Wielding a Red Sword

by Piers Anthony

  Perhaps he should simply inform Satan that he refused to be influenced by any such gifts, so that Satan was wasting his effort. That would be the honest course, and it was important to be honest, because Satan was the Father of Lies. Any lie would be playing into Satan's hands. But if he told the truth, and Satan still thought the gifts would subvert him—

  Mym came to a chamber he had not seen before. He had been following an unfamiliar hall, and it had terminated in a flight of stairs that evidently mounted a turret, and here was a closed wooden door. Curious, Mym pushed at it with his hand, but it would not budge. He was sure the chamber beyond was not intended to be barred to the master of the castle; it had to be sealed against intrusion by the servants or visitors. Why?

  He explored the door, tapping it here and there. It was solid. There was a large keyhole—but he had no key.

  He touched the Red Sword. He could hack through the door—but he didn't want to do that, for that would be admitting some kind of defeat. Or he could render himself into ghost status, and walk through it—but again, that implied defeat. He should be able to obtain access legitimately, without special measures.

  He touched the Sword again, considering. Then, abruptly, he snapped his fingers. He drew the Sword and willed it to change its form to that of a key.

  The Sword shimmered and changed. Now a large key was in Mym's hand. He inserted this into the keyhole, and turned it. If he had guessed correctly, this should be the right key. The tumblers clicked, and the lock gave way. Victory!

  He opened the door and entered the chamber. It contained only a table, and on the table was a book. Mym crossed over and picked up the book.

  The volume had symbols on the cover and symbols inside. Mym recognized these as Chinese or Japanese, but could not read them. Then, as he watched, the symbols shimmered, as the Sword had, and became words, identifying the book. Its title was Go Rin No Sho. But he still couldn't read it.

  Then the words shimmered and became English: Five Rings—A Book. The volume had finally zeroed in on a language he could use.

  Mym had seen this book before; he had read it years ago. It was a very well known reference for Kendo, or the Way of the Sword, and was studied by serious martial artists everywhere. It seemed that the prior Mars had valued it too; evidently the man had come here often to review it, for the volume was well-thumbed.

  He opened it randomly, and read a passage. In strategy make the gaze broad. Learn to see to the sides without shifting the eyeballs. Use this gaze always, whether in battle or in ordinary life.

  Interesting. Mym had forgotten this—or perhaps he had understood it on another level before. Of course it was literal—but it was also figurative. A warrior did not want to give away the focus of his attention by shifting his eyes about; he needed to take in everything while looking at nothing, to spy the enemy to the side, without seeming to, so that the enemy would not have the advantage of surprise he thought he had. That much was literal. But also in the mind—a person should grasp concepts without seeming to and fathom deceptions while focusing on ordinary matters—just as he was trying to do with Satan.

  He flipped randomly again, and read another passage. Become the enemy. Merge with the enemy's situation. In this manner you will gain understanding to prevail over him.

  Again, that seemed both literal and figurative. If a warrior considered his enemy's situation, really getting into it, he could more readily fathom that enemy's likely reactions. That could be a valuable tool for victory. But, in the more subtle interpersonal relations, it was just as useful. Satan was not threatening him physically; Satan was trying to modify his attitude. If he could just comprehend Satan's motive, he could judge it and work out an effective counter.

  Mym closed the book. He was impressed. If two random glances offered this much insight, what would the entire volume provide? The random passages had not given him answers, but had suggested alternate ways of considering the problem. He felt that his awareness had been broadened already.

  Mym sat at the table and commenced reading the volume from the beginning. Though he had read it before, this time it was as if he had an entirely new text, because he was absorbing it on a different level.

  Chapter 9 - LACHESIS

  A few days later another battle was shaping up, and the grim horsemen gathered again at the front of the castle. Rapture shuddered as she saw them in their impressive white, red, black, and brown cloaks, their matching horses stamping their hooves and snorting with eagerness.

  "Must you associate with those ruffians?" she asked. "I realize that you have a job to do, exactly as you would have had as a Rajah, but these casteless creatures—!"

  "I fear I must," he sang. "I did not choose them, but I did choose to assume the office of War, and they are the handmaidens of war."

  She laughed, somewhat hysterically. "Handmaidens!"

  "But I will try my best to minimize the conflict I supervise today," he continued. "War may be inevitable, but it doesn't have to be totally destructive, if properly managed. Then those subsidiary Incarnations will not have much benefit from it."

  She had to be mollified. "Return as soon as you can, my beloved. I don't like being here without you."

  "Well, you can return to Luna's house in the mortal realm," he reminded her. "Or you can go to the garden and have something to eat."

  "You would have to take me to Luna's house, and, anyway, she's busy. She's nice and always polite, but she is engaged in local politics, and I don't like to take up her time. But the garden..." She trailed off.

