by D. E. Ellis
“Master, I am overjoyed that you have recovered your sight. But I have fears you will no longer need me.”
“There is still much for you to do, my friend. And, in some ways, I shall need you more than ever. There will be no need for you to remain so tied to me, however. You may now have the pleasure of moving as freely as other men.”
Hamer was there in time to hear what passed between them, as it was intended that he should. They waited for some indication as to their status. If he had any intentions of curbing their freedom, now was his opportunity to say so. However, Hamer’s first thought, apparently, was for his love potion.
“You have it ready?” he queried.
“Yes. It is contained in these pills. Crush and mix then with her food or drink, whichever is the easiest. One should be sufficient, but I have given you three in case of accidents. Once she has taken it, there should be a favourable change in her attitude towards you.” Gor Don gave Hamer three of the food capsules they had brought with them.
“Hamer has the love potion. He will probably try to use it when you have your next meal. Make sure he has the opportunity to slip it in, when your back is turned. We will try to let you know for certain when he does use it—for it would never do to have a change of heart before you have taken it.” Thane’s weak communication just reached Rona, who had kept her mind receptive in the hope of receiving some such message.
“If we can’t be certain, I will try to keep him in doubt—at least until you have been escorted to this other village.”
“Let’s hope it won’t be necessary to delay the apparent results of taking the pill. We’re hoping he’ll be in the role of a supporter, instead of an onlooker, by the time the contest takes place.”
Luck was with them. Not only did Hamer’s actions betray him just before the next meal;p he also mentioned to Thane that he hoped Rona would not refuse a special wine he had prepared for her. This piece of information was passed on immediately.
“Why do you look at me so oddly, darling? Was the rink poisoned or something?” Rona risked a sly dig at Hamer, who was indeed hopefully watching her every move. “Not that it matters much if it was. Life hasn’t much to offer since my great and noble principles led us to the parting of the ways.” Having had a brief moment of satisfaction, watching his discomfiture, she allowed bitterness to flavour her words. To her relief, Hamer made things easier for her.
“Rona, I still love you. Must you let those two men stand in the way of our happiness. I have my principles, too. I cannot possibly allow consideration of my person happiness to come before the welfare of my people. Must you use yourself as the price of their freedom?”
“My dearest. I feared you were little better than some of the savages you look after so carefully. Your action of using force for what seemed selfish gain, blinded me to the more important fact that you only interest is the good of your people. Though we may differ in our opinion as to what is good for them, I cannot help loving you. Immediately I saw the battle was lost, I realised I was not prepared to pay the price, but it was too late then to go back on the things I had said.”
“It’s not too late,” Hamer said softly, as he come closer.
Rona gladly allowed herself to be draw in into his outstretched arms. The moments that followed made their reconciliation complete. Only afterwards did Hamer remember the love potion. Suddenly he wished he knew whether the drug was responsible, or if things would have turned out just the same, anyway. He was not at all sure that priests had any control over Fate. Then he decided he should be grateful to this one, anyway. Believing just sufficiently to attempt a reconciliation had caused him to go to Rona at the right moment.
Chapter 15
Thane shivered as they set out very early the next morning. Once they were out of the sheltered valley, the biting spring winds reminded him how much the altitude of the country had changed. Soon, the sun would be warm enough to remind him of the old days; but there was little else to indicate that this was the land he had left.
The journey would have seemed short by Tube, but it was the longest he had made over land. In vain, he sought landmarks, but, of the tall buildings that had disguised the general landscape of his day, nothing remained. There and there, a heap of stones might have once been one of the more substantial buildings, or a grass-covered mound would possibly have revealed archaeological treasure, but there was no opportunity to investigate. However, as their journey took them Northwards, Thane’s hopes ran high that they were on the right track to find their friends.
Rona was not withe them on this occasion; otherwise, she would have recognised the place where they had picked up Wormald. Proceeding North for about a mile past the old station entrance, the course they were following began slowly to bear to the North-East. The marathon walk was tiring Thane and Dunstable more quickly than the hunters—who would often follow their prey for miles with out rest. Their aged appearance was now a definite asset, entitling them to some consideration; for, eventually after almost four hours of walking, a halt was called.
“We will rest while my men hunt. Perhaps Gor Don can invoke his god to assist them, so that they will not return empty-handed.”
“Perhaps,” answered Gor Don, non-commitally. “It may be His will to send us without gifts of fresh meat to your neighbours. My task will then be much more difficult, but the proof that He is the one and only God will show itself in other ways. Meanwhile, if you are hungry I can satisfy your appetite without meat.” He motioned to Thane. The later also realised that here was another chance to increase their prestige. He produced some food tablets of a slightly different texture and shape from those presented for a love potion.
“These morsels of food are each a complete meal. Take one. If you are satisfied, there are more for your men.”
Sceptically, Hamer accepted the offer. He was amazed how soon the pangs of hunger disappeared. He regarded God Don with greater respect. Even the Klaatans, wit their superior knowledge, could not produce magic like this. The thought crossed his mind that he had been foolish to accept and to eat, what could have been poison, had the priest really been some kind of spy. It was too late to worry then though; so he took comfort from the fact that, so far, he continued to feel perfectly well. A few moments late he forgot about his doubts.
