by R. M. Meluch
“I do not want to hurt you,” Alihahd said. The twitch returned under his eye.
Hall drew a long switch, too green to be kindling, from the firewood pile, and he struck Alihahd across the face with it, raising a red weal on his cheek. Alihahd flinched back in pain and startlement.
“Why not?” Hall said. “You ought to.” He hit him again, “Fight me. This gentle son of a bitch is not who you are.” He lashed him again, and Alihahd cringed under the stinging whip, and edged, doubled over, toward the bed. When he was near enough, he suddenly uncurled and seized up Hall’s gun—Hall had left it by the yellowwood table—and turned it on Hall, threatening. The blows stopped. Something shifted behind the blue eyes, some veil lifted, and there was an insane lucidity upon him, cold, and aware, alive, capable—and reveling in bloodthirst.
“Ah, there he is,” Hall said. “The man I wanted to talk to.”
And he called him by name.
The cold shattered and crumbled. Alihahd threw the gun away from him and screamed, in Na′id, “Illi! Illi!” My God! My God!
Hall dropped the remaining pills in the fire. “Well, hell,” he said.
• • •
Alihahd woke, pushed away the covers. Alive. He was surprised.
He looked aside. Hall was awake, his eyes shut, resting quietly. His fox-head pipe sat on the yellowwood table. Both opal eyes were gone. Morning light lined the hide cover of the cave that was still warm and stuffy.
Alihahd cleared the phlegm from his throat, brushed fine salt from his eyelids, let go a sigh.
Hall gave him a tap that was a demand for comment.
Alihahd recited, “For I am a shining being who lives in light, who has been created from the limbs of God.” A silence followed, then a derisive sound in his throat.
“Is that Na′id scripture?” Hall asked.
“Yes. How glorious humankind.” Alihahd sat up. “Might I have something to wear?”
“Yeah,” Hall said, reached over to a drawer, pulled out some things, and let them drop on Alihahd.
Alihahd rose unsteadily to his feet and dressed. He touched the welts on his face. “You bastard.”
Hall gave a one-shoulder shrug.
Alihahd walked to the door, faced back. Hall lazed in the bed, not ready to stir yet. Alihahd said, “It would have been easier, Mr. Hall, if you had killed me. Then I would not be wondering what I am to do next.”
Hall waved his hand idly. “And put you out of your misery? What kind of avenger would I be then?”
Alihahd stepped outside to the bracing cold air that stung his sensitized skin and turned his breath to crystalline clouds.
He went to his own cave to wash, then to Serra’s for tea. Serra put something herbal on his welts. She didn’t ask where he’d gotten them. Alihahd had never seen any marks on Serra, but he’d seen bruises on Hall. Serra threw things.
Alihahd held the hot cup between his hands and let the steam unclog his nose. He felt soggy, like the muddy gray mass that was left after pouring water on a bonfire. At the same time he felt light, as if part of him had burned away, no longer weighing him down or giving off choking smoke and sparks.
He went to the door and gazed out, leaning forward with his left hand on the doorjamb, his arm straight, his weight off his bad leg. The tea warmed. The cold air revived. He took no long views, taking each instant as it came, looking no farther than his nose. That was the safe way to go. His furies had broken their leashes and attacked with all their merciless savagery. Now they sat in a corner, all snarled out, doing no more than glare at him, snuffling, not biting.
He hadn’t changed his spots. He guessed he might as well claim them like bastard children.
After all, they are my spots.
An outcry of eagles drew him out of the cave. Others of the Aerie, ranga and warrior-priests, came out to the ledges and terraces to look at the sky. A roar on the horizon followed the flight of four low-flying starships, colored electric blue and vivid red, making a low recon pass over the valley.
The next pass would bring them directly over the Aerie.
Hall came out to the ledge and lifted his beam weapon. He took aim along the predicted flight path and waited.
