The Gods of War

by Christopher Stasheff

  But at least Amaterasu was no longer laughing.

  ATTACK

  The creature came out of nowhere, even as the image of wreckage and fiery death faded from the screen hovering over the jungle path. Tek had been enthusiastically approving of the use of technology to overcome numerical inferiority. He was still smiling when it hit.

  It came out of the foliage without a growl or any warning. The creature's claws resembled those of a tiger and they dug painfully into the war god's shoulders as it struck. Even as he fell Tek summoned the latest design in commando knives and stabbed at the half-tiger, half-dragon abomination. He and his attacker were thrown into an area of rubber plants, scattering thick leaves and blood in every direction. Mentor retreated a few steps and then watched with interest.

  The monster was easy to see now. It had the body and head of a small, wingless, oriental dragon and the legs and tail of a tiger. Over ten feet long, it dwarfed the current form of the young god as it tried to drag him into its massive jaws.

  Tek changed one hand into a powerful waldo and forced the creature's head away. It breathed flame, but before the gouts of orange reached the bleeding war god a sheet of the latest ablative tiles interposed itself. Then Tek struck back, summoning a forty-five auto and pressing the gun into the scaled chest as he fired. Bullets whined and tore through the plants as they ricocheted off the suddenly thickening scales on the dragon's chest. But the force of the weapon's blast threw the two combatants apart.

  Breathing hard, Tek took stock. His left arm was badly torn at the shoulder. Below that he had been slashed by the monster's rear legs until bone showed on the front of one leg. The first wave of pain penetrated and the godling wavered and nearly fell. His face twisted with agony and Tek recalled that painful crash into the Sinai. Instantly he summoned and injected a vial of RPR 45. The drug had been developed for the US special forces, but ruled too dangerous to use. Every volunteer who had tested it had sustained major or mortal injuries during the trial. This top secret anti-pain formula took only seconds to act. Responding to the activity level of the nerves themselves, anywhere the damage was too painful, it dampened all electrical output. Tek found he was numb almost everywhere but his hands and head.

  The Dragon-Tiger circled, looking for a chance to jump the young god. Twice it lashed out, but Tek avoided the blows. Then, almost as an afterthought, the god summoned his own dragon. The whop of the helicopter's blades met the half dragon's roar when it perceived this new foe. The roar ended with the deceptively soothing tone of the gunship's twin gatlings firing six hundred rounds per minute into the creature. The heavy caliber rounds tore the monster apart. Within seconds nothing remained but scraps and a wide gout cut by the massive firepower into the forest behind where it had stood.

  Tek almost waved his thanks before dissolving the helicopter. He then turned toward Mentor and managed a weak smile.

  "Someone's upset," he managed before collapsing at the teacher's feet. You can't kill a god, but especially on the ethereal plane, you sure can hurt one.

  Tek revived to a soothing cool touch on his forehead. It took a moment to realize he no longer hurt. How long had it been? Why did this concern him?

  It was a struggle to open his eyes, but the reward made the effort worthwhile. A few inches from his face was that of Kwan Yin, wearing a most concerned expression. When she saw he was awake, she smiled.

  It took Tek some time to find his voice. Finally he settled for looking confused.

  Kwan Yin had been treating injured warriors for several millennia and understood his confusion.

  "You were badly hurt," she explained. "Too badly to will yourself to heal or into another form. I noticed you when this imposter of a teacher," she gestured toward Mentor who sat nearby, "began spreading tales about me."

  Tek noticed that he was back in his bunker.

  "The other gods: have they left?" he asked Mentor. There had been over a dozen gods in the area when he had entered that jungle path. The one who had fled would be the culprit that sent that creature.

  "All are still here and more have heard and arrive every few minutes," Mentor answered almost happily. "Seems it's been quiet lately, and you are the most exciting thing happening anywhere on the plane."

  Tek grunted. He didn't feel very exciting. What he wanted was to pay more attention to the ravishingly beautiful goddess at his side. He tried to sit up, and a wave of dizziness and nausea rose inside him. Tek fell back and could feel a new dampness on his forehead.

