by Stuart Moore
“You hold the power, Princess.” Sab’s voice remained calm. “The power of life over me and over all our world. With our cities united, all is possible. All you have to do is marry me.”
Sab was right: she held his life in her hands. Yet suddenly, Dejah felt exhausted, defeated. She cast her eyes around from her grimacing father to the dead Warhoons to the proud, blue-garbed warriors of Helium. And, finally, to the unmoving form of John Carter.
Slowly, she lowered the sword and nodded sadly.
Carter woke in a spartan jail cell. A sharp-tongued Helium officer named Kantos Kan quickly spirited him out of his cell, tricking the guards assigned to watch him. Before Carter could catch his breath he found himself atop a palace roof, casting his eyes over the spires of an unfamiliar city.
“Is this Helium?” Carter asked.
“Zodanga,” Kantos replied. “Where the men are as limited as the menu and the women as hard as the beds.”
Carter had no idea how to reply to that.
“We must rejoin Princess Dejah,” Kantos continued, looking back at the stairwell—which now clattered with the pursuing Zodangan guards.
“Dejah!” Carter said.
“From what she tells me, you’ll be able to get us…there.”
Kantos pointed to a turreted tower fifty feet below the palace and twice as far away. Carter swallowed. “She said I could make that?”
Kantos smirked, “Would you dare call Her Highness a liar?”
The guards reached the roof and pointed toward them.
Carter grabbed Kantos and jumped into the air, as high and far as he could. He reached the top of his arc and began to descend toward the tower. With a sick feeling, he realized they weren’t going to make it. He reached out with his free hand, stretched as far as he could, and managed to grab a window ledge. He dangled for a second, still holding tight to Kantos, who regarded him with amused disdain and a bit of fear.
Then the stone ledge crumbled, and the two men plummeted down. Carter relaxed his legs and aimed for another, wider ledge. He landed, bounced, and rebounded upward.
He smiled. He had what the Yankees called his “sea legs” again. Deftly he leaped from spire to spire, catwalk to catwalk, rebounding once off the deck of a passing flier. Kantos pointed, and Carter carried him in through a stone window…to the royal dressing room. A group of handmaidens shrieked at the men’s arrival. Startled, Carter tripped, released Kantos, and fell to the floor. Quickly he picked himself up, scrambling to his feet.
Princess Dejah Thoris stood before him in full wedding regalia. A gown of serpentine gold wound around her tall body, accentuating her curves and leaving her shoulders, stomach, and legs bare. She looked stunning, radiant, and imperious, her ritual tattoos proudly displayed. The rightful queen of Barsoom.
Carter could barely speak. “Excuse me, ma’am…”
Her lip twisted in a half smirk. “You are expected to bow in my presence, Captain Carter.”
He tried to bow, wincing at the injuries he’d suffered at the Warhoons’ clawed hands. The handmaidens giggled.
“I fetched him as you commanded,” Kantos said. “Alas, he seems to have suffered some kind of blow to the head.”
“Thank you, Kantos. I wish to speak to Captain Carter alone. Keep watch outside.”
Kantos saluted and withdrew. The handmaidens hesitated, their eyes on Carter. I’m exotic to them, he realized.
The matron of the chamber—a stern, lanky woman—shooed the maidens out. “Now, ladies. Off you go!”
Dejah fastened the door bolt behind them and turned to face Carter. Waited for him to speak.
“You look beautiful,” he said. The word wasn’t nearly strong enough.
She gestured at the gown. “Traditional Zodangan. Worn by the groom’s mother at her wedding, I’m told. A little vulgar by my standards, but then, my opinions are about to become irrelevant.”
“Not if I can help it.” In a quick motion, he grabbed her under his arm and sprang to the window. He leaned out, prepared to jump—and then, to his shock, she pulled free, clocking him on the jaw.
He realized she was furious. “Have you so little regard for my situation?” she demanded.
“I’m rescuing you!”
“No. I am rescuing Helium.”
He shook his head, baffled. “You told me—back in the desert. You said you could not marry him.”
