Sundrinker

by Zach Hughes

  "When Farko the Great led the people to the north the rich, cool lands were teeming with a population that seemed, at first, to be like our people. They were not warlike. They lived on the bounty of the land, eating the green things that grew so plentifully. It was Farko's first intention, with conquest so easy, to integrate these native peoples into our own, but soon it was noted that there were basic differences. This was first discovered when a living bed of young ones was discovered. The barbarians' of this land, after sprouting young, actually planted them, like grass, in the earth, and roots grew from the young ones' feet to feed on the things of the earth.

  "The first major differences among the two peoples grew out of the barbarians' superstitious regard for any living plant. When our settlers cut down trees for building, the barbarians protested, calling the trees brothers. Among them it was believed that the trees contained the departed spirits of their dead, who, when their skins began to harden, planted themselves in the earth and were magically transformed into trees.

  "From these differences there arose conflict, and at first the barbarians fell by the thousands to our iron blades, but then there arose opposition. The barbarians learned the use of our swords, and across the land there roared war, a war of extermination, for Farko the Great had decreed that the alien difference between our people and the barbarians made living together in the same land impossible. It was not an easy war, for our soldiers had to carry food, while a barbarian could live off the country and, indeed, take nourishment from the sun itself.

  "He was able to go for days with nothing more than water and the rays of the sun, and this made him a formidable opponent.

  "The war lasted for the lifetime of Farko the Great, and into the reign of his son, and his son's son, and then there arose a great barbarian leader called Alon, who led small forces that made individual raids on our towns and settlements, never pausing to do battle with an equal or superior force, but slashing and hitting and then disappearing into the forests. Life became painful in this land, and it was decided that an all out effort had to be made. The land would not contain both our people and the barbarians. We mobilized totally, and our great armies swept the length and breadth of the land and, at last, cornered Alon's forces in the forests of the northland, where the snows are deep and the cold bites like an animal. There Alon made a stand, and it was apparent that all his forces, and all his females and young ones, would be exterminated. To avoid this, he fled into the snows, and it was thought that none could survive. Our armies guarded the forests for the winter, with much hardship, and parties went out in the summer to find, far to the north, a land of fire, an impassable land, and there had been seen the moldering, animal-gnawed bones of barbarians, males, females, young ones, all along the way.

  "But all of the barbarians did not manage to die with Alon in the land of the fires. Here and there across the land remained small pockets of them, and those who were not killed were forced to work in the mines, or in the clearing of the forests. From these, who were, obviously, made of lesser stuff than those who followed Alon, came the pongs of today."

  "These pongs," Duwan said, "do they have those odd differences, too?" The priest nodded. "This is why we must remember our history. The barbarians called themselves Children of Du, or Children of the Light. They were prideful, and they were dangerous opponents, once they began to adapt to the use of our weapons. We, the priests of Ahtol, are constantly warning that the potential for violence exists now, since we have allowed the growth of the pong population."

  "They seem harmless enough," Duwan said. "I have had pongs. I own two now. They know nothing of getting nourishment from the sun, for example, but cover themselves head to foot to avoid its rays."

  "Yes, because they are taught as young ones in the pens that the sun kills, just as they are taught, with vivid lessons—a pong is fed poison and dies rather painfully—that the green, growing things are poison. However, should one desperate pong disregard our teachings, should he discover that he can grow fat eating the green things and drinking of the sun, then, with their numbers—there are more pongs in Arutan than masters—they could become dangerous, especially since our prosperity has made it unattractive to follow the profession of arms."

  "They seem too stupid to figure out these things for themselves," Duwan said.

  "Yes, they are animals," the priest said. "But in the pens, at night, there are whispers. There members of a mystical society tell of free Drinkers in the far north. They know so little that they can actually believe that Drinkers could survive the cold and could pass through that land of fire. The myths speak of a master who will come from the north to lead all pongs to freedom. We've peeled a few of the mystics, and their eagerness to talk as their hides are removed a strip at a time tells us all. It's nonsense, but it is a hope for the masses. We waited too late to be able to eradicate this hope. We should have destroyed every pong in Arutan when it first arose, this myth. And our greatest fear, among the priesthood, is that the escaped pongs carried that myth with them and that they have rediscovered their abilities to live off the land."

