guv'nor...
But the guv'nor's case was different. There was a war on now. Edward had a duty to King and Country. Even his debt to Eleal must take second place to that call. He certainly couldn't trust Tion.
Could he even trust the Service? He stumbled wildly, caught his balance. “Never mind what I want. What does the Service want with me?"
"Save you from Zath. Cameron's son."
Mana or not, she was panting harder than he was. How much farther?
"Suppose you do. Then what? Creighton told me you were divided over the Filoby Testament."
"Obviously. Oh darn it!"
A peculiar, rumbling explosion rent the night. Edward shied to a halt as he registered two huge green eyes glowing at him from the darkness.
"What in Hades is that?"
Onica had gone on to the monster and was embracing its huge head, provoking more belching rumbles. “This is Cuddles. She's a dragon. Quick! They're closing on us."
She scrambled up into the saddle. “Up here, behind me. Hang on. Cuddles, Zomph!” She held out a hand for him.
As she hauled him aboard, the saddle simultaneously shot skyward. He grabbed at the woman's arm and a pannier, was almost thrown as the huge brute launched itself forward. He caught a glimpse of two black shapes and cried out at a sudden pain in his leg like a jolt of electricity. He started to overbalance, then the spasm passed and he could grip again. A nasty pins and needles remained, but was already fading. The rush of wind in his face told him they were racing over the ground, although the ride was as smooth as the Bodgleys’ Rolls.
"All right?” the woman yelled.
"Fine. Reapers?"
"Not quite within lethal range, fortunately.” The wind caught her words and flung them past him. “They can't catch us now. You can relax."
He had been that close to death and he was expected to relax?
He shouted, “Righto!” and passed the word to his insides: relax! That was not so easy when he was perched on the rim of the saddle with a bony plate digging into his back.
Dragon? He had thought the word referred to something like a horse—T'lin Horsetrader. This thing was more like the stegosaurus in The Lost World, bigger than a full-grown rhino. She had a ridge of high plates along her back, one of which had been cut out to make room for the rider. A couple of wicker panniers were strapped to the one behind the gap. Dragon was a fitting name for the beast, though—she even had long winglike frills stretching back from her shoulders.
The monster raced along a flat, treeless terrace. Rugged hillocks and cliffs flowed by, pale in the moonlight, casting multitoned shadows. There was a gully ahead. Onica's hair kept flying in his face, and conversation was impossible. Cuddles hurtled down into the gully and up the other side with a stomach-churning lurch. They were heading east, passing the temple at a lower level.
Three or four gullies later, Onica yelled, “Hang on now. Whilth!"
The dragon swung to the left and headed straight up a fifty-degree slope. Edward toppled back, steadying himself against the panniers. He was deucedly uncomfortable. Onica had the advantage of a flat seat and stirrups.
When they reached the level again, she said, “Varch!” Cuddles dropped to a slower pace. No reins or
handlebars—she was entirely controlled by voice commands and must be at least as smart as a dog.
In a few minutes Onica told her, “Zappan! Wosok!” Cuddles stopped and crouched down. “Off!"
Edward assumed that meant him, and gratefully scrambled to the ground. She slid down beside him. They were in another gully, a smaller one. It was dry and shadowed.
"Come on!” She hurried up the slope.
He strode beside her, his longer legs giving him an advantage.
The boy strolled along at his side. Edward turned to him and met the same inscrutable smile as before. He forgot what he had been about to ask.
"Well?” the woman said. “Which is to be, Exeter? The temple, or Olympus? If you want the temple, you can walk from here."
He could see it, not half a mile away, and the city beyond. “I want to go Home. To England. We're at war with Germany."
"I heard about that. We'll see you get Home, then, if that's what you want. Yes, we're of two minds about the Liberator, but if that's your decision, then I'm certain the committee will consent."
They crested the rise, coming to flat farmland. Onica headed for a clump of palmlike trees.
"Do you mind explaining what we're doing?” he asked politely.
