Donnerjack Page 8

  Strange, he reflected, tonight the moaning seemed to be accompanied by the rattling of chains…

  FOUR

  Seaga emerged from the cave, stretched, and stared out across the many-chambered world. It was good to have one’s consciousness localized in a single body, in a single place once again, much to recommend a compact feeling of entirety. There was Earthma, for example. Good that she slept for a time now, though, to give him this respite. If indeed she were sleeping… Of course she was sleeping. It would be ridiculous to mix business with pleasure. On the other hand…

  A distant movement caught his attention. Tiny dot out of the east, it cut in his direction, running across the sky. He turned his vision inside-out, better to understand the phenomenon, here, above the blue, where daytime stars now recommended themselves to his gaze. Running on nothing it came, as if the trick were not impossible, or at least insuperably difficult, a pale-haired youth clad only in a golden jockstrap and sandals. Soon the figure was treading on nothingness before him, eyes dancing. In his hand he bore a feathered stick, wrapped by a pair of lethargic serpents, also golden. “Hail, Seaga,” he announced. “You linger On High.”

  “What of it, Celerity?” the other responded. “And why should I not?”

  “To be sure. Deity may do as it chooses. And that is somehow always right, in a sense.”

  “Do you come to speak me riddles? To dance on the mountaintop? Or have you a message for me?”

  “None of the above. I came to speak with whomever might be here and taking a break from extended awareness, to report an odd sighting.”

  “That being?”

  “Death, his own, old dark self. Below. I saw him not that long ago. Perhaps you heard his wail and saw the sky split, felt the earth shake, the mountain sway.”

  “I did, and it disturbed my—meditations. Though, in truth, I thought it might be a part of them. So I did not know the true source of that great cry, my awareness being unextended. Do you know why Death howled?”

  “I cannot say,” Celerity answered, “for who can know the thoughts of Death? I only know that he circled the base of Mount Meru as if searching for something. When he came to a depression in the ground he studied it and took something from it. That was when he gave his cry.”

  “Did you see what it was that he’d found?”

  “I believe it was a small length of red cable.”

  “Hm. The primal mountain is not wired. Did you see what he did with it?”

  “He bore it away with him, Seaga, walking amid the worlds.”

  “Why do you bring this information On High?”

  “I felt it of importance to anyone here, that Death has been sniffing around your mountain.”

  “He has never dared to set foot on it. What would be the point? We are undying gods.”

  “I like to think so. Hate to get Death pissed off at me, though.”

  “You have a point. Do you feel some one of us may have done a thing to offend him?”

  “I think it possible. We might check with any of the others who are about, to see whether this could be the case.”

  Seaga glanced back toward the cave.

  “Unfortunately, Skyga is deep in meditation just now,” he said. “I’m not certain where Earthma has gotten off to.”

  The youth smiled, waving his wand downward.

  “Probably playing games with the Elishites.”

  “I know them not.”

  “A new religion.”

  “Religions come and go. They all start sounding alike after a time. What should anyone find amusing about this one?”

  “It’s still growing, and it contains some unusual features. For one thing, it was founded here in Virtu, and it seems to be spreading across the border to the first world.”

  Seaga shrugged.

  “Virtu has always existed, in one form or another. The technology of the Verite only provided it a local habitation and a name. It may well be that all religions have taken their origins in Virtu. For what is it but the collective spirit of the race?”

  “Be that as it may, another has come along. Maybe you should get involved yourself.”

  “Perhaps. Have you?”

  “Strictly as an observer—a distant one, so far.”

  “What sort of religion is it?”

  “They went back to the old Sumerian stuff for it. ‘A return to basics at a new level’—as they were bade. Only none of the founders were sure what that meant, so they guessed. It has standard personifications and the usual theatrics.”

  “Who started it?”

  “I don’t know the name. I wasn’t watching at the beginning. But rumor has it an arty got the word and started the ball rolling.”

  “Do you know whether one of my colleagues had a hand in it?”

  Celerity shook his head.

  “Hmm,” Seaga mused. “A religion founded by an artificial intelligence…” He moved forward and looked downward. “And what of our lesser brethren? Are they involved?”

  “Some are, I think.”

  “I would think this just the sort of thing for a minor deity anxious to increase his mana.”

  Celerity blushed.

  “So would I, actually. It does threaten to become a going concern.”

  “I don’t feel like becoming involved. Not without knowing a lot more about it. May I persuade you to show more interest and to report back to me?”

  “I suppose. How do you feel I should go about it, though? One hardly files a job application, you know.”

  “True. Talk to the lesser ones on the lower slopes who have become involved. Show them your interest and display your greatness.”

  “What greatness? I am definitely of the minor astral nobility, an errand boy of you High Ones, not a true dweller on Meru. I may not even set foot at this level. I’ve no aura sufficient to awe them into obedience or cooperation.”

  Seaga smiled.

  “Easily changed,” he said. “Perhaps it were time you received a promotion. Walk forward.”

  Celerity studied his dark-bearded face, stared into his blue eyes, looked away.

  “I will not be blasted?” he asked.