  "Well," Duwan said, "a conspiracy of slaves would give occasion for some exercise of the sword arm." He laughed. "I think, priest, that you make too much of the danger."

  The old man shook his head. "So do they all," he said, "and I pray to Ahtol that they are right."

  Duwan, having seen the pongpens, and having seen many of the slaves, doubted that any uprising could ever happen. Perhaps, with a free Drinker army in the field, pongs could be recruited to do labor, to carry supplies, but it would take much to turn any of them, even such as Tambol, into a fighting Drinker. He was a bit discouraged, but full of thought, as he went back to Elnice's quarters to open the door to her bedroom. His blood was already running hot, and his conscience cold, when he opened the door to see Elnice's lovely backside protruding into the air as she squirmed atop a muscular male.

  Duwan halted in surprise. He felt a flash of anger, then of relief. He made a sound and, without stopping her graceful, sensuous movements, Elnice looked over her shoulder and gave him a flashing smile.

  "I take it, High Mistress," Duwan said, "that I am now free to resume my business?"

  "As you will," she said. "Go. Wander. When your fires are rebuilt sufficiently, come back to me."

  Duwan found Jai and Tambol in the slave quarters. They both looked well fed, and each had new slave clothing. When Duwan had led them out of Elnice's mansion, he halted in a little traveled place.

  "Jai, in the pongpens, did you hear talk of a deliverer, a master who would come from the north to free the pongs?"

  "Yes, it was whispered. From the earth, some said, as you know."

  "Should such a master come, would pongs fight?"

  "With their hands?" Tambol asked.

  "If that was all they had."

  "Some would," Tambol said.

  Jai shook her head. "Not many."

  Duwan had made his decision. "Tomorrow we will leave Arutan," he said. "For the rest of the day, and as long as you can find pongs to talk with tonight, I want you to wander the streets, whispering this myth, telling any who will listen that the Master is coming, that he is coming with an army, that he will free all, and that he will provide weapons for any who will fight at his side."

  He had given the idea much thought. The risk was that a pong would tell what he had heard and that the enemy would, forewarned, begin preparations. However, his observations, his talk with the priest of Ahtol, made him believe that this, too, would be ignored by the complacent enemy as just another myth among the pongs. He could not seriously imagine a man like Captain Hata fearing a pong uprising, or even believing that such a thing could happen. The chances of the story doing any good were slim, considering the totally downtrodden state of the pongs, but if it encouraged even a few, and made them ready to learn to fight, then it would have been worthwhile.

  While Jai and Tambol wandered the city, Duwan spent his time in the inn, where he drank a l
ittle of that tangy fruit juice that had been his downfall in Elnice's house. He questioned travelers about Devourer cities to the north. When, as Du peeked up in the east, he led his loyal pongs out of the city, he had his route planned. It would take him to three of Farko's cities, one on the shores of the great eastern sea, before his way led him into the thinly populated forests of the north.

  It was growing late in the year, and he knew that he would have to winter somewhere to the north, and then make his dash for home as Du's renewal time moved up from the south. He had told Alning to wait for two passings of the time of the long light, and then speak for another. That thought, now, now that he knew the goodness and sweetness of grafting, now that he knew the joys that would be his with his own Alning, was a pain, and he was tempted to travel as quickly as he could and risk being caught in the iron cold.

  He kept Tambol and Jai with him as he visited the city on the sea, to find it much like Arutan, but smaller, and with a less impressive garrison of uniformed guards. The other two, farther north, were still smaller, and even less well defended. He would sweep down from the north, taking villages and cities as he came, and then, his forces swelled by recruited pongs, he would face Arutan.