“There would be no more hunger in our camp, if you were to stay and feed us, no more need to spend most of our lives hunting for food. Perhaps, we would then have time to learn and improve our way of living, without aid from the Klaatans.” he mused.
“Those are idle dreams, Hamer. Without the need to hunt, your men would grow fat and lazy. Besides, one of the pleasures of life is to enjoy one’s food. You would soon get tired of these tasteless little meals.”
“Maybe you’re right. But, all the same, I wish we were not endangering your life by challenging Hoonin, the Junter’s priest. Your powers are greater than I suspected. They are too useful to my people to have them cut off so soon. Your god seems to be one of peace, rather than war; so he might be defeated in battle. But that does not mean he is less worthy to survive. If you should lose, you will be entirely at Hoonin’s mercy. No one will dare lift a finger to save you from whatever fat he has in store.
“You do not seem to have much faith in me.” laughed Gor Don. “Do not send your men to hunt now. Let us all rest for a while, then proceed without meat. I will feed half their tribe with such meals as I gave you. Then I will challenge Hoonin to do the same for the others. It may well be that I shall win the first round.”
There was a difference in the ground they were covering, soon after they recommenced their journey. Wild life abounded, particularly birds of a heavy wingless variety; but none of it even remotely resembling any creature of Thane’s own time. One hideous specimen reminded him of a giant frog. Indeed, most of them seemed to be of the amphibious type—although, a far as he knew, there was no water near.
An explanation occurred to him. He remembered that, once, there had been marshes t
o the North-East of London. Perhaps, creature seeking refuge deep in the mud had managed to survive the Disaster. As the ground was now much higher, and no longer marshy. Nature had adapted them to exist in their change surroundings. One thing puzzled Thane. As a stranger to the district he risked asking Hamer the question.
“Why is it, with game so scarce in your area, that you do not hunt here?”
“This place is cursed. No tribe hunts here, no matter how starving they are. It is said that an angry god lives here. He shows his rage with loud rumbles under the earth. Some, who have ignored him, have been swallowed alive into the ground. Others have been poisoned by the meat the ate.”
There might be some truth in the tales, Arnot thought. The former marshy nature of the ground might have resulted in an apparently firm crust being formed at the time of the Disaster; while underneath vapours formed caverns which opened up to the unwary. As for the creatures being poisonous, no doubt some varieties were rather inedible—they certainly looked unattractive.
It was long past noon when, having skirted the forbidden area, they came to thickly-forested country.
“Epping Forest,” murmured Dunstable. “We must have walked at least seventeen miles.”
“The Junters have a camp well hidden by those trees. We shall be there in a very short while. They will be expecting us; a message was sent as soon as it was light this morning.”
Arnot wondered how, until he remembered the arrow that had landed in the city. That was impossible, however, unless men were stationed at intervals over the seventeen miles to pass it on. Drums he would have heard. That left some method of visual signalling; only that was also impossible without men stationed along the route. Since he dare not betray his ignorance of tribal customs by asking Hamer, he was inclined to favour his first theory—which raised the point that the Gabblers were more organised and less quarrelsome than he had supposed.
The mystery partly solved itself as they entered Junter’s camp. This was almost identical to Hamer’s. The chief who waited to greet them was almost Hamer’s double.
“Greetings cousin,” he said, as he advanced to meet them.
Dunstable recalled that the old system of kingship had been founded on the superiority of certain families. By inter-marriage they maintained a standard of breeding and changed their political alliances accordingly. Thus, two countries which were at war might suddenly join together against other countries who had formerly been their allies—cementing their friendship with a carefully arranged marriage between their leading families. The arranged marriage between the heads of these two tribes indicated that history might well be repeating itself.
“Has the hunting season been poor, or are your men too weak to bear their bows?” asked Junter, sarcastically, noting the absence of the expected gifts.
“We can afford to ignore your remarks, cousin, having brought with us something much greater. We present our priest, Gor Don. He has the power to feed us when we are hungry. No doubt, he will do the same for your people, if you ask him. However, since he has no wish to usurp the duties of your priest, let him feed half your tribe. Your hunters or women of your tribe.”
An angry Hoonin stepped forward. “This is a trick Gor Don has had time to prepare. Can he bring back dead warriors to life? Breathe fire? Make rain fall …?”
“One thing at a time, Hoonin. You have been challenged to feed half the tribe under the conditions Gor Don has laid down. Let us see him feed his half first.”
Apart from the visitors, most of the tribesmen were now gathered round, eager for entertainment. Junter divided them up into two parties. “You may begin,” he commanded.
Gor Don and his assistant distributed nearly two dozen food capsules to the men of their group. For a moment, success hung in the balance; the men, fearing to be poisoned, hesitated to put them into their mouths. Then a large, bearded warrior laughed and gulped his down.
“He’s crazy. He must think we’re ants. We had better take our bows and hunt for ourselves. We shall get no food from …” He broke off, puzzled. “But I don’t feel hungry any more. I feel as full as if I had eaten all the meat I wanted.
“And I.” “and I.” Came shouts from those who had followed his example.
