I am John Carmody, he whispered. Always have been, am, will be an exception.
From behind and below him came a loud roar like a lion's. Men shouted. Another roar. A snarling. A man screamed as if in a death agony. Another roar. Then a strange sound as if a great bag had burst. Vaguely, Carmody felt that his ankles were wet.
He looked around in surprise and saw that the moon had gone down and the sun had risen. What had he been doing all night? Standing here on this pedestal dreaming away the purple hours?
He blinked and shook his head. He had allowed himself to be caught up in the bronze thoughts of this statue, had felt as it did, had slowed time and let it lap around him gently and dreamily, just as he had experienced the hard scarlet lust of Skelder, Mary's meltingness and liquid movements toward the satyr-priest, the impact of bullets tearing into her, her terror of death, of dissolvingness, and Ralloux's agony of flesh in his sheet of flame and agony of soul over man's damnation -- just as he had felt all these, so now he had fallen prey to this creature's mineral philosophy; and might perhaps have ended as it had, if something had not jarred him out of the fatal contemplation. Even now, coming out of his -- coma? -- he felt the temptation of the silent peace, of letting time and space flow by, sweetly and softly.
But in the next second he came fully awake. He had tried to move away and found that he was anchored more than mentally. The finger he'd put into the statue's mouth was clamped tight between its teeth. No matter how violently he pulled away, he could not get it loose. There was no pain at all, only a numbness. This, he supposed, was because the circulation was cut off. Still, there should be some pain. If this sharing of thoughts had gone so far that his own flesh had changed. . .
The man-statue must not have been completely transformed; there must have been feeling left in the soft back part of the tongue. Reacting automatically -- or maybe maliciously -- it had slowly closed its jaws during the night, and when the sun saw the process of casting flesh into bronze complete, its jaws were almost shut. Now they would never open, for the soul within it was gone. Or, at least, Carmody could detect no thoughts or feeling emanating from it.
He looked around him, anxious not only because he did not know yet how to get free of this trap but because of his exposed position. What made things worse was that he'd dropped the gun. It lay at his feet, but, though he bent his knees and reached down for it with his left hand, his fingertips were several inches away.
Straightening up, he allowed himself the luxury of a firecracker-string of curses. It was ridiculous, this verbal explosion, of no practical use whatever. But he certainly felt a little less tense.
He looked up and down the street. Nobody in sight.
He looked down, remembering then that he had had the impression his legs had been wetted during the night. Dried blood caked his sandals and stained the green and white stripes of his fashionably painted legs.
He muttered, "Oh, no, not again," thinking of the shower of blood in Mrs. Kri's kitchen. But a further examination showed him that Mary was not responsible. The stuff had spurted from wounds made in the body of a monster, which lay face up at the base of the pedestal, its dead eyes staring at the purplish sky. It was twice as tall as the average Kareenan and was covered with a bluish feathery hair. Apparently its body hairs, once no thicker than those of an Earthman, had sprouted into a dense mat. Its legs and feet had broadened, like an elephant's, to support its weight. From the hips, grew a long thick tapering tail that would in time have resembled that of a Tyrannosaurus rex. The hands had degenerated into talons, and the face had assumed a bestial angle, slanting out, the jawbones thickening, powered with great muscles, equipped with sharp teeth. These were fastened down on an arm that it had torn from some unlucky man, probably one of those who had killed it during the fight that must have taken place. But of the others there was no sign except great stains on the street and sidewalk.
Then six men walked around the corner and halted staring at him.
Though they seem unarmed, there was something in the concentration of their expressions that alarmed him. Violently he jerked upon his finger, again and again until, panting, sweating, he could only look into the rigid grin and fixed eyes of the statue and swear at it. Once, he thought, this thing was human and therefore could have been dealt with, being of weak flesh and blood. But now, dead and of unyielding, uncaring metal, it was past argument, past cunning words.