“I have no other choice.” She glared at him, furiously radiant in her wedding dress. “You told me that.”
He turned away, fists clenched.
“Give me a reason,” she said, her voice cracking suddenly. “A reason not to marry him. Will you—will you stay and fight for Helium?”
As he turned toward her, he saw hope blossom in her eyes. Hope for herself and for her people. Hope that Helium might find a champion and that she might not have to marry a man who saw her only as a possession.
Carter opened his mouth to speak. Then a glint of gold caught his eye, and he glanced down at his own hand. At the twin wedding rings wound around his finger.
“Dejah…”
“We have a saying on Barsoom.” Her voice was dead now, flat. “A warrior may change his metal, but not his heart.”
She stepped in close to him, reached into her robe. Pulled out the medallion.
“You were right,” she continued. “I could decipher the script—read the command. I can give you what you want.”
He stared at the medallion. His heart quickened.
“It’s a simple phrase—a sequence of sounds. Repeat after me.” She placed the medallion in his hands. “Och Ohem. Och Tay.”
Suddenly there was a clatter from outside the room. Carter could hear the voices through the door.
Kantos Kan: “Her Highness has demanded not to be disturbed.”
Sab Than: “With that freak on the loose? Step aside, you preening she-calot.”
Kantos: “With all due respect, O Mighty Magnificence, I cannot.”
A knock at the door.
Sab: “Dejah! Are you all right?”
Dejah leaned in urgently to Carter. “Say this. Och Ohem. Och Tay.”
Carter’s throat was dry. “Och Ohem. Och Tay.”
The medallion began to glow in his hand. Energy pulsed along the legs of the spider.
“Wyees,” Dejah continued. “Jasoom.”
“Wyees…” He hesitated.
“Jasoom,” she repeated.
The knock at the door became a pounding, then a loud crack.
“Jasoom. Say it!” She was practically screaming at him. “Say it!”
Carter stared at the medallion, its glow almost blinding now. He could feel the rush of space, the immense distance between worlds beginning to call him back again. He opened his mouth, began to form the final word.
“Jasoo—”
The door erupted inward in an explosion of wood. Dejah Thoris shielded her face, turning away. The Zodangan guardsmen rushed in, followed by the curious matron and handmaidens.
Sab Than swept past all of them and strode straight toward Dejah. He seized her by both shoulders, admiring, proud, and possessive all at the same time. “Are you alone?”
Together they scanned the room. Bathtub, bed, regal furnishings, and trunks full of silks.
But no John Carter.
“Yes,” Dejah said quietly. “I am alone.”
HIGH UP NEAR the vaulted ceiling, perched in the shadows of the eaves, Carter watched silently as Sab Than led Dejah out of the room, one arm wrapped possessively around her waist. The guardsmen and maidens followed. The matron took a quick, suspicious look around the room, then exited last, pulling the heavy door shut behind her.
Alone now, Carter dropped to the floor.
He’d made his decision, he realized. Earth had been no more than a syllable away; he’d felt its pull, almost smelled the sweet grass of Virginia calling. But in the end, it was all nothing next to Dejah Thoris. She meant the world to him.
Unfortunately, he had no i
dea what to do next. Carter was free but hunted, in a hostile, alien city. And Dejah was less than a day away from marrying that city’s tyrant ruler.
Helium and Zodanga had made their pact. Carter’s only hope was the Tharks.
He slipped out of the room, eyes darting around the empty corridor. He turned a corner toward a winding staircase and came face to face with Dejah’s matron.
The old woman held up a strange bracelet weapon. A web of glimmering blue energy spat out from it, striking Carter’s chest and growing like instant moss. It expanded up to his neck and down over his legs, stretching out to cover his arms, his clothing. Then it turned rigid, hard as stone, locking his body in place.
“What is this—?”
The web snaked up around his throat, wrapping around his jaw to form a gag.
The matron raised a finger to her mouth. “Shh.” With a graceful motion, she plucked the medallion from Carter’s hand. Then she circled behind him, leaned over his shoulder…and her face shifted and changed. Became harder, more angular, more masculine. She seemed to grow taller as well, and a timeless, ancient look appeared in her eyes.
