by Jack Vance
Jad frantically disengaged his rapier, gave ground, anxious to gain more room, but Reith, panting and sweating, pressed him.
Reith spoke: “I hold the emblem Piluna which has rejected you in disgust. You, the murderer, are about to die.”
Jad gave an inarticulate call, lunged to the attack. Again Reith swung the hat, to catch the rapier in the flaps. He thrust and ran Jad, one-time carrier of Piluna, through the abdomen. Jad struck down with his foil, knocked the rapier from Reith’s grip. A grotesque moment he stood looking at Reith in horror and accusation, the blade protruding from his body. He tore it out, flung it aside, advanced on Reith who groped for his dropped knife-shield. As Jad lunged Reith picked up the foil, hurled it point first into Jad’s face. The point struck into Jad’s open mouth and became fixed, like a fantastic metal tongue. Jad’s knees buckled; he collapsed to the ground, and lay with fingers twitching.
Reith, breath rasping in his throat, dropped the hat with proud Piluna into the dirt and went to lean on the pole of a shed.
There was no sound throughout the camp.
Finally Traz Onmale said, “Vaduz has overcome Piluna. The emblem takes on luster. Where are the Judgers? Let them come to judge Jad Piluna.”
The three magicians came forward, glowering first at the new corpse, at Traz Onmale and sidelong at Reith.
“Judge,” ordered Traz Onmale in his harsh, old-man’s voice. “Be sure to judge correctly!”
The magicians consulted in a mutter; then the Chief Magician spoke. “Judgment is difficult. Jad lived a hero’s life. He served Piluna with distinction.”
“He murdered a girl.”
“For good cause: the taint of heresy, traffic with an unclean hybrid! What other religious man might not do the same?”
“He acted beyond his competence. I instruct you to judge him evil. Put him on the pyre. When Braz appears, shoot the evil ashes to hell.”
“So be it,” muttered the Chief Magician.
Traz Onmale went into his shed.
Reith stood alone at the center of the compound. In uneasy groups the warriors spoke together, glancing toward Reith with distaste. The time was late afternoon; a bank of heavy clouds obscured the sun. There were flickers and twitches of purple lightning, a hoarse mutter of thunder. Women scurried here and there, covering bundles of fodder and jars of food-pod. The warriors bestirred themselves to tighten the lines holding the tarpaulins down over the great wagons.
Reith looked down at the girl’s corpse which no one seemed interested in carrying away. To allow the body to lie out all night in the rain and wind was unthinkable. Already the pyre was alight, ready to receive the hulk of Jad. Reith lifted the girl’s body, carried it to the pyre, and ignoring the complaints of the old women who tended the flames, laid the body into the kiln with as much composure and grace as he could manage.
With the first spatters of rain, Reith went to that storage shed which had been given over to his use.
Outside the rain pelted down. Sodden women built a rude shelter over the pyre and continued to feed the flames with brush.
Someone came into the shed. Reith backed into the shadows, then the firelight shone on the face of Traz Onmale. He seemed somber, dejected. “Reith Vaduz, where are you?”
Reith came forth. Traz Onmale looked at him, gave his head a glum shake. “Since you have been with the tribe, everything has gone wrong! Dissension, anger, death. The scouts return with news only of empty steppe. Piluna has been tainted. The magicians are at odds with the Onmale. Who are you, why do you bring us such woe?”
“I am what I told you I am,” said Reith: “a man from Earth.”
“Heresy,” said Traz Onmale, without heat. “Emblem Men are the spill of Az. So say the magicians, at least.”
Reith pondered a moment, then said, “When ideas are in contradiction, as here, the more powerful ideas usually win. Sometimes this is bad, sometimes good. The society of the Emblems seems bad to me. A change would be for the better. You are ruled by priests who —”
“No,” said the boy decisively. “Onmale rules the tribe. I carry that emblem; it speaks through my mouth.”
“To some extent. The priests are clever enough to have their own way.”
“What do you intend? Do you wish to destroy us?”