  "Too soon." Even Kwan Yin's voice was soothing. "Rest and in a short time you will be restored." She began to croon softly and Tek found it hard to stay awake.

  "No!" the war god protested with more conviction than he felt. He would not have this woman think him a weakling.

  "Very well," Kwan Yin acceded. "If you will remain still, I'll show you a more accurate picture of war. The one I see."

  Within seconds the television appeared and with a gesture Kwan Yin began her tale.

  ORDER IN HEAVEN

  by Jody Lynn Nye

  Szih Mei was hardly aware of the cold of winter while she knelt in the sheltered warmth of the temple. The brightly painted ceramic images of Buddha in his many aspects stared benevolently down upon her through their wreaths of incense smoke. There was an air of peace, if not quiet, since the hum of the monks' chanting provided a constant undercurrent of sound. She sat before the image of the bodhisatva goddess Kwan Yin with a handful of incense sticks and a photograph of her young son clutched between her palms.

  She put away thoughts of the day as she knelt before the shrine. The gods didn't need to hear her worries, nor to have her waste their time with unimportant entreaties. Incense sticks, their tips orange, burned in the sand-filled urn on the floor before her, and in the fragrant bundle between her hands. She dipped her face into the smoke, and let her prayers float on high with it. The year was growing old. Soon would come the new year, and with it, she hoped, better things.

  "I am so grateful for Your intercession, benevolent one," Mei said over and over again. "The doctors did not want to tell me I could never bear another child to term, but with Your aid, he is safely born. It is not that I am ungrateful for my daughter, but my husband has been longing for a son. Do You see how fat he is growing? And how strong! His legs are so strong he thinks to stand already, forcing his little heels against the ground! I will bring him when the season grows warmer, and there are fewer soldiers around. You will say that he looks like my uncle Szih Sun. I think he will be handsome."

  She heard the gentle sound of a chuckle to her left. Mei started. When she had arrived, she hadn't noticed anyone else, but in her haste to make her devotions and get back to work at her parents' shop, she might not nave noticed the nine sons of the dragon if they had been standing in a row.

  She glanced sidelong and caught the eye of another woman who seated not far from her amidst the incense smoke. The woman was smiling indulgently at her, but without disrespect. No doubt she had heard Mei's one-sided conversation, and found it charmingly childlike. Mei smiled shyly back. The woman dipped her coiffed head gracefully, and rose from the woven mat spread before the image of Buddha and swept over to where Mei was sitting. Her long embroidered silk robe whispered coolly over the woven floormats. It was an expensive gown, shining white as if it was completely new—incredible in these hard times—bordered with a thick frieze of flowers done with delicate skill, and bound around the woman's slender middle with a shimmering, green silk tie, catching long-stemmed flowers against her body to make the whole outfit seem an out-of-season bouquet. Mei realized that her own carefully preserved robe was far more shabby, and that a fold of it had fallen open to reveal the edge of soiled, dark blue trousers and jacket, her working clothes. Probably this stranger was a sophisticated woman, who paid visits to the temple out of duty. What she was doing still in Nanking with a Japanese threat of invasion imminent, Mei could not guess.

  "He is handsome," the lady said, bowing like a willow
dipping in the wind to pick up the little black-and-white photograph. Bestowing another kindly smile upon Mei, she returned the snapshot. The woman vanished around the carved screens which shielded the room from the blasts of winter cold that whistled in through the doors from Nanking 's streets.

  Mei sat for a few more minutes with the incense sticks warming her face. It probably did seem atavistic and backward for a modern woman to be sitting before the images of gods, asking for favors and comfort. Times had altered since her grandmother's day. It was no longer clear where to go for guidance. Government in China had changed a dozen times in the last forty years, and now the two principal powers, the Kuomimtang, based in her own city of Nanking, and the Chinese Communist Party, threatened to tear apart the country while jackals such as Japan, Britain, and the United States waited outside the boundaries waiting for the carrion. Japan was not even troubling to wait. It had invaded Shanghai months ago, and cut off its contact with the rest of the Chinese world. Mei was an educated woman, but she was terrified of the forces she could neither see nor control, and had no faith in either of the parties to protect her from them. Although there was supposedly an alliance between the GMD and the CCP, each guarded jealously its territory and doctrines. If one turned to religion, despised so by the Communists and only tolerated by General Chiang's centrists, could any thinking person be surprised? There was order in Heaven, at least.

