Swords of Waar

by Nathan Long

  Wen-Jhai backed away from him, weeping. “Perhaps not, but at least I have courage.”

  And with that she turned and ran for the balcony, reaching for the rope ladder to Ku-Rho’s warship, with Shae-Vai following right on her heels. That’s last thing I saw before they carried Lhan and me out the door, but I could hear Duru-Vau shouting all the way down the stairs.

  “Stop her! Bring her down! Bring her back!”

  ***

  I must have passed out completely at some point after that, ’cause the next thing I knew, I woke up butt naked in a closet-sized room with one glass wall. My head hurt so much that it took me a while to recognize the smooth white architecture and figure out where I must be—a jail cell somewhere inside the Temple of Ormolu.

  This was so thrilling I threw up. Then I just sat there for a while, watching the little pool of puke spread out on the metal floor. My head throbbed. My heart throbbed. My everything throbbed. I felt like some miniature stereo freak had set up a boomin’ system deep down in my guts, and had turned the bass up to eleven. The pulse made all the cuts and bruises I’d got over the past few weeks hurt worse than they already did. I ached from head to foot.

  Then I noticed I was pink again, and my hair was its natural red, and damp. The fucking priests musta washed all my purple off while I was knocked out. The thought of all those priest hands soaping me up was so creepy I threw up again. Then I panicked and felt for Lhan’s balurrah around my neck.

  It was gone!

  For some reason that was the worst thing that had ever happened to me, and I bawled like a baby until I ran out out of tears.

  Sometime later a guard came by with a plate of food and a mug. I tensed, waiting for the doors to whoosh open so I could jump him, even though I knew I probably couldn’t even stand. The doors didn’t whoosh. Instead, they hissed and raised up together, less than three inches, and he slid the plate and mug under. Then they hissed down again and he went away. Didn’t offer to clean up the mess I’d made. Didn’t seem to notice I’d made it.

  Watching him leave drew my attention to the outside of the cell for the first time, not that there was much to see. The hallway beyond the glass was blank and dark, and when I crawled to the door I couldn’t see another cell in either direction. So where had they put Lhan?

  “Lhan! Lhan, are you here? Can you hear me?”

  No answer. Of course, I don’t know how loud I shouted. It sounded plenty loud to me, but for all I know I coulda been whispering. Pretty soon I gave up and crawled back to the food.

  It took me a while to remember how to sit up straight and pick things up with my hands, but eventually I got the hang of it, and ate what was in the bowl. I didn’t know what it was. It didn’t taste like anything I’d eaten on Waar before, but that’s ’cause it didn’t taste like anything, period. Still, I ate it. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my many stays inside, it’s that you should eat every chance you get. You never know when you’re gonna get another meal, and you never know when you’re gonna need your strength.

  I fell asleep again sometime after that, my aches and pains not quite enough to counter the sick, wiped-out feeling that was dragging me down, but I woke up again after what felt like only an hour or so to the sounds of bootheels clicking slowly down the hall.

  I pulled myself up to a crouch and tested my arms and legs. The sleep hadn’t been much, but at least I felt like I could move a bit now, and my head wasn’t spinning. I wouldn’t fall over if I stood up—at least I hoped not. If it was the guard, asking for the plate and cup back, I’d see if he would open the door to clean up my puke. If not, I’d figure something else out. Maybe I could grab his hand and pull him under the three-inch gap. It’d sure be fun to try.

  It wasn’t the guard.

  The boots stopped in front of the cell and I looked up. The guy giving me the once-over from the other side of the glass was old, seriously old, with a mop of white hair, a stringy neck and blue veins as thick as licorice snaking under his skin. But for all that he didn’t look one bit frail or weak. He was more than six feet tall, and had probably been taller back before he started to stoop, and the harness and loincloth he wore showed me that he was as wiry and ripped as a greyhound. He looked like Clint Eastwood on his hundredth birthday.

  It took me a full ten seconds to realize he wasn’t purple. His skin was a pinkish tan—just like mine.