  The chill of the change of seasons forced him to use coins, somehow always in supply, thanks to a skill for confiscation developed by Tambol, to buy furs, and he told himself that the animals were already dead, that he had not killed them, and that their hides were serving a good purpose. Their lives had been lost, but he would avenge them, and, the Land of Many Brothers in Drinker control again, there would be no more killing of green or animal brothers.

  With the first snowfall, he was in the changing lands, the deep forests of tall brothers not far to the north. He found a cave in a rocky canyon, stocked it, with the help of Tambol, with firewood and dry, preserved foodstuff, and then, as Tambol shivered and longed for the warmer lands to the south, he told both of them that they were to leave him now, to rejoin the free runners in the western hills, there to await his summons when he returned with the Drinkers. Tambol was only too eager to go. Jai wept, but obeyed, and he sent them off dressed warmly, and went into his cave to think of home, of Alning, of how he would tell the wise ones of his people all of his knowledge of the enemy and of the beauty and bounty of the Drinkers' native land.

  He awoke to find that snow had covered the ground to ankle depth. He walked in the crisp, cold air and discovered that the tall brothers in the canyon floor were whisperers, and, being few, that their unspoken words were partly to be understood. He opened his mind.

  "Brother, brother, brother," they seemed to be saying, and they dropped dead limbs for firewood as he walked among them.

  And there came into his mind pictures, the past, the happy Drinkers living in plenty, and a sense of desperation and loss and pain as death came, and then, insistently, an urge to move, to climb out of the hidden canyon.

  "Tell me, brothers," he said. "What is it?" Pictures almost formed in his mind. Alning's image was confused with that of the beautiful Elnice of Arutan, and there was a sense of urgency. He wrapped himself well and climbed out of the canyon into a quiet, cold, blinding snowstorm and, obeying the impulses, hearing the whispering, scouted the trail he'd followed up from the south.

  She was crawling when he saw her, weak, cold, her skin already hardening on her extremities.

  "Jan."

  "Oh, Duwan—"

  She went limp in his arms. He carried her back to the cave and warmed her by the fire, covered her with furs after rubbing her feet, legs, hands, arms to restore circulation. When she opened her eyes they went wide and then she smiled weakly.

  "What happened? What of Tambol?"

  "Tambol is well. He moves swiftly toward the south." Duwan frowned. "And you?"

  "I ran away. I could not leave you, Master. Forgive me, but I would as soon be peeled as leave you."

  Her presence complicated things. And yet, with the coming of the change, the renewing, he could still send her south. The journey through the land of forests, water, barrens, fire, would be a long one, and he would be eager to make as much time as he could.

  But her presence would not be unwelcome during the long, cold, dark nights that lay ahead.

  "I should use the lash on you," he said.

  "If it pleases you, but don't send me away, please." The snow fell, soft, quiet, all covering. The entrance to the cave was all but blocked, and the snow barrier made it cozy inside, if a bit smoky. They rested, and talked, and ate of the dried food, and slept together for warmth—or so Duwan told himself, that very first night, until, as he held her closely she turned to face him and his hands moved as if of their own accord to bare their bud points.

  Then the winter did not seem long.

  Interlude

  In the early winter, after the first invasion of frigid air had moved down through the forests, bringing a clean, fresh, cutting wind from the great ice caps, there came to the fringe settlements of Kooh, northernmost of the cities of Farko, a priest of the minor du, Tseeb, he of the clear skies. The worship of Tseeb was not a popular cult, for followers of that fair-faced du took vows of poverty. The priest was dressed in a bundle of cast-off things, torn pieces of Devourer dress, tattered slave wear, and he shivered with the cold as he called on outlying settlements, begging permission to give a message of piety to the pongs.

  Pongs, being an inferior sub-species, stupid and gullible, were especially susceptible to the fair-skied belief in a du of kindness and goodness. Masters had no objection to the practice of a religion that taught acceptance of one's lot in life, of obedience to authority, in hope of the promise of a better life in the afterworld, so the ragged priest was welcomed, and was allowed to share the meager food and squalid quarters of the pongs.