  “That would hardly be productive. No, you shall not be blasted, rapid one. Come ashore from the twilight.”

  Celerity stepped onto the ledge.

  “So that’s how it feels,” he said after a moment.

  “How is that?” Seaga asked.

  “The same as anyplace else.”

  “Then you have learned a small lesson. Now learn the exception.”

  Seaga raised his right hand and placed it upon the other’s head. Immediately, Celerity winced. Slowly, then, his expression grew more relaxed, until finally he was smiling. After a short while a small radiance surrounded his body. The golden quality he exhibited was enhanced, grew to become an aura of almost liquid quality. Soon ripples and lines appeared within it, as if a flow were occurring.

  “It feels as if a current is passing through me, between your hand and the mountain,” he said after a time.

  “This is indeed the case.” the other replied, “though some of it remains to enhance your personal attributes. In other words, you grow stronger by the moment.”

  The aura reached a peak of brightness and Seaga held it so for several minutes more. Then he withdrew his hand suddenly and let it fall to his side.

  “And so, Celerity, you are ready,” he said. “Go forth into the worlds, obtain knowledge of this matter, and bring it to me.”

  Celerity raised a hand and flexed it. He stared at it. It began to glow with the golden light. He smiled. He raised his wand and saluted Seaga with it.

  “At your service,” he said.

  Then he sprang straight up into the air, hovered a moment, and turned. Suddenly, he was gone, a golden streak in the north. Moments later he reappeared, out of the south.

  “At your service,” he repeated. Then he was gone into the east.

  * * *

  Sayjak wiped his machete on th
e pant leg of one of the bounties, then regarded the man’s web belt with the sheathed machete hung above the left hip. Stooping, he studied the manner in which it was fastened. Here, his experience with knots seemed somehow to serve him. He understood how it worked. Leaning forward, he unfastened and removed it. Raising it then, he saw that it was too short to fit about his own waist. He was about to cast it away when he realized how it might be adjusted. He expanded it to its greatest length then clasped it about himself. He withdrew the machete and looked at it. It was cleaner, newer-looking than the one he held. He replaced it in the sheath and plunged the old one into the ground beside the corpse. Then he straightened for a moment and regarded the twelve dead bounties, seated with their backs against tree trunks, their heads in their laps, hands positioned as if holding them.

  “Good work,” he said to the others, who had stood watching him, “because you did what I told you.”

  “Two hands, two dicks of bodies,” Staggert said. “The People never did them like that before.”

  “Not done yet, either,” Sayjak said.

  “We going back for the others—west, south?”

  “No. Too many. There is another way.”

  “What?”

  “You will see. Get the rest of the clan together now. The way is open to go northwest.”

  “We run away?”

  “Little bit. Not for good.”

  Staggert moved to one of the bodies, leaned forward, groped at its waist.

  “What you doing?” Sayjak asked.

  “Get a waist thing and a cutting stick like yours, to take heads with.”

  Sayjak moved forward, placed a hand on his shoulder and pushed. Staggert fell sprawling.

  “No!” Sayjak said. “Nobody get cutting stick but boss. Just Sayjak.”

  Staggert sprang to his feet with a snarl. He began to raise his hands and Sayjak struck him a low blow. He grunted and clutched his groin.

  “Only boss has cutting stick,” Sayjak said.

  Staggert’s eyes narrowed. Then he looked away.

  “Sure, boss. Only Sayjak,” he said then.

  Sayjak turned to the others, all of whom dropped their eyes.

  “Now get the clan together,” he ordered. “We go northwest.”

  They moved to comply, and that afternoon Sayjak led his people out of the trap that had been drawn about them. Then he turned to the southwest, taking them to a place known to all the People, even those who had never visited it. All afternoon they moved, pausing only once to feed.

  At length, by twilight, they came to the Circle Shannibal. It was a circular clearing in the jungle, a few boulders scattered through it, a large, hard-packed mound of earth at its center. Sayjak increased his pace, heading toward the mound. With a leap, he took himself atop it, and there he paced, turning slowly in all directions.

  The clan followed him into the clearing, moving to its center, gathering about the mound, murmuring softly.

  “This is the Circle Shannibal,” he said. “Very important place. Long time ago Karak, founder of the clans of the People, lived here. Story is that he beat upon this mound till People in the trees come to see what the matter is. Then he stood here where I am standing and told them why being clan is better than being wild and by yourself. They thought it good idea to join him. Of course, he had to fight some of the toughest ones then who would like to be boss themselves. But that’s okay. He won. Then the clan hung around here for a long time. Place got browsed out, though, and they moved on. Later, clan got too big and they split it. More splits went on over the years. But every now and then, when some big emergency came along, old Karak would come here—back to the starting place—and call them all together. And after he was gone— every now and then, when emergencies came along—the biggest boss would come here to call everybody back to deal with it. Been a long time since Karak’s days and other emergency times. But we got one now, and I’m biggest boss and I’m gonna call ‘em all in. They all remember the stories. They’ll come to see what’s going on.” He knelt then and began striking his fists on the top of the mound. “We all gotta help. Take turns hitting it. Get big sticks if you gotta. Don’t hit each other.”