"Wondered when you'd start wondering. I want to go west, to Lameby. I'm hoping the opposition will be deceived and give chase. We can watch the road from here."
A low stone wall ran through the grove. She sat down on it and wiped her face, puffing. “May be a long wait. They'll have to run back up to the town and find mounts."
"What sort of mounts?” Setting himself beside her, he tried to visualize a midnight chase of dragons.
"Moas."
"I thought moas were one-rider animals?"
"They are, but I suspect reapers can get around that. They probably have moas of their own, anyway."
They were in shadow, and now he could see the dirt track that was the main highway across Suss, a couple of hundred yards away. It was deserted at this time of night. The countryside slept peacefully under the light of three moons, which was much brighter than the moonlight he knew. Only a week or so ago, he had come along there with Dolm and Eleal.
Again he turned to say something to the youth sitting beside him, and again that cryptic smile distracted him.
Onica said, “Tell me what happened after T'lin escaped from the reapers."
"I arrived...” Edward told what he knew from his own blurred memories and what Eleal had recounted.
When he had done, she said, “Hrrnph! We thought you'd been knocked off, of course. I came to investigate. Arrived last night, detected reapers still around. That made me wonder if you might be alive after all, keeping under wraps somewhere."
"How did you find me?"
"Sheer chance. I saw the playbill, saw a D'ward listed. Good job I made the connection before Zath's thugs did, you bloody idiot."
A change of subject was called for. “Tell me about Olympus."
"It's in a little side canyon. There's hundreds of those, of course, but that one's a beautiful spot. We try to keep it an outpost of real civilization—it's not unlike Nyagatha, actually."
"You know Nyagatha?"
"Dropped in there with Julian in ‘02. Met you—solemn, stringy kid, brown as walnut. Could have been a native, except for those blue eyes. You'll feel right at home in Olympus. We don't fly a Union Jack, but we do dress for dinner."
Mm! It sounded as if the Service was not unlike Holy Roly's Lighthouse Missionary Society, bringing enlightenment to the heathen. The guv'nor had supported it, so it must do some good.
He asked about dragons and received a long lecture on their habits and strengths. Mason was obviously an enthusiastic dragon-lover and made them sound like the finest riding beast in the Universe. Eleal had raved about them, although without thinking to describe what they looked like. When he had learned much more about the lizards than he wanted to, he managed to ask something more relevant.
"What about Gunuu? Why is there no god of courage?"
"How much do you know about the Great Game?"
He could say, “It means the struggle between England and Russia to control Afganhistan and the Northwest Frontier, which has been going on for more than a hundred years,” and he would sound like a complete muffin. In the Vales there was a similar political rivalry between Joalia and Thargia, the major powers of the Vales, which he had privately classed as equivalents of Athens and Sparta, with Niolland, off to the north, roughly corresponding to Corinth. Obviously that was not what was meant either.
He said, “Nothing."
Onica grunted. “Immortality gets boring. The strangers compete among themselves. Earth has five great powers, right?—England, France, Russia, Germany, and Austria. So have the Vales, except here they're called Visek, Karzon, Eltiana, Astina, and Tion."
So the teams did wear colored jerseys! “Yes?"
"The priests’ doctrine of the Pentatheon is a rough approximation—the Parent, the Man, the Lady, the Maiden, and the Youth. Those are the parts, but the actors change from time to time. Each one has a supporting cast of avatars. They're all strangers, like us—from Home or other worlds. There's plenty backstabbing goes on within the teams, but mostly the Game is played between the five. They change alliances all the time."
"Sounds like a feudal system."
"Very much so,” Onica said approvingly. “Especially since it all rests on the backs of the peasants, whose worship provides the mana. A couple of hundred years ago, Gunuu got subverted. He announced that he was an avatar of the Maiden, not the Youth—Gunuu Astina, not Gunuu Tion. He ordered his priests into blue instead of yellow, and so on. Tion wasn't willing to lose a profitable source of mana, so he retaliated. Normally the Game's played by Queensberry rules: Natives are fair game for anything, but stranger doesn't usually make a direct attack on stranger. That's a waste of mana and can be dangerous if your opponent turns out to have more power than you expected. In this case, Tion got nasty, very nasty."