  So closely was the priest bundled in his rags, so nearly did he piously cover his every body part, that no master saw that he was sleek, well-nourished, almost, in fact, pleasingly fat. Nor did any master bother to listen to the priest in his teaching, thus no master saw that the priest did not partake of the pongs' grass nut bread or the meager portions of animal flesh.

  Upon the departure of the priest, for a while, at least, the pongs seemed to perk up slightly, but, the masters noted, they soon fell into their old, slovenly ways.

  Through storm and crisp, clear, brittle days the priest tramped the snow, visiting dozens of settlements, villages, and came at last to the city of Kooh, itself, where, upon application to the City Master, he was given permission to spend time in the pongpens. There, among more sophisticated Devourers, the priest was a source of shame, for, although priesthood in a dozen or more cults was a socially accepted way to earn one's bread, to lower oneself to the level of the pongs, to live among them, was going, masters felt, just a bit too far.

  Most Devourers who had property, or power, or wealth, looked upon the various religious cults as necessary evils. The powerful priesthood of Ahtol actually shared power with civil authorities and served an excellent purpose in keeping an eye on the masses, and keeping down any possible disquiet among the majority of the ruling race who had no direct say in policy, government, and other matters of importance. Only naive fools really believed in an afterlife. Most Devourers were advocates of Ahtol, if only because the priests of Ahtol, with their sacrifices, put on a stirring show, helped, by the use of pong young, to hold back the redoubling of the pong population, and were generous with the surplus flesh used in sacrifice. The tiny temple of Tseeb was, in that northern city, hidden away near the wall in a cul-de-sac surrounded by pongpens, and the three ancient priests who served the tiny temple often had to share pong food in order to survive. That winter, however, they had received what was, for them, a munificent gift from a wealthy Devourer and, well fed, they built up their fire and sat before it feasting and drinking the summer's wine, letting their small following, mostly among the pongs, serve their own spiritual needs. They did not hear of the visiting Tseeb priest, and even if they had, they would not have lef
t the warmth and comfort of their fire. During the shortest days of the year the ragged priest moved south to Seman, spent weeks in the outlying settlements, then a short time in the main pongpen within the city. Next he betook himself to Tshou, and there by the cold sea he taught his message.

  As the days began slowly to lengthen he was in and around the capital, Arutan, and there, where the population of pongs was greatest, he found his largest audiences, pongs gathering around him, huddled against the cold, to hear a message that had preceded him, carried by the pongs of masters who had come to Arutan from the other, more northern cities. His message, in essence, was a brief one, and could have been summed up as follows:

  "The Master has come. He has seen. He has judged. He has gone away to counsel with his father (who is not, by the way, the du of clear skies, the insignificant and rosy-minded Tseeb, but an ancient, forgotten du, who manifests his image daily in the skies as Du, the sun), but he will return. With him comes freedom."

  There was, of course, more to the message, for the priest knew well that the minds of pongs tended to be simple and doubt-filled. What right have the hopeless to hope? So he elaborated. He offered personal testimony.

  "I have lived and traveled with the Master. I saw him come from the good earth." In this, of course, he was stretching the truth, but he had talked with one who had seen the Master come from the earth. "I have seen him prove his bravery and his strength in killing a great beast of the forests, and in besting the finest sword of the Devourers. I have shared his magic, as I demonstrate now." At this he would eat of some delicious growing thing, and there would be fearful gasps and exclamations and some laughter, for all expected him to fall down, writhing in his death agonies as did those who, with regularity, ate of the deadly green each spring and died.

  "For generations," the priest told his incredulous audiences, "the enemy has deprived you of your heritage, your land, and the du-given ability to live off this land of plenty. In all life there is a oneness, for we are of the earth and for the earth, and all that grows from the earth is good, and the brothers of the fields and forests share willingly." By this time he had lost most of them.