  Two monks in saffron appeared and replenished the incense sticks burning before the great statue of Buddha. One spun the prayer wheels with the heel of his hand and glanced at Mei. Suddenly aware of how long she had remained, Mei rose hastily and left through the temple's second door. She made her way quickly back through the cold streets to her parents' cookshop.

  When she arrived, her father was arguing with an old customer. He glanced up at her long enough to gesture impatience, and went back to the discussion. What with having had to return to her own home to feed the baby and the visit to the temple, Mei had been gone a long time. Silently, she put away the silk robes in her parents' living quarters and came out to the front with an apron tied over her shabby clothes. The big, bakelite radio on the counter blared European jazz music, interspersed with brief news reports from the announcer.

  "Wuxi has fallen, a week ago now," her mother informed her, laconically, pushing rice around a vast wok with a spatula. "Blessings upon General Chiang for insuring that we will be safe here."

  "Blockhouses and garrisons are not a guarantee of victory against an attacker," her father shouted. "Especially not against those Japanese capitalist devils. Why must we continue to act as if all is normal here? We are in danger, too. Like any tower which stands too tall, Nanking has always attracted the lightning."

  "The General has said that Nanking will never fall," Mei's mother argued, as if that ended the matter. With a toss of her head, she dismissed the Japanese and all other invaders. Mei wished she could share her mother's complacence, but her precious General Chiang had waited too late to sue for peace. He had taken the winner's part of taunting the enemy until, like an enraged tiger, it could no longer be held back.

  After closing time, Mei went home to her family with food from the cookshop. Her fourteen-year-old daughter, Jinyiang, met her at the door with the baby, Sunli. The two-month-old infant fussed and kicked, his tiny face screwed up and red. Jinyiang, a shy teenager, was apologetic.

  "I'm sorry he isn't calm, Mama. I changed him and played with him," the girl said, "but he wants you."

  "I'm glad he's hungry," Mei said, with relief, setting down the fragrant bamboo containers. She took the baby and kissed her daughter on the cheek. "I'm ready to burst. It took longer to get home than I feared. Will you dish up the food? I don't want your father to have to wait while his son dines."

  "Of course, Mama," the girl said, picking up the packages. "Papa is home. He is in the kitchen listening to the news."

  Mei was proud that between Sunyi's salary and her thrift they enjoyed several modern amenities. One of them was a new crystal radio set. It cost the equivalent of a month's pay, and was quite a status symbol among their neighbors. When music programs played in the evenings, they invited in others who lived in the building to listen with them.

  "Good evening, sweet flower," Sunyi said, turning away from fiddling with the huge bakelite knobs and smiling at her. He was a thin man, not much taller than Mei herself, with a sharp nose and chin, and cheekbones to match. Mei's mother had always said her daughter's intended looked like the son of a half-starved fairy. Mei felt her own round, little face reflected her practical soul, as Sunyi's did his energy and enthusiasm. "How was your day?"

  "The same," she said, rummaging one-handed through a low cupboard to find bowls. The baby nursed contentedly, kneading a hand against her side. "Father is afraid everything will fall on our heads, and Mother still holds faith in General Chiang."

  "I hope his army is as strong as his words," Sunyi said. "Did you hear the last radio report? The Japanese have claimed more territory east of here, as buffer zones, they say. General Chiang breathed out dragon fire. The editorialist is afraid to say anything for fear of being dragged out and shot, but we are all worried that it has escalated past the point where peace can be established."

  Mei clapped the bowls down suddenly on the table, and Sunyi moved his arms out of the way. "I want to leave Nanking," Mei said firmly. "We have children to protect. This is becoming serious. We can go live with my brother in the country until this is all over. My father is right. Nanking is like a rod drawing lightning."

  "But my job?" Sunyi asked. "I'll lose it if we flee."

