Inside the rather dimly lit room there were several women working at desks and file cases, and a score of others seated on benches about the walls. The women at the desks were the first elderly women wearing the regalia of the priestesses of Myrmi-Atla that Gan had seen. These, in a Terran civilization, would have been women of sixty or sixty-five. Here, Gan had no idea of their ages.
In the center of the low-ceilinged place was a rough wooden dais and high-backed chair on, which sat a woman Gan would have recognized as the leader without a nudge from Aphele. The high dome of white brow, the weary-wise eyes, the strong mouth and chin, the proud look of her—Gan moved forward with Aphele and knelt on one knee, as did his mentor.
The woman, showing her great age in a mass of wrinkles, but otherwise appearing to be very strong and able, inclined her head, studying them with her face bearing a slight smile. Her voice was high-pitched, but full; a firm and even musical voice.
“Aphele, you have led one of the enemy here?” Her voice was gently chiding. “Can you justify the indiscretion?”
APHELE stood, thrust her high bosom out, and lifted one hand in a gesture of complete confidence.
“The conqueror, Tor Branthak of Konapar, seeks the secret. He hired this pirate captain to obtain it for him without his followers’ knowing. Since of course he could unearth no secret, Tor Branthak has ordered the torture of the Supreme Matriarch until she tells. This man rescued our first Celys from her peril, brought her to me, came with us of his own free will. The rest is up to you and our council. I will have more to say in council and you already know my opinions on the matter of secrecy.”
The old leader smiled and nodded. “We all know your opinions, Aphele, and none will accuse you of secrecy about them. You shout them out at every opportunity. So, he is not a captive nor yet a hostage, but merely a curious gentleman who wants to see for himself how we stay alive?”
Aphele did not answer, but stepped back one pace with smart military bearing, standing very erect and still. This left Gan facing the old leader of the Amazons alone, and a little sweat broke out on his brow as the thought came to him that he was facing a person whose mind had been pitted against all men for some five centuries—and had won. Gan kept his eyes on hers unwaveringly, his face quite empty of expression, but he could not control the nerves of his hands, which kept opening and closing as if to grasp some material thing to aid him in this predicament.
The voice of the old woman took on a deeper note, a rasping, critical, angry tone of disapproval.
“Do you realize that these groves of Avalaon have not been violated by man’s presence for near a thousand years? And now you come blundering in where the last strength of the female lords of Phira licks its wounds, expecting mercy and benevolence and perhaps romance from our so-pretty warrior maids? You are a bigger fool than the woman who brought you!”
An angry exhalation from the two-score female breasts in the room emphasized her words. It was a long, deep sigh, a kind of “aye”, and it meant unanimous agreement with her. Gan, startled, let his glance sweep the room, where more and more of the women were clustering, as the curious took note of the strange meeting. Peeping between the red-uniformed legs of the guard at the door were a score of naked young nymphs, their mouths round with astonishment and fascination. Gan felt more out of place and off balance than he had ever been in his life. He opened his mouth to speak and found himself only able to croak, “Er…ah…” in a dismal sound like a sick frog.
The old woman relaxed suddenly, her hands dropping from their grip on the chair’s rough wood arms, and leaned back. Then her voice became humorous. Sarcastically she mimicked him: “The man says, ‘er…ah…’ If that is not profound wisdom, indeed! Can you summon no defense, can you think of no good reason why our privacy and isolation should be destroyed by you? Off with you, then, while we take thought of your fate.”
Then Gan found his voice, and all of it came boiling up; the many little insults and derogation’s these women had handed him since he set foot on Phira became a torrent of resentment, and he let out a great bellow such as had made his crew run rather than face him.