He ground his teeth in silent agony, and he thought, If they won't help me, and there's no reason why they should, then I must sacrifice my finger. That's logical; that is if I want to get free again. It is possible to get my knife from my pocket and. . .
One of the men said, mockingly, and as if he had been reading Carmody's thoughts, "Go ahead, Earthman, cut it off! That is, if you can possibly endure to mutilate your precious flesh!"
For the first time, Carmody recognized the man as Tand.
He had no chance to reply, for the others began to jeer, making fun of his having been caught in such a ridiculous way, asking him if he always made a public spectacle of himself like this. They hooted and laughed and slapped their thighs and each other's backs in typically uninhibited Kareenan fashion.
"This is the pipsqueak who thought he would kill a god!" howled Tand. "Behold the great deicide, caught like any baby with his finger in the jam jar!"
Keep cool, Carmody, they can't touch you.
That was a fine thing to say, and it meant exactly nothing. He was tired, tired, his proud bristling-forward bearing gone with the strength that seemed to have drained from his body. If his finger did not hurt because it was of frozen metal, his feet certainly made up for it. They felt as if he'd been standing on them for days.
Suddenly, he felt panic. How long had he been upon this pedestal? How much time had flowed by? How much time did he have left before the Night of Light was over?
"Tand," said one of the men, "do you honestly think that this would-be statue might have the Power?"
"Look at what he has done so far," replied Tand. He spoke to Carmody. "You have slain the old Yess, friend. He knew that it was to happen, and he told me so before the Night began.
"Now, we six are looking for one more to make the Seven Lovers of the Great Mother, the Seven Fathers of the baby Yess."
"So you lied to me!" snarled Carmody. "You weren't going to Sleep, then?"
"If you will recall my exact words," said Tand, "you will see that I did not lie. I told you the truth but ambiguously. You chose the particular interpretation."
"Friends," spoke another man, "I think we are wasting our time here and giving the Enemy an advantage we may not be able to overcome. This man, despite his tremendous power, which I can sense in him even without probing -- this man, I say, is one of the dirty-souled. In fact, I doubt if he does have a soul. Or, if he does, it is a fragment, a rag, a minuscule, a tiny little thing cowering in the deep and the darkness, afraid to have anything to do with the body, allowing the body to operate as it will, refusing to take any responsibility, refusing to admit even its own existence."
The others seemed to find this very funny, for they laughed uproariously and added remarks of their own.
Carmody trembled. Their amused contempt struck him like six hammers, one after the other, then all at once, then one after the other, like an anvil chorus. It was intensified many times because he shared in it at the same time that he felt its impact, as if he were both transmitter and receiver. He who had always thought he was above being affected by anyone's contempt or laughter had suddenly found that it was not altitude that protected him but a barrier built up around him. And the defense had crumbled.
Wearily, hopelessly, he began jerking on the finger, then, as he saw six other strangers walking down the street toward him, he gave up. These men were also unarmed and walked with the same proud bearing possessed by the other group. They, too, stopped before him but ignored the first-comers.
"Is this the man?" said one.
"I think he is," repl
ied another.
"Should we release him?"
"No. If he wishes to be one of us, he will release himself."
"But if he wishes to be one of them he will also release himself."
"Earthman," said a third, "you are being honored above all others -- indeed you are the first man not born on this planet ever to be so honored."
"Come," said a fourth, "let us go to the Temple and there lie with Boonta and so father Algul, the true prince of this world."
Carmody began to feel less humiliated. Apparently, he was important, not only to the second group, but to the first. Though if the first wanted him for something, they had a strange way of enlisting him.
What made the procedure so peculiar was that no man in the two groups was distinguished by any conventional marks of good or evil. All were handsome, vigorous, and seemingly self-confident. The only difference in their bearing was that the first, those who spoke for Yess, seemed to be having a good time, and were not afraid to lose their dignity in laughter. The second were uniformly grave and somewhat stiff.