  Several moved to join him as he climbed down and stood at the mound’s side. Soon their pounding grew steady, settled into a rhythm. The others began to sway, then to raise their feet and put them down again.

  All through the night the drumming went on, the clan slowly working itself into a bashing, wailing, foot-stamping frenzy. The jungle continued to throb with the pounding. Soon the first strangers began to arrive.

  Throughout the night more of them came to the clearing. At first, it was individuals and couples. Then larger groups appeared to join in the dancing and the drumming. Then old Dortak, who remembered the tradition, came in with the rest of his clan. The Circle began to fill and newcomers relieved tired drummers.

  Finally, Otlag entered the Circle with the balance of his people. Later in the afternoon Bilgad’s clan showed up, crowding the Circle, joining in the wailing, the swaying, the great mass circling of the mound. Still Sayjak—sweating and stamping—caused the hypnotic drumming to continue. Individuals dropped out to eat and relieve themselves, returning as soon as they were done. The vibrations in the ground were felt as far as the western bounty camp, but the hunters—who had never experienced a clan summoning—thought it a geological phenomenon and continued the preparations for their project at hand.

  The drumming and dancing continued till twilight. Then Sayjak signed to the drummers to stop, and when they had, he vaulted once more to the top of the mound. He turned slowly in a circle, taking in all of the clans with his gaze.

  “Many bounties have come to take our heads,” he said. “Three groups of them took places about my clan. Big one to the south, smaller one over that way.” He gestured, then gestured again. “Smallest that way. Sayjak’s clan killed all of the last one, took their heads.”

  A murmur ran among the visiting clans.

  “That let us get past them,” he continued, “to come here, to the old place, to call in the rest of you. Sayjak’s clan is mighty, but Sayjak is not a fool. Too many bounties there for Sayjak to get them all. But Sayjak knows how to do it. Sayjak wants you to come with him. Not all of you— Sayjak only wants a few good clansmen, big, strong, fast. Come with him and his fighters to the western bounty encampment. There we will kill them all and you will see how it is done. Then we go south to the big bounty camp and everyone must help.”

  There was more murmuring, then. “Sayjak,” Dortak called out, “the bounties drew their lines around your clan, came to kill your people. They did not do this to the rest of us. Why should we help you fight your battle?”

  Sayjak showed his teeth.

  “You think they will stop with the head of Sayjak and the heads of his people?” he asked. “If they can do it to Sayjak, they can do it to Bilgad. When I am gone they will come for Otlag, then you. By your-selves, none of you will stand against a massing of bounties such as this. Together, though, with me to show you how to do it, we will kill them all—tonight! Leave them with their heads in their laps! No longer will they think the People are easy to kill. They will be afraid and stay away. It will be a long time before they come back, if they ever do.”

  Dortak drew himself erect, then spoke into the silence that followed Sayjak’s statement:

  “This may be, and it may not be,” he said. “I believe you when you say that you have learned good ways to kill bounties. What I do not know is whether killing them all will keep more from coming, or will bring even more later after our heads.”

  Sayjak started to respond, but Dortak said, “But I will go along with you, for now all of the People need your knowledge of bounty killing. This is how we will learn it. But if we are successful, if we kill them all, the clan of Dortak will move to a different place. This is because I feel that the bounties and the eeksies will mark this place in some way, as a trouble spot, and it will no longer be safe to live
here. You may be right. They may not come back for a long time. But I believe that they will come back one day, and I do not want my clan here when they do.”

  Sayjak showed his teeth again. He had been about to bluster, to say that he would kill all of the later bounties, too. Then it occurred to him that he might one day have to run, and it would not do to make it look too bad a thing. In fact— He realized that it might not be a bad idea to get the hell out after this battle. The jungle was big. Even if the bounties found the clans again later they would have no way of knowing whether they were the ones who had been behind this night’s work.

  “Dortak is wise,” Sayjak said. “We cannot say for certain what the bounties will do. Yes, I think we should all move to new places after we have done here. Not come back for a long time.”

  He made a mental note then to either kill Dortak one day or to become friends with him, for he saw that he could be either dangerous or useful. He would have to think about it.

  * * *

  Ayradyss fell in love with the bed frame as soon as she spotted its canopy towering over the jumble and detritus of the Massachusetts antique dealer’s shop. Headboard and footboard were shaped from twisting vines of wrought bronze that had been permitted to verdigris to a soft green. Almost hidden within the vines were tiny morning glories: floral jewels in royal purple, shining pink, pastel-kissed white, and an odd, almost translucent, blue. At each corner, the vines coiled up slender polished wooden posts, rioting upward to intertwine and form a canopy from which fabric could be hung, or which could be left bare.

  “Oh, Dack, don’t you just love it?” she asked, hurrying across the shop to examine her treasure more closely.

  Dack, the robot who would be the majordomo of Castle Donnerjack when the ongoing construction was completed, turned from where he had been reviewing (and recording) samples of antique silver patterns. His tall, lean frame hid surprising strength; his features were an art deco rendering of Clark Gable done in silver and bronze.