“Now listen to me. I’ve been insulted and chivvied about and made to feel foolish ever since I first met the so-holy priestesses of your All-Mother. I took it like a man, and was courteous and kind and tried my best to protect them from the soldiers of Konapar, and wasn’t even thanked by one of you until I met Aphele. I saved your precious Celys from torture the first day on this planet, and had it put off from day to day until I contrived her escape. I have been the good friend of you high-nosed females at the risk of my own precious neck, and now you laugh at me. I am beginning to think the men who say that woman’s place is in the hearth, kitchen and bedroom are right. It’s a new idea to me, because I’ve always observed women’s low estate on many barbarous planets with great pity. However, perhaps it is the nature of a woman to abuse power even more than men. It seems you enjoy the idea of having the whiphand over a male.”
HIS ROARING voice, bringing with it the vast sense of space and the adventurous, roving life he had led, huge and strong and filled with masculine power and anger, filled with righteousness and indignation and contempt of the petty intentions of these women to shoot their barbed arrows of scorn into him, expressing the rage at his treatment, did far more for him than any argument in words. When his voice ceased, there was a silence as if a god had spoken, and from each female breast there came a sigh, of longing at last realized, a desire at last gratified—to hear a male voice raised in the forest aisles of Avalaon.
The old leader’s eyes glittered like diamonds in her face as she looked about at the bemused countenances of the men-starved women about her, each rapt as if still hearing the great male sound of Gan Alain roaring his rage. Whether they were glittered with tears or with an evil anger, Gan could not tell. She said nothing in reply, but only waved a hand to Aphele, who tugged at Gan’s sleeve of worn gold leather and led him out into the bright, clean air where the piney scent of the forest breathed silence and peace.
“You,” murmured Aphele, her eyes glowing, “are a man after my heart. You really gave it to her and the rest of them. They are too long in the saddle to understand that the worlds were not exactly made just for the purpose of organizing women into trampling upon all men. Ah, it was worth the long ride to hear it!”
They had been walking now alone through the trees, and Aphele stopped him. “Now give me a good hard hug and a kiss, as if I were some sweet damsel you knew when you were young enough to think of nothing but kissing girls…”
Gan was not taken unawares by her request, but still he hesitated. Then he remembered how it used to be, when he was a boy walking in the evening with his chosen, how sweet a kiss could be—and he seized her and held her close, bent back her fair face and kissed her heartily. It was sweet, bittersweet, full of memories of other loves, and none of them quite measuring up to Aphele’s deep, hungry eyes, nor her strange mouth, so sweet and hungry, yet so sorrowful.
Her smile after the kiss was not the twisted smile she usually gave him, but a full and grateful thanks. Her voice was husky and low as she said: “Oh, it is good, even as it used to be when I believed in love and life and men. You are a man such as I have always longed for but never did quite believe existed. I put a spell upon you, Gan Alain—may you never forget the lips of Aphele, no matter the years or the space between us.”
A low and scornful voice behind them made them both whirl, and standing there was Celys, saying: “Not long ago you were making love to me—Celys! Now you are embracing Aphele. What is a woman to think?”
Gan was angry. He gave a short, hard laugh. “Not long ago I did not know you were grandmother to a grown woman, Celys. May I meet the other Supreme Matriarchs?”
Celys flushed angrily, and her hand pointed suddenly at Aphele, her fist clenching tight. “You told him, you ancient thing, to get him for yourself! You know there’s not a male like him on all Phira, and I have had his
declaration first. I’ll get even with you, Aphele! Wait.”
Gan stood, somewhat dismayed at her display, and feeling that this was none of his argument. But Aphele needed no help.
“You made him unhappy with your disregard. Now you claim him, after he gives his kiss to me. There was no reason to think you ever wanted the man. I have not claimed him, I only kissed him. Terrans believe in freedom, not chains; and if I know him, he will prefer my freedom to your dominance, my dear superior.”
“That could well be, Celys,” growled Gan, seeing now what Aphele had been telling him all along—these women thought they must dominate all things.