  He shook his head and sighed. “You have been a burr in my britches, missy. You surely have.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  THE WARGOD!

  I stared at the guy, and if my mouth was hanging open I wouldn’t be a damned bit surprised. Not only was he speaking English, he was talking in an accent I hadn’t heard since the last time me and Big Don had ridden our bikes through Alabama. It took me a couple of tries to get any words out—and they weren’t much when they came.

  “You—I—how… Who the fuck are you?”

  He gave me a disapproving look. “Language of that nature is not proper for young ladies. Particularly not southern young ladies like yourself. Show some decorum.”

  Well, I was still shocked, but that pissed me off. Decorum woulda been not throwing me in a cell. I snorted. “Let me out of here and I’ll show you all the decorum you want. Otherwise, go fuck yourself.”

  He looked like he was gonna get mad, but then he just sat down on a bench built into the wall opposite the cell. He took what looked like a Sherlock Holmes pipe outta a pouch at his belt and pointed it at me. “Duru-Vau was right. You got some fire in you. That’s good. Fire’s what’s needed.”

  “You still haven’t told me who the fuck you are.”

  He sighed like I was some potty-mouthed granddaughter, then looked at the pipe. “You know the worst thing about coming to this place? I never did find a good substitute for tobaccy. Couldn’t rid myself o’the habit of suckin’ on the stem though.”

  I don’t know why that did it, but that did it. All of a sudden I knew who he was. “Wait a minute! You’re the guy from the book! Savages of the Red Planet! You’re Captain Jack Wainwright!”

  He raised a shaggy white eyebrow. “So you read my nephew’s little piece of trash? Godawful thing, that book. Turns the hardest work a white man ever done into a cheap romance for pimply adolescents. Woulda sued him for slander if I’da stayed home.”

  “But—but how are you even alive! You fought in the Civil War! You must be two hundred years old!”

  “A hundred and seventy-two, thank you very much. And as to how, well the fellas that built this here rocket ship got a little rejuvenation machine upstairs that I been using since I took over. Kept me young and fit for nigh on fifty years. Now it just keeps me old.”

  “So Lhan was right. You’ve been running things from behind the scenes since you disappeared.”

  He scratched his thatch of white hair. “Yeah, well, I learned a lesson back then. People don’t like it when their gods stick around too long. They want ’em gone, up in the sky, where they can pray to ’em, but don’t feel like they’re pushin’ ’em around all the time. At the end there, I had all the Dhanans in Ora after my hide. Figured it was time to take my bows and go. Make it seem like the church was running things.”

  “Well now you’ve got the Dhanans rising up against the church. And killing off the Aldhanan ain’t gonna stop that. They know who really did it.”

  Wainwright sighed and sucked his pipe. “Y’see, this is what comes of gettin’ old. I don’t tend to the day-to-day o’ the church so much anymore. I spend most of my time up in the machine, sleepin’ and dreamin’ o’ times gone by. That Duru-Vau, damned smart boy. Proved he could handle himself time and time again, so I let him start running things while I just… supervised.” He went through the motions of cleaning and filling the bowl of the pipe even though there was nothing in it, then took a draw and continued. “Didn’t realize how greedy he was until it was way too late. I’d seen from the beginning that the water could be used as a tool to shape Waar how I wanted, bu
t he uses it like a weapon. He wants the church to own every goddamned thing on the planet.”

  I curled my lip. “If you don’t like ’im, why don’t you take ’im out? You’re the Wargod, ain’t you?”

  “I was, girl. I was. But now? That pole-cat’s got half the priesthood under his sway. If I were to make an open move against him, they’d kill me in my sleep. Fact, I been expecting that any day now.”

  “So, what are you gonna do about it?”

  He smiled and cupped the pipe between his big knuckly hands. “Well now, that’s why you and me are having this little tete-a-tete.”

  “Whaddaya mean?”

  “What I mean is, I want you to be my successor.”

  If he had asked me to referee a basketball game between oompa-loompas and unicorns, I wouldn’ta been more surprised. In fact, that would have made a whole lot more sense.