They must need me badly, he thought.
"What will you give me?" he said very loudly, encompassing both groups in one glance.
The men of the first group looked at each other, shrugged their shoulders, and Tand said,"We will give you nothing you can't give yourself."
The spokesman for the newcomers, a tall young man, almost too handsome, said, "When we go into the Temple and there lie with Boonta as the Dark Mother, and father Algul her Dark Son, you will experience an ecstasy that cannot be described because you have never felt anything like it before. And during the years that it will take the babe to grow into manhood and godhood, you will be one of his regents, and there will be nothing in this world denied you --"
"Even," broke in Tand, "the fear of these others killing you so they may not have to share any of the riches which they cannot possibly spend during their lifetime. For it is true that when the seven evil Fathers triumph, they always plot against each other after Algul is born. They are forced to, because they cannot trust each other. And it has always happened that only one survives, and when Algul comes to manhood, he kills that one, because he cannot endure having a mortal Father."
"What is to prevent Algul from being killed by one of his Fathers?" asked Carmody.
Even in the violet light, he could see the men of the second group turn pale. They looked at each other. "Though he is a baby who must be fed and have his diapers changed, Algul is yet a god," said Tand. "That is, being a god, he is the sum and essence of the spirit of those who created him. And, as most men wish for immortality, he, representing them, is immortal. That is, he would live forever if his creators did, too. But, being evil, he cannot trust his fathers, and so they must die. And when they do, he begins to age and eventually dies. Though potentially immortal, he is dead the day he is born because the seeds of evil are in him, and the seeds flower into distrust and hate."
"This is all very fine," said Carmody. "Why, then, does Yess, the supposedly good god, also age and die?"
The men of Algul laughed, and their leader said, "Well spoken, Earthman."
Patiently, as if talking to a child, Tand replied, "Yess, though a god, is also a man, a being of flesh and blood. As such he is limited, and he works within the bounds set for flesh and blood. Like all men, he must die. Furthermore, he is the sum and essence of the predominating spirit of the people who lived at the time he was born -- or created, whichever term you prefer. Those who Sleep have as much to do with the formation and tempering of his body and spirit as we seven Wakers do. The Sleepers dream, and the collective force of their dreaming decides which god shall be born during the Night, and also what his spirit -- or what you call his personality -- shall be. If the inclination of the people who Sleep has been toward evil during the years preceding the Night, then it is likely that Algul will be born. If toward good, then it is likely that Yess will be born. We would-be Fathers are not actually the determining factors. We are the agents, and the Sleepers, the two billion people of our world, are the will."
Tand paused, stared hard at Carmody as if trying to impress his sincerity upon him, and said, "I will be frank. You are so important partly because you are an Earthman; a man from another star. Only lately have we Kareenans become very much aware of alien religions, of what their existence implies. We have become aware that the Great Mother, or God, or the Prime Cause, or whatever you wish to term the Creator of the universe, is not restricted in Her interest to our little cloud of dust, that She has scattered Her creatures everywhere.
"Therefore, the Sleepers, knowing that man is not alone, that he has blood-brothers everywhere that life may be, outward to infinity and to eternity, wish to have as a Father one of these strangers from the stars. Yess, reborn, will not be the old Yess. He will be as different from the old man who died, his predecessor, as any baby is from his father. He will be, we hope, part alien, because of his alien heritage. And during his princehood over us, he will enable us to understand and become one with these strangers from the stars, and we will be better men because of him and his heritage. That is one reason, Carmody, why we desire you."
Tand pointed at his Enemies.
"And these six want you also as seventh, but not for quite the same reason. If you are one of the Fathers of Algul, then perhaps Algul may extend his dominion past this planet and to the stars: And they, through Algul, will share in this cosmic loot."