Aphele sensed his thought. “They would brand men like horses, Gan, and sometimes do.” She went on, coloring as her circulation caught up with her anger. “They think marriage is a thing for a man to wear like a dog collar around his neck, instead of a glorious partnership and a joyous one.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
GAN’S FIRST day in Avalaon drew to a close, and Aphele led him to an empty cabin beneath the trees, lit a fire in the rude stone fireplace, left him to his own devices. Almost exhausted, Gan drew off his boots, pulled a fur over himself and went to sleep on the rustic bunk built into the wall.
Some hours later he was awakened by the sound of giggling and soft footsteps. He sat up to find himself surrounded by the naked young girls who had at first shown such horror at his presence. They stood in a circle about his bunk, ranging from tiny tots to girls in their teens, peering at him in the dim firelight and discussing his appearance in excited whispers. One of them, older and bolder than the rest, stepped up.
“You are the first man we ever saw, and we want to apologize for our discourtesy this afternoon.”
Gan grunted, slightly irritated to be the cynosure of so many eyes, and awakened thus for mere curiosity, and slightly embarrassed as his eyes roved over the slim but womanly body of the one who had addressed him. Then he realized that hers was source of information not so likely to be close-mouthed as the older women.
“You children are apt to get yourself into trouble if you’re caught here, to say nothing of me. But now that you’re here, I’ll give you a few minutes. Ask me any questions you want, and I’ll answer, provided you answer some of mine in return.”
The lovely heads nodded soberly, like angels gathered about a bier; and Gan wondered if that weren’t pretty close to the truth. One asked: “You’re from the Terran worlds, where men and women are equal. It must be fun to live that way, with boys and girls together.”
“It is fun,” answered Gan. “They don’t run about exactly as you do, but they play together, and they are very happy. Tell me, don’t you ever see boys at all?”
“Never, not until mating time. That’s every two years, in the Fall, when the grown women chose a mate for three months. We see some of the boys then, but we daren’t play with them or talk with them.” There was a wistful note in the girl’s voice as she stood there unabashed. “It seems wrong…”
“It is wrong,” said Gan. “The whole idea is wrong, to my way of thinking. Men and women are happier when they live together.”
“The old women are strict and mean and never let us have any real fun. What’s the fun of being young if you never see a boy?”
Gan’s heart went out to her suddenly. Here was one girl who really needed her first kiss. All at once he felt that if it was the last thing he did on this planet, or any other, he would smash this Matriarchy and set this one, and the others like her, free to enjoy the fruits she so desperately needed.
“Where do they keep all the men on Phira, anyway? I have seen very few since I’ve been here.”
“They keep them in a place like this on the other side of the planet, except the ones who work as servants in the homes of the officials and tradespeople. It is a place called Manoa. There all young boys are taken and must stay until they grow up.”
Gan growled. “A completely unnatural arrangement, contrary to nature. No wonder your elders grow to be psychotic. So there are only servants in the dwellings in the cities? No man-and-wife teams running the homes?”
“Oh, some break the rules and keep their men at home; but they have to keep pretty well under cover and not be seen often. According to the law, mating season lasts but three months, and then the man must go back to Manoa.”
“Servants and studs,” growled Gan angrily, looking over the serious young faces gathered close about his bed. “A sad thing you have made of men on Phira, eh?”
“It is not us,” they chorused. “We think it is a sad thing, too. But the old laws and customs are so rigid, how could they be changed?”
GAN’S EYES widened. There were more “rebels” in the Matriarch camp than perhaps even the Matriarchy realized. “On Terran worlds,” said Gan, “in the olden times, they would have elected a new government, new officials, passed new laws to suit themselves. Nowadays, since the Empire has been established, this is not so easy. But it is still done. Do you know what an election is?”
“No, we don’t.”
“Well.” Gan looked at them sharply, “it’s very simple. It means that you select a number of persons whom you’d like to govern you, then you vote among yourselves. The winner, the one with the most votes, becomes your ruler and she then rules you according to your group desires. That way you have laws that you like, and obey willingly.”