The four ships returned, blazing their twin symbols of Galactic Dominion/Human Supremacy. As they pulled up over the mountain they showed their designations: X99, X37, and X24. Alihahd couldn’t see the fourth one but knew it was X48. He reached over and rested his hand on Hall’s stabilizer. “Those are mine,” he said. Then he clarified. “Alihahd’s. I never thought they would come looking here.”
“Thou must have been a great leader.” The voice was Jinin-Ben-Tairre’s. There was a question in his tone, and tentative respect for someone who just might be his better—for all his sins and weaknesses—and an unspoken Shall I follow thee?
Another admirer, one who had seen black depths and the darkest side of his own nature, this one, of all of them, knew what he was admiring. That kind could not be shaken. The rest of them worshipped a graven image.
“Some people were under that impression,” Alihahd said.
He turned away and went back inside Serra’s cave. Hall leaned in the doorway behind him, his arms crossed. “Well, Captain, since you are alive, what are you going to do next?”
Alihahd picked up his cup where he’d left it. “I am going to finish my tea.”
PART FIVE:
Jerusalem Fire
18. Return of a Legend
THE FOUR STARSHIPS X99, X37, X24, and X48 came to rest far from the Aerie on a high narrow plateau wedged between a mountain and the River Ocean. They were Alihahd’s ships. They’d found him.
But it hadn’t been rebels who’d sighted Alihahd at Omonia Station. Na′id had seen him there. It should have been Na′id who came looking here. Alihahd couldn’t be sure that these weren’t Na′id. There was nothing to say that the four starships hadn’t changed hands in the past year. Alihahd needed to identify the ships’ personnel before going to them. Jinin-Ben-Tairre sent his familiar ahead to the plateau where the ships had landed and their crews had camped. The kestrel returned screaming.
“The bird sayeth they are Na′id,” Ben told Alihahd.
Alihahd absorbed the news with little expression. “Even if they are mine, they are supposed to look like Na′id,” he said.
“The bird is not bright,” Ben conceded.
The bird squawked.
The only thing to do then was for Alihahd to go and see for himself.
On the far side of the mountain from the starships’ encampment lay an Itiri village. Jinin-Ben-Tairre transported Alihahd there aboard a primitive airplane. The antique would be beneath the notice of a starship’s scanners. Layla, Harrison Hall, and Vaslav came with him.
They stepped out of the plane within sight of the Itiri village. Its low white buildings, washed golden in the light of the morning sun, were clustered closely along stepped streets, their rooftops mostly flat as they would be in a place where it rarely rained.
“It looks like Jerusalem,” Alihahd murmured.
Vaslav spoke at his side, impressed and intrigued. “You’ve seen Jerusalem?”
Alihahd took a breath. “I saw it.”
“Before or after the Fall?” Vaslav asked.
“Both.”
The boy paused, then proceeded cautiously, “You saw it twice?”
“No. Once.”
Vaslav was in awe.
Alihahd spread his hands, conjuring a picture, his gaze far off. “This is like the Old City. The new city goes on and on over the hills. The slopes were choked with gray limestone blocks of apartment buildings, office skyscrapers, synagogues, churches, mosques, everything of all eras. The Old City was the part the Bel wanted untouched. The rest was expendable, if need be . . . they didn’t know that. . . . She burned. All night.” He stiffened with
an involuntary shudder. “Men and women killing men, women, and children . . . they would not stop. . . .
“There were three armies. The 27th, the 9th, and the 34th.” He pointed at the horizons around the village. “The 9th and the 34th had been there for years. The 27th was there to end it. . . .”
Vaslav whispered, “Where was Shad Iliya?”
“Mount of Olives,” Alihahd said. “Small for a mountain. No olives. Many graves.”
And he described the battle in detail, every tactic. It was a long tale, but no one interrupted. They didn’t notice the time passing. Alihahd continued, chillingly photographic, detached and impassioned at once, to the end.
His wide, gaunt shoulders slumped, and he broke from his near-trance. “Jews are the most tenacious people in the known universe,” he said tiredly. “You can burn, flay, trample, enslave, outlaw, boil, and eat them, and they remain Jews. They bewilder and humble me.