  "Would you rather lose your life?" Mei demanded, gesturing at the shrinking girl and the baby. "Think of these two if you won't consider your own safety. We must go immediately!"

  Sunyi nodded woefully. "Tomorrow," he agreed at last.

  At dawn the next morning, they were awakened by explosions that sounded directly over their heads. Mei sprang upright and pushed aside the thick quilt. Cold air shocked her fully conscious. The small coal brazier beside them had gone out overnight. Sunli, the baby, awoke at the noise and began to cry. Sunyi lay gasping at the ceiling like a beached fish.

  "What is happening?" Mei asked him. She picked up the fussing baby from the cot beside their bed and put him to her breast. More explosions came. The floor rocked beneath them. Unhesitatingly, Mei rolled out of bed and onto the floor, sheltering the child with her body. Sunli shrieked in fear at the sudden movement, and beat against his mother's body with tiny fists and feet. Through the walls Mie heard her neighbors screaming.

  "Shells. We're too late to leave." Sunyi slid off the mattress and crept on knees and forearms to the window. Lifting a tiny corner of the thick drapes, he peered out. Mei cooed soothingly to her son, and crawled to the archway of the door, the most stable structure in the room.

  "What is there?" she called.

  "Nothing but smoke," Sunyi replied. "I don't see any damage. Perhaps it's far away. There are Zeroes in the sky. They're coming around again!"

  The harsh racketing of small combat plane engines close by interrupted him. He had time to dive into the doorway with Mei before the next round of explosions hit. These were much closer. Jinyiang crawled weeping out of her small chamber and joined them in the hallway.

  "Will we die, Mother?" she asked, in a breathless gasp. Jinyiang had a timid voice, scarcely audible at ordinary times.

  Her mother studied her small, tear-stained face. "I swear you will not," Mei said, strongly, and put her arm around the girl. An explosion shook the house, and she shrieked, pushing the children down. Sunli let out a frightened wail. Mei cuddled him fiercely while a rain of gravel pelted their roof. "Oh, we should have left weeks ago and gone to stay with my brother in the country!"

  Sunyi shook his head sadly, his sleep-mussed hair tossing like windblown grass. "We couldn't. I've got to do my job."

  "Your sense of duty is an obsession," Mei complained.

  The bombardment continued. Pi
eces of plaster fell from the ceiling and peppered the family with shattered grains of white. With every fresh impact, ornaments and books vibrated off the walls and crashed to buildings in the street had been hit. She could hear screams of pain and grieving wails rising and echoing throughout the long, brick canyon.

  Then, mercifully, the bombing stopped. In the sudden calm, Sunli emitted a noise that was almost an interrogative. Mei sat up and put the baby over her shoulder and patted him. Sunyi started across the room on his knees to look out the window.

  Before he got past the bed, the sound of airplane engines roaring overhead caused him to flatten out on the rough, board floor. Mei threw herself over the children to protect them. Instead of explosions, she heard a fluttering roar, like a flock of birds rising. She coughed, spitting out plaster dust, and looked a question at her husband.

  "After the thunder comes the rain," Sunyi said, picking himself up. He peered out of the window.

  "Very strange. There's paper falling from the sky. They're dropping pamphlets on us."

  Before Mei could stop him, he leaped to his feet and dashed past them toward the stairs. Mei sighed, and realized that she was very cold, and the baby was wet.

  "Your father is impetuous," Mei told Jinyiang. "Come into the kitchen. I'll make us some breakfast.'

  "The Japanese demand our surrender!" Sunyi announced, emerging into the kitchen waving a thin sheet of rice paper. 'They promise decent treatment of all civilians."

  "Hah," Mei said, poking at the banked fire in the stove to rouse the embers. "I hope you don't believe it so much you're going to go open the city gates to them."

  Sunyi shook his head. "I'm a journalist. One never believes enemy propaganda. Many of our neighbors want to believe in the benevolence of the Japanese, but they are afraid." A wisp of hair settled over his eyes. He ran a hand over his head to smooth it out. "I'll go and find out what the city's defenders think of this."