A low whistle from outside sent the girls scurrying through the door, and in an instant the cabin was as empty as before. None too soon, for the sound of boots came up a pathway, and the door was flung open. A light flashed inside, an older woman’s voice asked: “Is everything all right, Terran? I thought I saw movement about the cabin.”
“Everything’s all right,” growled Gan, sleepily. “You woke me up, is all…”
The woman shut the door and went on along her rounds. For a few minutes Gan lay idly wondering, and was dropping off to sleep again when the door was opened stealthily and a slight figure came in clumsily, bearing several chunks of wood. These she put on the fire, then came to his bedside. Her whisper was husky. “We thought you might be chilly, you being from another world.”
Gan looked at her, slender and beautiful as hand-rubbed marble, her dark eyes two question marks of youthful innocence in the firelight. She stood there unabashed, and after a few seconds crept closer until her body touched Gan’s hand where it lay along the side of the bunk.
“Tell me more,” she whispered. “Tell me about men. We talk and talk among ourselves, but we really know so little, and it’s all so confusing.”
Gan bunched up his surcoat, which he had balled under his head for a pillow, so that his eyes were near level with hers.
“More talk from me would do you little good, girl. Your problem is one that plagues all youth, and nothing but time and experience will cure your ailment.”
“Then show me,” she begged, her lips pouting prettily. “Just show me what a kiss is like, and what love might be when I grow old enough to mate.”
GAN GASPED, but the sweet young eyes begging of him what he was not unwilling to give were too much. He reached out and tugged her angelic young face close and touched his lips to hers, or meant to. But she pressed forward, clasped him tight, and her lips were burning hot on his, her young body shivering with delight under his hands. Abruptly he pushed her back and she stood with hands clasped together, her breath panting in rapture, her eyes dewed with wonder.
“So that is a kiss! It’s wonderful. Love must be wonderful…”
Gan decided to stick strictly to words from here on, and pulled up his furs close about him.
“Yes, love can be wonderful, girl, when it comes to you. And if the rule of the Matriarchy can be broken, you’ll have a chance to find it, which you have precious little as things stand. It is the lack of a solution to your problem, which has embittered the old women about you. If I have my way…”
“I can help you,” she whispered, her eyes glowing. “They mean to kill you, soon. First the
y will have a meeting, and pretend it is all legal and right. But they will decide you must die, as all men must die who find their way here, so that the sanctuary will stay hidden from men.”
Gan scowled and whispered: “I had guessed as much when I first set eyes upon the old shrew whom you call Mother. But what puzzles me, is what can I do about it now? There is no way of escape open to me.”
“There is a way. If you accept one of the warrior maids in marriage. The law is so worded that they cannot kill a mate. They can beat you, but not kill.”
Gan smiled grimly. “I doubt if they will allow me time or opportunity for that.”
“I could hide you,” the girl went on in an earnest whisper. “I know this forest well, and there are places where they would not find you easily. It would take many days, and we could keep on fleeing, on and on…”
“What would happen to you, sweet one, if we were caught?”
She hung her head. “If they did not sentence me to death, they would banish me to the desert, which is almost as certain.”
Gan shook his head. “I’m afraid I will have to use my own devices, little angel. Go now, and don’t worry about me. My own gods will care for me where your All-Mother will not. I will be safe. Go.”
The girl went hesitantly, pausing to peer back at him in the flickering firelight, lovely in her pity and concern and her innocent nudity, so that Gan’s heart went out to her as his own daughter. Then she closed the door and was gone.
Gan flicked the switch on the radio device upon his belt. He knew that, on his ship, Chan DuChaile would be waiting, tubes set for super-sensitivity, and would not miss a whisper.
“Listen, Chan; try to get the ship aloft unobserved, and then home on this wave until it’s beneath you. Then wait. When I shut off the wave, come down with your guns peeled for trouble.”
Gan repeated the message a half-dozen times, at intervals of fifteen minutes. Then he drifted off to sleep much easier in his mind.
Empire of Women & One of our Cities is Missing (Armchair Fiction Double Novels Book 25) Page 7