  "I'm sure nothing there can hurt you," he sang. "I wouldn't trust Satan unduly, but he is currying my favor and he knows that what pleases you is likely to please me. You could go and talk to Lila, to see whether she is worthwhile."

  Rapture brightened. "Yes, I must find out how well she sews and weaves, and whether she dances."

  Mym smiled inwardly. What a neat solution to her problem! Concubines did a lot of sewing and weaving in their off hours, supervised by the wife. Sometimes the Kingdoms of modern India had contests between the harems of their ranking nobles to see which produced the finest tapestries, and great honor accrued to the wives who organized the winning shows. It was said that the wives were more interested in the harems than the husbands were, though there was a snide side to that remark.

  But this exchange reminded him of Satan's influence on his present existence. Satan was helping to make Rapture happy and Satan could help to make her unhappy. That remained awkward.

  He had read Five Rings, and it had provided him with much upon which to cogitate. But he had not yet digested it sufficiently to apply it to Satan.

  The heart of the book, as he now understood it, was the five great rings, which equated on one level to the five elements: Ground, Water, Fire, Wind, and Void. None of these were simple concepts, and complete understanding would require long experience and contemplation. But it was as if it were a chart for his future understanding. Once he comprehended the full nature of each of the rings, he should possess sufficient understanding of the universe to know his true course. He intended to work on it.

  He donned his golden cloak, mounted his palomino, and rode out with the others. This time they descended on the border between two so-called Middle-Eastern nations, whose long-dragged-out war had broken out again after the breakdown of a truce. Persia was preparing a massive assault on the entrenchments of Babylonia, and the scale was far larger than that of Gujarat and Maharastra had been. There was no single spot that Mym could settle on for effective supervision; there were thousands of troops deployed along a front hundreds of kilometers long.

  Last time, he had sought to enter the mind of a general and had made little progress. This time he wanted to act with better effect. He had to gain a proper understanding of what was going on here. Then he could devise some strategy to diminish the wastefulness of it. Perhaps it would be better to phase in to the situation of one of the common troops.

  "When is Persia's attack sc
heduled to be launched?" Mym inquired of Conquest, whose business it was to know such details.

  "Not for several hours yet," the white-caped warrior replied. "That will give us opportunity to plan for the greatest harvest."

  "Then I shall make my own investigation during that period," Mym sang. "See that nothing starts prematurely."

  Conquest nodded. War's word was law to those others, for he was the primary Incarnation here.

  He rode to the lines of Babylonia first. He saw in a moment that the defenses were formidable. Behind towering masses of barbed wire there were extensive mine fields, and beyond these were concrete abutments and hardened emplacements for machine guns. Any human attack on these fortifications would commence at the cost of many, many lives. If it broke through, only a small fraction of the attacking troops would survive.

  Obviously the Persian military command was aware of this. What kind of an attack did it contemplate? There had to be something special.

  Mym rode to the other side. None of the mortals saw him or his horse, of course. He rode through the barbed wire without being touched and into the Persian formation. There were only a few armed men at the front; the majority were in special camps, getting ready for the assault.

  Who would be best to identify with for the ground-level survey? Mym pondered momentarily and decided on a random sampling. He would enter the camp, count off heads, and take the tenth soldier he found.

  He found a large, crude temporary barracks building. He rode through the wall. There were the troops, massed for a preparatory briefing. Mym counted heads, identified the tenth, and dismounted. "Be near when I need you," he directed the horse. Then he strode to the soldier he had identified, stood before him, and backed into the man.

  In a moment he overlapped him and felt the confusion of double identity.

  Slowly his eyes caught the focus, and his ears became those of his host. The sensations of the body became his own. He was still himself, but also, gradually, the soldier. He concentrated solely on tuning in, on aligning the sensations of the mortal body with his own, so that his identification clarified. This took some time; while it occurred, the body was going about its own business, but this was a necessary delay. For one thing, the body used an alien language; the only way that Mym could understand it was to orient on the meaning as registered by the brain, rather than the actual sounds of it. He made steady progress in this, but the process could not be rushed.

  The first significant thing he realized was that this body was young. This was no man; this was a boy of about eleven! Yet he was definitely a soldier; he had the military garb and a rifle and he had been drilled in its use. He was now being exhorted to go into battle for the honor of his country. It was, the instructor was assuring him and the other boys of this command, a great honor to fight for one's country and a greater honor to die for it in this Holy War. He must go out and destroy the infidel enemy!

  A child, Mym thought. They were all children, some younger than this one. All garbed in ill-fitting military uniforms, bearing archaic rifles with limited ammunition, and steeped with the ferver of fanaticism.

  He thought of the formidable Babylonian emplacements he had viewed. These children would be crucified against those defenses! He probed in the mind for some comprehension of what lay ahead, but none of that information had been provided. This young boy was very like an occidental cow in the corral, moving with the herd toward the slaughterhouse. Cows were never treated in that barbaric fashion in India, of course.