“I am Matai Shang,” the figure said. “And I assure you, we will have plenty of time to talk.”
Then the energy web spread up over Carter’s eyes and the world went black. He made a muffled, panicky noise, but Matai Shang’s firm arm pulled him forward. Carter heard sounds, voices. The stagnant indoor air gave way to a warm breeze, and he felt the jostle of a crowd around him. He almost tripped over a short flight of steps, and then a firm hand shoved him into a seated position.
When the Thern energy weapon receded from his eyes, Carter found himself sitting in a Zodangan battlewagon. He managed to turn his neck far enough to see out the window: a crowded street lined with pedestrians and market stalls. And statues of Sab Than.
“The Avenue of Warriors,” Matai Shang said.
Matai sat directly across from him, dressed now in an ethereal, shifting beige robe and metallic wristbands. He studied Carter like a cat with an injured mouse.
Carter struggled but the Thern device held his limbs tight. Matai touched his wristband, and a tendril receded from Carter’s throat. Carter gagged, coughed.
“Now,” Matai said. “Let’s have that talk.”
“Who are you?”
“Ah. American.”
Carter frowned. “Who are you, sir?”
“‘Sir.’ Definitely the South.” Shang cocked his head, almost amused. “The Carolinas? Virginia? It’s Virginia, isn’t it. Lovely place.”
“You know it?”
“Not well, yet. But I will.”
The wagon lurched, jolted to a stop. Matai slid open a small panel behind his head. Then he placed a finger to his throat and spoke in a completely different voice.
The voice of a Zodangan military officer.
“Padwar, what’s the holdup?”
From up front, the driver’s muffled reply. “Sorry, sir. Streets are blocked. It’s the wedding procession.”
Matai closed the panel, mildly annoyed. He turned back around, smiling at Carter’s futile struggles.
“Increased strength and agility. A simple matter of gravitation and anatomy…we should have foreseen it.”
“We?”
“No apparent intelligence increase—unfortunately for you. Still, this will not do at all.” Matai held up the medallion, dangled it close to Carter. “We can’t have Earthmen projecting themselves to Barsoom, leaping about and causing all manner of disruption.”
Carter frowned. This man or creature, whatever he was, had enormous weaponry and power at his command—and he seemed to know all about Carter and Earth as well. Suddenly Carter recalled Dejah’s words back in the Thark settlement.
“You’re a Thern,” he said.
“Therns are a myth,” Matai replied.
Then Matai touched his throat again and spoke in the officer’s voice. “Padwar, we’ll go on foot.”
The battlewagon’s rear doors swung open. Carter felt a lightening sensation in his legs and discovered he could stand. When he looked up again, Matai Shang had transformed wholly, body and clothing, into a young Zodangan officer.
They hurried out of the wagon and into the crowd. Zodangan citizens massed around them, dressed in celebratory red. There were too many, packed too tightly, for Carter to make a run for it. And his arms were still bound.
“The Therns do not exist,” Matai said in a low voice. “I do not exist. Indeed, I work very hard at that.”
The crowd grew even thicker, jostling and bumping against Carter. When he looked up, Matai’s officer form had been replaced by the figure of a smiling elderly woman.
“Excuse me,” Matai was saying. “Many pardons…the blessings of Issus be upon you…”
As the crowd thinned, Carter looked up to see the royal float approaching, gliding above the wide street. Sab Than and Dejah Thoris stood atop its roof, waving down at the adoring citizens.
“It’s a shame, really,” Matai said in his old lady’s voice. “She is a remarkable creature. And she came very close indeed.”
“You mean the Ninth Ray,” Carter said.
“It’s of no consequence now. Tonight, when the two moons meet and vows are exchanged, there will be a grand ceremony. And then she, and anyone else with knowledge of the Ninth Ray, will be eliminated.” Matai turned to Carter and smiled a cruel, inhuman smile. “Shame there’s no one to warn her.”
Carter whipped around, back toward the float—and the web snaked its tendrils up, covering his mouth again. A muffled cry died in his throat.