“Of course not. I want to destroy no one — unless it becomes necessary to my own survival.”
The boy heaved a heavy sigh. “I am confused. You are wrong — or the magicians are wrong.”
“The magicians are wrong. Human history on Earth goes back ten thousand years.”
Traz Onmale laughed. “Once, before I carried Onmale, the tribe entered the ruins of old Carcegus and there captured a Pnumekin. The magicians tortured him to gain knowledge, but he spoke only to curse each minute of the fifty-two thousand years that men had lived on Tschai … Fifty-two thousand years against your ten thousand years. It is all very strange.”
“Very strange indeed.”
Traz Onmale rose to his feet, looked up into the sky, where wind-driven wrack flew across the night sky. “I have been watching the moons,” he said in a thin voice. “The magicians are watching likewise. The portents are poor; I believe that there is about to be a conjunction. If Az covers Braz, all is well. If Braz covers Az, then someone new will carry Onmale.”
“And you?”
“I must carry aloft the wisdom of Onmale, and set matters right.” And Traz Onmale departed the shed.
The tempest roared across the steppe: a night, a day, a second night. On the morning of the second day the sun rose into a clear windy sky. The scouts rode forth as usual, to return pell-mell at noon. There was an instant explosion of activity. Tarpaulins were folded, sheds were struck, packed into bundles. Women loaded the drays; warriors rubbed their leap-horses with oil, threw on saddles, attached reins to the sensitive frontal palps. Reith approached Traz Onmale. “What goes on?”
“A caravan from the east has been sighted at long last. We shall attack along the Ioba River. As Vaduz you may ride with us and take a share of plunder.”
He ordered a leap-horse; Reith mounted the ill-smelling beast with trepidation: it jerked to the unfamiliar weight, thrashing up its knob of a tail. Reith yanked at the reins; the leap-horse crouched and sprang off across the steppe while Reith held on for dear life. From behind came a roar of laughter: the hooting and jeering of experts for the tribulations of a tenderfoot.
Reith finally brought the leap-horse under control and came plunging back. A few moments later the group swept off to the northeast, the black long-necked brutes lunging and foaming, the warriors leaning forward on the saddle-plats, knees drawn up, black leather hats flapping; Reith could not help but feel an archaic thrill at riding in the savage cavalcade.
For an hour the Emblem Men pounded across the steppe, bending low when they crossed over skylines. The rolling hills flattened; ahead lay a vast expanse streaked with shadows and dull colors. The troop halted on a hill while the warriors pointed here and there. Traz Onmale now gave orders. Reith pulled his mount up close and strained to listen. “— the south track to the ford. We wait in Bellbird Covert. The Ilanths will make the ford first; they will scout Zad Woods and White Hill. Then we sweep upon the center, make off with the treasure vans. Is all clear? So onward, to Bellbird Covert!”
Down the long slope rushed the Emblems, toward a far line of tall trees and a group of isolated bluffs overlooking Ioba River. In the shelter of a deep forest the Emblem warriors concealed themselves.
Time passed. From afar sounded a faint rumble, and the caravan appeared. Several hundred yards in advance rode three splendid yellow-skinned warriors, wearing black caps surmounted by jawless human skulls. Their beasts were similar to, but larger and rather more bland than the leap-horses; they carried side-arms and short swords, with short rifles laid across their laps.
Now, from the standpoint of the Emblems, everything went awry. The Ilanths failed to plunge across the river but waited watchfully for the caravan
. To the river-bank lumbered motor-drays with six-foot wheels, piled to astonishing heights with bales, parcels, and in certain cases, cages in which huddled men and women.
The caravan commander was a cautious man. Before the drays attempted the ford, he stationed gun-carts to command all the approaches, then sent Ilanths to scout the opposite bank.
In Bellbird Covert the Emblem warriors cursed and fumed. “Wealth, wealth! Goods galore! Sixty prime wagons! But suicide to attempt an attack.”
“True. The sand-blasts would strike us down like birds!”