“And Arabs. They died in droves and still they came—the ones who did not turn and run at the first shot. Those who stayed were the ones who died all night long. They would not surrender.”
Vaslav was trying to pinpoint what was odd about Alihahd’s account. For the most part it had been a cold, harrowingly factual replay of events. But what was wrong?
“I thought you said you never fought Na′id,” Vaslav said.
“I did not,” Alihahd agreed.
He hadn’t said what he had done in the battle, Vaslav realized. But obviously the man had been there, in the middle of it.
And then Vaslav knew what was wrong with the story. It was the point of view—where he must have been to have seen the battle that way.
Mount of Olives.
• • •
Alihahd prepared for his hike down the mountain. He would approach the ships’ camp on foot. Before he would make his presence known, he needed to know who was looking for him. Layla, Hall, and Vaslav all insisted on accompanying him. They wouldn’t be left behind on Iry. Jinin-Ben-Tairre told the humans, “I shall wait here for three days. Then you are in the hands of your own kind.”
But which kind are they? Alihahd thought.
His gaze locked briefly with Ben-Tairre’s. Then the warrior lowered his eyes to his own rag-tied feet. A soft black forelock fell across Ben’s brow, and Alihahd thought he suddenly looked very human. Alihahd felt he ought to do something, say something.
We have the same soul, you and I. The blood-soaked wretched of this war. But neither of them was the demonstrative breed. They let each other go without a word or gesture to say there was ever any bond between them.
Alihahd, Harrison Hall, Layla, and Vaslav started out. It was to be a steep and brambly trek down. After the dry air of the mountains, the moist lush forest of the windward slope was unbearable to them. They needed to be on guard against a whole different set of hazards in this lower country.
They hadn’t gone far when Layla cried out, “Sail snake!” And she pointed up.
Hall grabbed Vaslav and pulled him down. Alihahd and Layla dropped. The four of them crouched into the underbrush as a long, undulating, leaf-green reptilian body glided through the treetops.
The snake passed by without noticing them. The humans stayed in hiding until the inevitable mate appeared and passed over as well.
Complete thine journey before nightfall, Alihahd had been advised. Sail snakes see heat. In the dark, thou wilt not see them. Thou art too big to eat, but it may strike before it realizes thine size.
Alihahd stood up. This would prove to be a very long walk.
“Why did they land the ships down there anyway?” Hall said, grumbling. The interior was much cooler and drier.
“Must be my people,” Alihahd said and pushed his way ahead through a thicket of willowy saplings. “Na′id plan better.”
Alihahd lost his bearings. How long has it been since I’ve had to deal with a tree? His clothes were tough but breathable—sturdy trousers and a dolman-sleeved shirt with its drawstring waist and cuffs loosely tied—but still they stuck to him. The moisture that slicked his skin had nowhere to go.
A leafy branch slapped his face. He pushed it away and tried to find the sun through the verdant screen all around him. Which way?
Down. That much he knew, anyway.
He’d become separated from the others and was about to call out, when he heard shooting—fire and return fire—more than three.
He bounded through the underbrush with clumping leaps, favoring his right foot. He broke into a clearing—
—and came face-to-face with a Na′id lieutenant.
• • •
Alihahd and the Na′id officer pointed guns at each other and did not shoot.
The dark young lieutenant gaped and slowly shook his head in disbelief and denial.
Alihahd knew what that look meant, and he felt sick.
The Na′id’s expression hardened, and he took aim. Alihahd didn’t move, only stared up the barrel in helpless horror.
There was a shot.
The Na′id fell forward. The back of his blue uniform shirt purpled with blood. Behind him in the woods stood Harrison White Fox Hall.
Hall tramped out of the underbrush and came to Alihahd.
Alihahd swayed on his feet, leaned toward Hail, who grabbed him and steadied Alihahd against him.
Alihahd pushed away, staggered to the body, and fell to his knees. He turned the youth over, brushed black hair off the paled face and out of the open black eyes. He touched the chest that was warm but unmoving.