  It seemed that Persia, having largely exhausted its experienced adult personnel, was now throwing the lives of its children into the breach. They would die like flies—but perhaps they would force an opening in the enemy line that the experienced troops could then exploit.

  It made sense on one level. It was pointless to throw away seasoned troops on an impossible assault and leave the children to carry the major part of the action. Better to confine the heavy losses to those who were least trained, then use the effective troops where and when they could count.

  But Mym was sickened by this tactic. What barbarism threw away the hope of its future, its children, in such manner?

  But he drew on his own memory to fill in more of the picture. This war had started when Babylonia, perceiving an opportunity to take advantage of its weakened neighbor, had invaded, seeking to add territory and acquire important seaports. Babylonia had acted with complete indifference to international law, grabbing at anything it supposed wasn't nailed down. Persia had fought doggedly back with inadequate personnel and resources and turned the tide, driving the invader back out of its territory. Naturally the losses had been substantial. Had Persia confined itself to conventional recruitment, it would not have had the personnel to do the job. So it had reached into its reserves—the reserves of its future—in order to guarantee that there would be a future for its national identity. Outsiders like Mym might condemn such desperation—but what would he have done, as the leader of Gujarat, if his Kingdom had found itself in a similar situation? Some evils were simply not to be tolerated, and among these was capitulation to brutal conquest.

  He explored the attitude of the boy and found some justification there. The internecine war, dragging on as it had, had decimated the population of the region. The boy's family had been ruined by the passage of the troops, both directions; the crop had been destroyed, the father drafted and killed, the brothers driven away, the mother forced to work at starvation wages in a failing effort to sustain her remaining family, one sister raped and killed at age twelve, and the other simply stabbed by the bayonet of an enemy soldier when she screamed in fear and protest. This boy, eleven, had joined his nation's military service in order to get money for his mother, who was working herself to death; this removed from her the burden of sustaining him and made it possible for her to buy some additional food and pay rent in a temporary camp for refugees. This boy had taken the part of a man during desperate times—as had the other boys of this unit. If he died in battle, a death benefit would accrue to his mother; if he survived, he could continue contributing to her support. He was proud to do this—and Mym was forced to echo this pride. Given the situation of this region, the boy had done what he had to do, with honor and courage that would have befitted a man of any age.

  No, Mym could not condemn that. Neither could he condemn the nation of Persia for using boys of this age; there was almost nothing else they could be used for, in this place and this time, and using them made it possible for them to serve both themselves and their nation. If this boy were discharged at this moment from this service, it would not be a victory for what was right and good; it would be disaster.

  Mym found himself both glad and sad that he had chosen to share this young soldier's experience. How true it was—a man had to walk a distance in the shoes of another to understand the other's situation.

  Now he understood enough of the local situation; he could withdraw from this host and return to his own form to supervise the coming battle. But now he knew this boy—and he found he could not simply desert him at this stage. He knew that the boy was headed straight for death—and not an honorable, hard-fought death. For a slaughter.

  He had to do something. But what? This war had been grinding on, with brief intermissions, such as the one that helped eliminate Mym's predecessor, for years. Its momentum was inexorable, and the damage it had already done was staggering. Even if he managed to abolish it this moment, the carnage it had wrought would remain.

  Mym struggled with this, as the preparation for the onslaught proceeded. Could he remove this boy from the locale, at least saving his life? But that would cause him to be branded a deserter—and how would the lad fare then? Looking into the boy's mind, Mym saw that this was no solution; the boy had to be allowed to complete his mission in whatever manner he could.

  Could he manage to get this battle called off? Not by any action of this boy; he had chosen the wrong host for that. Now it was too late to phase in to another; the boy's
unit was being marched directly to the front. The attack would commence within the hour.

  There was nothing Mym could do—yet still he did not leave the boy. He had to find some way!

  The unit formed at the top of a small hill. Other units formed to either side. There were thousands of youths in this action! Most of them would be dead an hour from now—and what would they have accomplished?

  The order to attack was given. Bravely, the boy charged over the brim of the hill and down toward the enemy line. His associates ran beside him, their faces grim, but also charged with the unholy joy of the mission: they were engaging in the Holy War! They were half-drunk with the glory of this combat as harangued into them by the instructors. Theirs, as the words of another culture had phrased it, not to reason why, theirs but to do and die.

  For moments there was nothing from the enemy. Then the big guns fired. Shells detonated in the midst of the charging line. The Babylonians had this section zeroed in, awaiting this very charge. One went off not far from Mym, and he felt the blast of it. He turned his head to look and saw something flying at him. It landed before him—a human arm, severed at the shoulder.

  Now, suddenly, the truth hit home to the boy. This was a deathfield! Whether he lived or died had no relation to his personal merit. It was random. If a shell landed on him, he was gone; if it didn't, he was free to keep running. Nobody cared. There was nothing he could do to save himself; it all depended on the shells.