  “Wh-what? Wait. Aren’t we enemies? Haven’t you been fucking with me since I got here?”

  He held up his hands. “Now now, settle yourself. I admit I didn’t see it at first. That’s why I had my boys send you back to Earth. I didn’t want to kill you. I don’t hold with doing violence to ladies, and it didn’t feel right hurting another Earthman—er, woman—but you were a goddamn nuisance, pardon my French, and since you’d been talking so eager about goin’ back, I figured you’d stay once you got there.”

  “You coulda asked.”

  He went on like I hadn’t said anything. “It was when you came back that I started to realize how much gumption you had, and I went to a hell of a lot of trouble tryin’ to get you to come see me.”

  “Like I just said. You coulda asked.”

  He still wasn’t listening to me. Instead he was frowning and looking somewhere over my shoulder. I looked back. There was nothing back there but wall and cot.

  “Y’see, I been keepin’ an eye on you, and despite our differences, I believe you and I are kindred spirits under the skin. We ain’t neither of us the type to just sit back and wish for a better world. We don’t wait for no politician or preacher to do what’s right. We get up outta our rockers and we do it ourselves. That’s the way I’ve led this world for the past hundred and fifty years. That’s the way I want it led for the next hundred and fifty.” He finally looked at me, right in the eyes. “That’s why it’s you. You believe in honor. You believe in courage. You understand how important it is to live in a world where strength and valor can still solve problems. Well, that’s the world I’ve worked so hard to make here, and I know, from the way you fight, from the way you think, from the way you live, that you’re the one who’ll keep it just the way it is.”

  “I—I am?” Did he really think that? Did he really think I wanted Waar to stay a place where a church and a bunch of rich slave owners lorded it over everybody else, and where rich kids pretended that defending their girlfriends by hacking each other to pieces meant they were more honorable than everybody else?

  He did.

  He leaned forward, his eyes all googily just thinking about it. “Right now, Waar is a perfect little gem, a world of chivalry. A place where honor and courage matter. A place where men of noble blood protect the weak and the weak are grateful.”

  I snorted. “Yeah. Wouldn’t want ’em talking back or anything.”

  “Exactly. And that is why I have trapped it in amber. So it will never grow ugly and modern and corrupt.” He clenched his fists. “You know, I went back to Earth a few times. To visit my nephew. I saw what they’d done to the south, with their factories, and their motor cars, and their negros in fancy suits. They ruined it. They murdered the finest place that ever was. Well, that won’t happen here. That’s what the water’s for. Not to buy up everything lock, stock and barrel, like Duru-Vau thinks, but as a carrot and a stick, all wrapped up in one.”

  I was starting to think that living for a hundred and seventy-five years wasn’t so good for the brain. I didn’t know what he was talking about anymore.

  “That’s what I’ve done since I took over the church. I give water to the folk that are doin’ it right, living a life of chivalry and honor, and being good stewards of the land and the people. For them, rain and water tokens—anything they want. But I keep it from anybody who starts getting ideas, anybody who talks about wanting a vote, or better pay, or equality under the law.” He made a twisting motion with his left hand. “For them, off goes the tap. And anybody who invents any kind of labor-saving device, or manufacturing process, or anything even remotely like a gun?” He twisted with his right hand. “No water for them either.”

  He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “There’s a little room way at the top of this roman candle where can I control all the moisture gatherers in all the temple cities all by myself, and I’ve used ’em to play this world like an instrument. I keep it just dry enough that water is a blessing that they thank the church for, but not so dry that they curse us. At least I did until Duru-Vau got ahold of the switch. Shoulda known better than to let any o’ these purple monkeys mess with the machinery.”

  He trailed off, his face glum, and I almost spoke, but then he started again. “I—I wanted to have an heir, a son, but it just don’t work with the local squaws. Lord knows I tried often enough, but we’re like cats and dogs. Close, but not the same. You’ll never make any younguns with your fella there. Hate to be the one to tell you.”

  Well, I coulda told him I’d had my tubes tied when I was twenty-three, but I let it go. He was still talking anyway.