“You are fed and will not need more until your next meal-time,” said Gor Don.
“It is a trick!” muttered Hoonin, angrily. “Nevertheless, I will do my best to equal it. Give me a few moments.” He hurried of to his hut and began to concoct a mixture of evil-smelling herbs and liquids calculated to destroy the appetite. He decided that this as precisely what Gor Don had done—never, for one moment, believing that anyone could exist on the food capsules. An expert in the art of crude medicine, in a few moments he was able to produce a bowl of liquid. This, he proceeded to pass round his half of the tribe, directing them each to take a sip.
The mixture tasted so horrible that it was only fear of Hoonin that prompted most of them to swallow it, instead of spitting it out. Almost immediately, one or two were violently sick; but those who managed to retain the liquid were quick to announce themselves free of hunger.
That round seemed to be almost a draw. Then Thane suggested that, at the next meal, the two contestants should each feed the opposite half of the tribe—so that everyone could compare the results of the two meals.
After a brief rest, the contest began in earnest. Interspersing his act with wild dances round the camp-fire, and much gibberish, the witch-doctor went into a frenzy of fire-eating and breathing flames, walking on red-hot ashes, and many other tricks that Thane and Dunstable had seen performed for entertainment in their own time. They were tricks which called for a high degree of skill and training that Gor Don could never hope to equal in a few days, let alone a few minutes. Nevertheless, they had expected some such performance and had already prepared a programme of magic which they hoped would appear to surpass each one of Hoonin’s tricks.
At last Hoonin sank, exhausted to the ground. His followers cheered what seemed to be a first-class performance of all the known magic of their age. It was impossible to beat it, they muttered amongst themselves.
As dusk was approaching, the two priests fed their respective parties. It was clear that Gor Don’s meal was the most popular, particularly as those in Hoonin’s earlier party were now feeling extremely hungry, while Gor Don’s felt much the same as usual. It was also clear, however, that no one dared commit themselves, until it had been proved which priest was the more dangerous.
It was Gor Don’s turn.
First, he asked that a heap of dry undergrowth and wood should be made ready for a new camp-fire. Then he directed that water should be poured on the other one to extinguish. Cries of dismay arose, and no one would perform the task until Junter commanded they do so. While Klaatans had their flint and tinder-boxes, the Gabblers still relied upon the primitive method of twirling a stake in a depression in a log of wood, relying on the resulting heat to ignite a few dry shavings. This was so laborious that fires were not usually allowed to completely burn out, new ones being lit with a brand off the old.
Asking both chiefs to satisfy themselves that there was not a spark of fire in either the old or the new fires, Gor Don then stepped forward tot he heap which was ready for the new fire. He made some elaborate passes and changing over it. No one noticed the small incendiary fall from his hand. A few seconds after he retired, a jet of flame shot up ten feet into the air. It soon subsided; but, by that time, the rest of the fire was blazing merrily.
The tribesmen covered their eyes in wonder and fear. They had seen all Hoonin’s tricks before, performed by other priests; but this was new, and like anything unknown, greatly to be feared. Gor Don produced thunder from an explosive hidden by Thane during Hoonin’s act. It was a comparatively simple matter to appear to light the darkest part of the clearing with light issuing from his mouth—a very small torch took care of that.
As it became darker, Gor Don stepped back a little from the fire-light’s glow and exti
nguished the torch. Immediately, his face shone like a disembodied mask from the blackness. A small phial of luminous paint, applied during daylight, was now able to show up. This was a contribution from the Klaatans.
Having allowed the tribesmen to absorb all the terror of seeing him turn into a spirit, Gor Don rounded off his act. He repeated his trick of turning night into day, by firing a capsule unseen into the darkness. This enabled him to appear again as his former self. Immediately, he buried his face in the sleeve of his garment as though too overcome to carry on, but in reality wiping away the phosphorescence. As the light faded, he turned to the chiefs, indicating that he had produced all the miracles he was going show them that day.
“I am confident that you have seen enough on which to base your judgement. If you still doubt that there is only one God, I shall have to produce something more drastic—perhaps, harmful to your people. And, if Hoonin still thinks that stuff he produced is food, let him try living on it for a month. I am quite prepared to exist on my tablets for the same length of time. That way, we shall see which is really food.”
Too many of the tribe had gone in fear of Hoonin for him to be popular. As a result, apart from a few who had enjoyed his special favours, their support was wholeheartedly switched to the new priest. Having lost the contest, Hoonin stood apart, awaiting his fate with a haughty indifference that Arnot and Dunstable could only admire.
“Gor Don, you are now priest to the tribes of Hamer and Junter. We will obey and make sacrifices to your God only. Hoonin shall die in whatever way you command.”
“The Church would not have approved this method of making converts,” thought Dunstable, uneasily.
“My God does not look favourably on needless killing,” he said aloud. “I have defeated Hoonin, and so he is less than nothing in your eyes at this moment. Yet he is still the same person you were praising yesterday. He is a clever man, and our people have need of such men. If Hoonin will forsake the gods who have not proved so great as he thought them, and become a follower of the God who gives me guidance, he may yet have the opportunity to do great things.”