“Know him?” Hall asked.
Alihahd shook his head. He knew me.
Hall lifted Alihahd bodily, and Alihahd didn’t resist the help this time. He stumbled away from the site, holding on to Hall. Alihahd didn’t talk. Couldn’t.
In the forest, Vaslav was yelling for them. Harrison Hall sang out, then crouched down in the ferns, taking Alihahd with him, eyes darting cautiously, gun ready for whoever might answer.
A small, bewildered voice sounded at Hall’s side. “Did I shoot?”
“No. I did.”
“Didn’t think I had,” Alihahd mumbled. But he hadn’t been certain. He only knew that he’d been facing the young man with his gun. He couldn’t remember shooting, but there had been a shot and it was the Na′id, not Alihahd, whose eyes glassed over and who fell facedown in the brush.
Vaslav came crashing out from the trees into the clearing and tripped over the Na′id body. He danced back and called shrilly, “Captain! Harry? Layla?”
Hall hissed, and Vaslav scrambled back to the cover of the wood. He saw Alihahd curled under Hall’s arm. “Are you hurt?” Vaslav asked.
Alihahd spoke weakly. “No.” Then stronger, “No.” He shook himself free of Hall and stood on his own feet. “Where is Layla?”
“Here.” Layla came to them quietly as a forest shadow.
“Let us go, then,” Alihahd said. “Fast now.”
They moved quickly to put distance between themselves and the clearing.
When they paused for breath, Alihahd sat down, his heart pulsing in his wounded leg. He pulled Hall down to him by the arm so he could talk quietly. “How many did you kill?” He hadn’t counted the shots.
“I bagged five,” Hall said.
Alihahd didn’t like that number. “Vaslav?”
“None,” Vaslav said.
“Layla?”
“One.”
Alihahd relaxed a measure. Six was a good number. “That was probably the whole patrol. We might have an hour before someone becomes alarmed at their failure to report.”
Someone. The Na′id base camp couldn’t be far.
“Shall we turn back?” Hall said.
Alihahd bowed his head, chin on his chest. If those four ships were manned by Na′id, where were Alihahd’s rebels? All two thousand of them. Aliha
hd lifted his head, level and grim. “You go back. I need to see.”
“I can’t let you go alone,” Hall said.
“I do not need a nursemaid,” Alihahd said.
“Yes, you do.”
From the mountain—in the direction of the clearing they’d fled—came fighting snarls and yelps and growls. Those would be wolf-hyenas at the bodies of the six Na′id patrollers.
“Yes, I do,” Alihahd said, standing. “Shall we get this done?”
The sun was already overhead. They would need to push to reach the coast and get back by nightfall to the place where Ben-Tairre waited.
Alihahd’s leg was failing him. He fell into a melancholy brooding as he limped.
“They all come home to roost,” he murmured. “It cannot be coincidence. Chance is not so vindictive. Must not Someone be directing events?”
Harrison Hall snorted. “It only looks like someone is in control of this show. When you think of all the trillions of coincidences that don’t happen, you see how random it all is. Odds are that some coincidences will happen—by chance—even if the odds against any single specific coincidence are a billion to one. It would be odd if there were no coincidences. That would be evidence of intervention. As it is, I see none. You’re on your own, Captain.”
“You’re a cynic, Mr. Hall.”
“A realistic one. You think too much.”
“Only when I’m sober,” Alihahd said dryly.
• • •
The four spaceships rested on a level area cleared of trees by a fire. The carpet of yellow grass was underlaid by black dust and coal. Charred skeletons of once-tall trees spiked the plain at intervals.
Alihahd, Hall, Layla, and Vaslav stole up to the perimeter of the wide burned clearing and hid behind a mossy boulder at the very edge of the forest. Alihahd peered out cautiously.
Among the ships wandered men and women biding their time in the sweltering heat. Their sweat-patched Na′id uniforms were fleet red, not the army blue of the Na′id patrol Hall and Layla had killed.