  “Like I said, I thought it would be Duru-Vau, but he keeps talkin’ about making Ora into a war machine, figuring out how the Seven made all their nasty toys and using ’em to take over the planet. He thinks that’s what I want. Thinks that’s what the Wargod should want. But that kind of war brings all the things I hate. Factories, smoke stacks, businessmen, agitators, a world where peasants have guns and men of honor are no longer safe in their homes. He just doesn’t understand, but you do.”

  He looked me in the eye again. “It takes someone who’s seen the mess modern men have made of the world to understand how beautiful this place is, and to wanna keep it that way. Someone like you.”

  You know, if I was a smart girl, I woulda kissed his ass and pretended to go along with him, then clobbered him when he let me out of the cell, but anger makes me stupid, and right then he’d made me so angry I probably couldn’t have added up one plus one. I was so mad the walls of the cell were turning red around the edges. I stood up and stepped up to the glass.

  “Who the fuck are you to play god with these people, you creep? Who gave you the right to decide who’s doin’ it right and who’s doin’ it wrong? You’re just some jumped-up peckerwood jackhole who still thinks it’s okay for people to own other people.” I spat. I had to. “You know what, I’m proud to be a southern girl. I grew up on RC Cola, moon pies and ‘Sweet Home Alabama,’ and my neck’s redder than yours ever was, but the world you lost, the world you’ve tried to remake out here in the middle of wherever the fuck we are, that world was so poisonous that a hundred and fifty years later I still gotta prove I’m not a racist every time somebody figures out I’m from south of the Mason-Dixon.”

  I stabbed a finger at him and stoved it on the glass. I was too mad to feel the pain. “You did that, you motherfucker. You gave every generation of redneck that’s come after you a case of the ku klux clap. We can only ever hold our heads so high, ’cause we know everybody that meets us still sees you standing behind us, holding a goddamn whip. Well fuck you. Fuck you if you think I’m gonna keep the grand old traditions of the ‘land o’ cotton’ alive for you after you’ve gone.”

  His face had gone cold and hard on the other side of the glass, and he was standing up, but I wasn’t done.

  “And if you think this place is so beautiful, you haven’t been looking where I’ve been looking. It’s nice in the palace, alright. I’ll give you that. And the Dhanans have it pretty good. But all those weak people who you think should be so grateful to you? Their liv
es suck! They’re dying of thirst. They’re starving to death. They’re getting sick on diseases we figured out cures for back on Earth a hundred years ago. Yeah, factories ain’t pretty. And modern life can be kinda ugly sometimes, but the things that come with all that ugly make life better for most people. They don’t die from the plague anymore. They don’t have to work eighty hours a week just to get by. They don’t have to lower their eyes to anybody or call anybody master. But you don’t care about ‘most people,’ do you? You just care about your ‘men of honor.’” I stopped as something hit me, and I looked right in his eyes, fist balled like I was going to punch right through the unbreakable glass. “You know what you are? You’re a kid playing with dolls. You took a living breathing world and you turned it into a pretty little stage for all your pretty little knights and ladies so they could play out their soap operas of chivalry on it. Everybody else is just extras and spear carriers to you, ain’t they? Jesus fuck, you make me sick!”

  Wainwright looked at me like a father who just found cigarettes in his daughter’s purse. He sighed. “Well, that’s too bad. I thought you understood. I truly did.”

  “I do understand, you cancerous old cracker. You wanna remake the world in your own image. Well, your image blows.”

  I don’t think he heard me. He hung his head and made a sad little motion with one hand. “I do not care to kill women, but in your case I fear I have no choice. You are too strong and strong-willed to leave here alive. You and your pretty-boy friend will be executed publicly tomorrow to remind the people of the power of the church and to unite them behind Sai-Far, who will be the next Aldhanan.”

  “You mean the next puppet. I already saw Duru-Vau making his lips move.”

  Wainwright shook his head. “It should have been you pullin’ the strings. I’m too tired these days to bring Duru-Vau to heel like he should be, but I guess it’ll have to be done. So long, missy. Sorry it worked out this way.”