Edward glanced at the youth, who shrugged sadly. He still had not spoken one word, and yet his reactions suggested he understood English.
"Pour encourager les autres?"
Onica chuckled. “Exactly! Since then Gunuu's node has been unoccupied. To recruit a substitute stranger, Tion would have to visit another world, and he's not likely to take that risk."
Creighton had commented on the problems of recruitment.
"He could send a helper, an avatar?"
"It's done, but then the new boys may have loyalty problems, what?"
"So, now, when people pray to Gunuu, where does the mana go?"
"Most of it's wasted. If they pray to Gunuu Tion, then Tion will get some of it. If they pray to Gunuu Astina, then the Maiden will."
"They play rough, don't they? Just before I arrived, Garward's monks sacked Iilah's grove at Filoby."
"Sounds fairly typical—the rough work would be done by locals. Iilah herself would not be hurt. If a lot of nuns were raped or killed ... well, they're only natives, you see. Garward's a fool. He'll pay for that, I'm sure."
"Pay to whom?"
"To his master Karzon, of course. Let's see ... The Thargians are brewing a war. The warriors will seek portents from their patron goddess, Astina. The omens will be bad. Karzon will complain to Astina; she will demand justice for Filoby, because Iilah's one of hers. Karzon will pull strips off Garward's hide until she is satisfied. There may even be a change of resident at Thogwalby. Quite typical."
Quite disgusting! The guv'nor's support for the Service was starting to seem more understandable.
Edward squirmed. The wall was only slightly less uncomfortable than his perch on the dragon had been. How could the bare-arsed boy sit there without even fidgeting? He seemed quite content, listening to what was being said with calm amusement.
Something that sounded like a miniature pipe organ began singing in the branches overhead.
"What the dickens?..."
&nbs
p; "We call them nightingales. They look more like squirrels, though."
Damn! Why did this world have to be so interesting? “It was Iilah who created the Filoby Testament, I suppose?"
Onica covered a yawn. “Apparently not. Even the big players rarely meddle with foretelling. Prediction involves holding a mirror up to memory, to recall the future. That can be dangerous! One can forget who one is and how to let go. The situation may become permanent. It also costs an incredible amount of mana. None of them likes to squander mana. I told you Garward's an idiot. The story is that he'd seduced Sister Ashylin—he's always in among the nuns there—and for some reason he gave her the gift of prophecy in return. He botched the ritual. The first time she invoked it, it drove her out of her mind with prophecy. It completely drained Garward himself, serves him right. She went mad and died. He almost died."
After a moment she added, “The future doesn't interest them. Most of them are centuries old. Nothing can harm them. The only thing they fear is boredom. Boredom kills them all in the end. That's why they play the Great Game.... Look!"
Two dark figures were racing along the road, coming from the town, going far faster than a man could run, or even a horse. The moas’ long legs were a blur of ten-foot strides. The hooded riders crouched on their backs were barely distinguishable at that distance, and yet infinitely sinister in the green moonlight. Like silent motorcyclists, they disappeared along the Rotby road.
Edward suppressed a shiver. He glanced at his other, silent companion, who was frowning angrily. Then he met Edward's eye and smiled again....
"Looks like they took the bait,” Onica said. “We'll give them a few minutes, just to be sure they keep going. Then we head west."
"There's a bridge at Lameby? Then where?"
"The road goes on over Rothpass, to Nagvale.” She hesitated. “You definitely want to go Home? You don't want to stay on Nextdoor and try to fulfill the prophecy?"
"No, ma'am. I definitely want to go Home."
She eyed him curiously. “You're an odd fish! A boy of your age, offered a whole new world to explore, a chance at fame and power ... yet you refuse?"