The royal float slid by. Of all the cheering crowd, only Carter could see the sadness behind Dejah Thoris’s stoic smile.
Matai waved as the float passed by. “The balance must be restored.”
Then he grasped Carter’s arm roughly, leading him off through the crowd again. Up ahead, Carter saw the elevated space of the Zodangan Hangar Deck with its multiple levels of skycraft, pilots, and mechanics.
The web receded again. Carter gasped for breath.
“What—what gives you the right to interfere?”
“Why do you care?” Matai seemed honestly curious. “This is not your home; you have no obligation to these people. How would they say it in Virginia? You have no dog in this fight. You’re a man without a cause.”
As they approached the base of the Hangar Deck, Matai shifted casually back into the form of an officer. He saluted the guards and led Carter swiftly onto an open-air elevator platform.
As the platform started to rise, Matai shifted back into his true, robed form.
“What is your cause?” Carter asked.
“Oh, we have none. We are not haunted by mortality as you are. We are eternal.”
“The wedding—this little stroll. Why not just kill me? Kill Dejah?”
“Don’t question our motives, Earthman.” Matai gestured out past the open platform, at the city of Zodanga laid out below. “What must happen will happen. Tonight Dejah Thoris will say her vows, drink from the chalice, and seal the fate of Barsoom. Our agents have spent decades preparing for this: they ply their trade in the Council of Helium, in the highest spires of Zodanga, in the lowest slums of Barsoom.
“We are everywhere. We’ve been playing this game since before the birth of this world, and we will play it long after the death of yours.”
Carter gazed out over the city’s spires. He could just make out the royal float receding into the distance down the crowd-choked Avenue of Warriors.
“You see,” Matai continued, “we don’t actually cause the destruction of a world. We simply manage it…feed off it, if you like. But on every host world, it plays out the same way. Populations rise, societies divide, wars rage. And all the while, the neglected planet slowly dies.”
The platform reached the elevated Hangar Deck. Matai Shang, in officer form again, snapped out an order. “Prisoner transport. Prep a two-man flier immediately.”
The flier was a frighten
ing contraption: barely more than a large cylinder with instrument controls, a windscreen, and metal “wings” fanning out from the sides to collect solar energy. As the Thern anchored him to the rear seat, throttling the engine to life, Carter felt a deep sense of despair. The unearthly web held him fast, responding to Matai Shang’s every slight command. Carter was utterly helpless.
But more than that. The Therns held this world in a vise, and they seemed all-powerful. No man from Earth, no Thark, Zodangan, or Heliumite, could possibly stand against them. No creature on either world…
Before they could take off, the flier suddenly slammed over onto its side. Matai was thrown free, but Carter went down with the flier. He struggled to turn his head and managed to see a snarling, bulky figure spring through the air, landing atop the Thern with a clamping of powerful jaws.
“Woola!” Carter cried.
Matai struggled beneath the animal’s bulk. Woola snapped out and crunched Matai’s bracelet, crushing it against the Thern’s arm. Matai cried out in pain.
With the bracelet destroyed, Carter’s shackles crumbled to dust. He jumped to his feet, then knelt down next to the trapped, squirming Thern.
“Immortal ain’t bulletproof,” Carter said, petting Woola absently. “I shot one of you back on Earth. Remember that.”
Carter grabbed the medallion, shoving it quickly into his boot. Then he turned to see the Zodangan guards pointing and running toward him. Woola whimpered urgently.
Carter turned his attention to the two-man flier, still humming with power. He hopped onto it, fumbled with its controls. And tried not to think about what he had to do now.
Captain John Carter, veteran of nineteenth-century ground combat, was about to make his first solo flight.
FOR CARTER, the next hour passed in a blur of instinct and action. He managed to guide the flier up, lost control, and righted it again. He heard Matai Shang shout something, and then a loud buzzing rose up behind him: guards on mounted fliers taking off in pursuit. Carter panicked, plummeted his flier over the side of the Hangar Deck, then pulled up just in time to see the palace looming ahead.