“Is it this for which we waited three tedious months in the Walgram Rolls? Is our luck then so vile?”
“The omens were wrong; last night I looked up at blessed Az; I saw it jib and careen through the clouds: a definite admonition.”
“Nothing goes right, all our ventures are thwarted! We are under the influence of Braz.”
“Braz — or the work of the black-haired sorcerer who slew Jad Piluna.”
“True! And he has come to scathe the raid, where we have always enjoyed success!”
And sour looks began to be turned toward Reith, who made himself inconspicuous.
The war leaders conferred. “We can achieve nothing; we would strew the field with dead warriors and drown our Emblems in Ioba River.”
“Well, then — shall we follow and attack at night?”
“No. They are too well-guarded. The commander is Baojian; he takes no risks! His soul to Braz!”
“So, then — three months dawdling for naught!”
“Better for naught than for disaster! Back to camp. The women will have all packed, and so east to Meraghan.”
“East, more destitute than when we came west! What abominable luck!”
“The omens, the omens! All are at odds!”
“Back to camp, then; nothing for us here.”
The warriors swung about and without a backward look sent the leap-horses plunging south across the steppe.
During the early evening, surly and glum, the troop arrived back at the campsite. The women, who had all packed, were cursed for neglect; why were not cauldrons bubbling? pots of beer ready to hand?
The women bawled and cursed in return, only to be drubbed. All hands finally pulled gear and food helter-skelter from the drays.
Traz Onmale stood brooding apart, while Reith was pointedly ignored. The warriors ate hugely, grumbling all the while, then, sated and exhausted, lay back beside the fire.
Az had already risen, but now up into the sky sailed the blue moon Braz, angling athwart the course of Az. The magicians were first to notice and stood with arms pointing in awe and premonition.
The moons converged; it seemed as if they would collide. The warriors gave guttural sounds of dread. But Braz moved before the pink disk, eclipsing it utterly. The Chief Magician gave a wild bellow to the sky: “So be it! So be it!”
Traz Onmale turned and went slowly off to the shadows, where by chance stood Reith. “What is all the tumult?” Reith asked.
“Did you not see? Braz overpowered Az. Tomorrow night I must go to Az to expiate our wrongs. No doubt you will go as well, to Braz.”
“You mean, by way of fire and catapult?”
“Yes. I am lucky to have carried Onmale as long as I have. The bearer before me was not much more than half my age when he was sent to Az.”
“Do you think this ritual has any practical value?”
Traz Onmale hesitated. Then: “It is what they expect; they will demand that I cut my throat into the fire. So I must obey.”
“Better that we leave now,” said Reith. “They will sleep like logs. When they awake we will be far from here.”
“What? The two of us? Where would we fare?”
“I don’t know. Is there no land where folk live without murder?”
“Perhaps such places exist. But not on Aman Steppe.”
“If we could take possession of the scout-boat, and if I were given time to repair it, we could leave Tschai and return to Earth.”
“Impossible. The Chasch took the ship. It is lost to you forever.”
“So I fear. In any case, we’d do better to depart now than wait to be killed tomorrow.”
Traz Onmale stood staring up at the moons. “Onmale orders me to stay. I cannot pervert the Onmale. It has never fled; it has always pursued duty to the death.”
“Duty doesn’t include futile suicide,” said Reith. He made a sudden motion, seized Traz Onmale’s hat, wrenched loose the emblem. Traz gave a croak of almost physical pain, then stood staring at Reith. “What do you do? It is death to touch the Onmale!”
“You are no longer Traz Onmale; you are Traz.”
The boy seemed to shrink, to lessen in stature. “Very well,” he said in a subdued voice. “I do not care to die.” He looked around the camp. “We must go afoot. If we try to harness leap-horses they will scream and gnash their horns. You wait here. I will fetch cloaks and a parcel of food.” He departed, leaving Reith with the emblem Onmale.