Carmody felt hope -- and craving -- surge within him, bringing him strength from somewhere in his exhausted flesh. To take for yourself the richest planets, as you would the biggest diamonds for a necklace! String them on a cord of space and wear them around your neck! With the vast powers he would undoubtedly have as Algul's regent, he could do anything! Nothing barred!
It was then that the second group must have decided that the right moment had come, for they suddenly launched at him the collective force of their feelings. And he, being wide open, reeled beneath them.
Dark, dark, dark. . .
Ecstasy. . .
He, John Carmody, would be forever John Carmody as he now knew him, inviolate, strong, defiant, bending or destroying anything in the way of what he wanted. No danger here of his changing, of becoming something other than what he now was. Body, mind, and soul, he would in the flame of this dark ecstasy become hard as a diamond, resisting all change, permanent, forever John Carmody. The race of man might die around him, suns grow cold, planets slow and fall into their parent suns, but he, John Carmody, would travel outwards with the expanding universe, landing upon freshly born planets, living there until they grew old and died, then setting out again. And always and forever himself, today and tomorrow, unchanging, the same hard-and-bright-as-a-diamond John Carmody.
Then the first group opened themselves up. But instead of launching at him their concentrated essence, like a spear, they merely lowered the wall and allowed him to attack or do whatever he wished. There was not the slightest hint of assault or force, nor the feeling the fathers of Algul gave of withholding something deep within themselves in reserve. They were wide open and transparent to the depths of their beings.
John Carmody could no more resist attacking than a hungry tiger who sees a goat tethered to a tree.
Light, light, light. . .
Ecstasy. . .
But not the hardening, setting-for-ever ecstasy of the others. This was threatening, frightening, for it exploded him, dissolved, sent him flying in a thousand bits outward.
Screaming silently, in mental anguish, he tried to collect the hundred thousand fragments, to bring them back, fused again into the image of the old John Carmody. The pain of destroying himself was unendurable.
Pain? It was the same as the ecstasy. How could pain and ecstasy be the same thing?
He didn't know. All he did know was that he had recoiled from the six of Yess. Their lack of walls was their defense. Not for anything would he again attack them. Destroy John Carmody?
"Yes,"
said Tand, though Carmody had not spoken. "You must die first; you must dissolve that image of the old John Carmody, and build a new image, a better one, just as the newly born Yess will be better than the old god who died."
Abruptly, Carmody turned from both groups and reaching in his pocket, drew out the switchknife. His thumb pressed the button in the handle and the blade shot out like a blue-gray tongue, like the tongue of the snake that had bitten him.
There was but one way to get loose from the bronze jaws.
He did it.
It hurt, but not so badly as he thought it would. Nor did he bleed as much as he had expected. He mentally ordered the blood vessels to close. And they, like flowers at the approach of night, obeyed.
But the work of sawing through flesh and bone left him panting as if he'd run several kilometers. His legs trembled, and the faces below him blurred, and ran into two broad white featureless faces. He couldn't last long.
The leader of the men of Algul stepped forward and held out his arms. "Jump, Carmody," he called joyfully. "Jump! I will catch you; my arms are strong. Then we will scatter this weak, sniveling brood, and go to the temple and there --"
"Wait!"
The woman's voice, coming from behind them, loud and commanding, yet at the same time musical, froze them.
He looked up, over the heads of the men.
Mary.
Mary, alive and whole again, as he had seen her before he emptied his gun into her face. Unchanged, except for one thing. Her belly was swollen enormously; it had grown since he had last seen her and was now ripe to give birth to the life within her.
The leader of the men of Algul said to Carmody, "Who is this Earth woman?"
Carmody, standing on the edge of the base, ready to leap down, hesitated and opened his mouth to reply. But Tand spoke first.
"She is his wife. He killed her upon Earth and fled here. But he created her the first night of the Sleep."
"Ahhhh!"
The seven of Algul sucked in their breath and drew back.
Farmer, Philip Jose - Father Carmody 00.3 Page 8