In the light of the moons he looked at it and it seemed to stare back at him, issuing orders of baleful import. Reith dug a hole in the ground, dropped in Onmale. It seemed to shiver, to give a soundless shriek of anguish; he covered the gleaming emblem, feeling haunted and guilty, and when he rose to his feet his hands were shaking and clammy, and sweat trickled down his back.
Time passed: an hour? Two hours? Reith was unable to estimate. Since arriving on Tschai his time sense had gone awry.
The moons slid down the sky; midnight approached, passed; night sounds came in off the steppe: a faint high-pitched yelping of night-hounds, a great muffled belch. In the camp the fires dwindled to embers; the mutter of voices ceased.
The boy came silently up behind him. “I’m ready. Here is your cloak and a pack of food.”
Reith was aware that he spoke in a new voice, less certain, less brusque. His black hat seemed strangely plain. He looked at Reith’s hands and briefly around the shed, but made no inquiry concerning the Onmale.
They slipped off to the north, climbed the hillside so as to walk along the ridge. “We’ll be easier for the night-hounds to see,” muttered Traz, “but the attanders keep to the shadows of the swales.”
“If we can reach the forest, and the tree where I hope my harness still hangs, we’ll be considerably safer. Then …” He paused. The future was a blank expanse.
They gained the crest of the hill and halted a moment to rest. The high moons cast a wan light across the steppes, filling the hollows with darkness. From not too far to the north came a series of low wails. “Down,” hissed Traz. “Lie flat. The hounds are running.”
They lay without moving for fifteen minutes. The eery cries sounded again, toward the east. “Come,” said Traz. “They’re circling the camp, hoping for a staked child.”
They struck off to the south, up and down, avoiding the dark swales as much as possible. “The night is old,” said Traz. “When light comes the Emblems will trail us. If we reach the river we can lose them. If the marshmen take us, we’ll fare as badly, or worse.”
For two hours they walked. The eastern sky began to show a watery yellow light, barred by streaks of black cloud, and ahead rose the loom of the forest. Traz looked back the way they had come. “The camp will be astir. The women will be fire-building. Presently the magicians will come to seek out the Onmale. That would have been me. Since I am gone the camp will be in turmoil. There will be curses and shouts: high anger. The Emblems will run to their leap-horses, and be off pell-mell.” Once more Traz searched the horizons. “They’ll be along soon.”
The two walked, and reached the edge of the forest, still dark and dank and pooled with night shadows. Traz hesitated, looking into the forest, then back across the steppes.
“How far to the bog?” asked Reith.
“Not far. A mile or two. But I smell a berl.”
Reith tested the air and detected an acrid fetor.
“It might be only the spoor,” said Traz in a husk
y voice. “The Emblems will be here in a very few minutes. We’d best try to reach the river.”
“First the ejection harness!”
Traz gave a fatalistic shrug, plunged into the forest. Reith turned a last look over his shoulder. At the far dim edge of vision a set of hurrying black specks had appeared. He hurried after Traz, who moved with great care, stopping to listen and smell the air. In a fever of impatience Reith pressed at his back. Traz speeded his pace, and presently they were almost running over the sodden leaf-mold. From far behind Reith thought to hear a set of savage hoots.
Traz stopped short. “Here is the tree.” He pointed up. “Is that what you want?”
“Yes,” said Reith with heartfelt relief. “I was afraid it might be gone.”
Traz climbed the tree, lowered the seat. Reith snapped open the flap, withdrew his hand-gun, kissed it in rapture, thrust it in his belt.
“Hurry,” said Traz anxiously. “I hear the Emblems; they’re not far behind.”
Reith pulled forth the survival pack, buckled it on his back. “Let’s go. Now they follow at their own risk.”
Traz led the way around the bog, taking pains to conceal the signs of their passage, doubling back, swinging across a twenty-foot finger of black muck on a hanging branch, climbing another tree, letting it bend beneath his weight to carry him sixty feet away to the opposite side of a dense clump of reeds. Reith followed each of his ploys. The voices of the Emblem warriors were now clearly audible.
