IT WAS A SHOCK TO VULTURE TO DISCOVER THAT MANKA Warlock was not nearly as lost as the rest of them, nor even surprised to find Vulture returning as a truth-bearer.
“Maka play Maka game instead of Thunder game,” Vulture said disgustedly.
The chief stood up and glared at the truth-bearer, who was considerably smaller. “Is no game but Maka game. Never no game but Maka game. Not ever!”
“Maka no care with sky tribe? No care sky tribe need Maka to battle evil demon-god?”
Warlock spat. “To fire god with sky tribe! Long life Maka slave to big chiefs. Do this, do that. Then mess with Maka thoughts. Make fat bird Maka chief. No more. No more. Maka chief now. Think clear, be strong. Tribe do what Maka say, think what Maka think. If demon-god say people be this way then maybe demon-god right. Power, strength always chief. Then. Now. Best Maka be chief here than belong to Thunder chief or demon-god chief or secret chief.”
“What of sky tribe people here?”
“No sky tribe people here but false truth-bearer. Only Maka tribe.”
Vulture had just about enough of this psychotic. “False truth-bearer is not people. Maka know,” she said menacingly. “False truth-bearer need just touch great Maka chief. No more Maka chief. Then Vulture chief,” she noted, using the foreign word deliberately.
Warlock was mad but not suicidal. Her eyes went wide and she seemed to inch back a bit from the small figure.
Vulture smiled grimly. “That not help Maka. Can run, but great chief not run. Not and keep body of chief. But, if so—chief must touch people. Chief must mate with tribe. Which tribe people be Vulture? Not know. Not even know. Is Oona? Tabu? Midi? Maka not know. But Maka know now. Fear in eyes of great Maka chief. No can have fear, Maka chief. Fear turn Maka chief to just property. Common tribe. Great god-demon create Matriyeh to trap any tribe that can do harm, but great god-demon not know Vulture. Maka chief do.” Suddenly she lapsed into English. “You aren’t free, Manka Warlock,” she said coldly. “I’ve got you between a rock and a hard place.”
Warlock understood this well now, but she wasn’t through yet. “No can steal finger bracelet if finger bracelet could be steal anyway. Maka tribe big tribe. Earth-Mother born, not sky tribe born. False truth-bearer can kill Maka, be Maka . . . but then what?”
Then what indeed? Vulture had been pondering this somewhat with the help of Maria Santiago, and they had decided that now was the time for big risks.
“God-demon make one mistake,” Vulture told her. “Matriyeh created to trap sky tribe people. Good trap; clever trap. But to make trap work had to make tribe stronger than beliefs. Sky tribe finished with hiding. Finished with god-demon traps. Maka like Matriyeh? Maka want be great chief? If Maka have courage to risk tribe, life, all things—then Maka can get what Maka want and sky tribe what sky tribe want. No more tribes play god-demons’s game. Now god-demon play new game. Maka game. Sky tribe game.”
This was more like it, and a way out. “Maka listens,” she said seriously.
It really wasn’t either Vulture or Maria who came up with it, but rather both of them discussing their experiences and their problem. The world was a nearly perfect trap. If you came in with weapons and high-tech devices, you would trigger a wholesale invasion of Vals, SPF forces, and planetary defenses. If you came in Matriyehan but with modern things and different tongues, then sooner or later a truth-bearer would smoke you out, and the closer you got to the holy place or the more dangerous you seemed, the more likely you would bring down all the truth-bearers in the region upon you. Star Eagle had pegged it correctly: the only way in safely and quietly was to come in as a true Matriyehan, as they had come in. But Matriyehan society was engineered, even to its language and its biochemical bonding, to trap anyone who came in that way, as well. Invulnerable. Impenetrable. On Janipur and perhaps elsewhere the ring had been guarded by technology and open displays of force, and those had been beaten. On Matriyeh, the ring was guarded by a total absence of those things. It was insidious. Whoever attained one type would be unlikely to fail to be trapped by their own ego and self-confidence in the other.
But the system was quite fragile, depending as it did on the absolute adherence by the people of Matriyeh to the religious codes and beliefs, of the priestesshood, reinforced by third-rank truth-bearers. But because of the structure the system couldn’t use any of the high-tech mechanisms that Master System had elsewhere. To bring out legions of SPF would destroy the system in the act of preserving it.
The only thing the religion could do would be to rally large numbers of tribes to fight the demon-dominated rebels, overwhelming them by sheer force of numbers. But the rebel tribe would fight to the last, since its members were not only culturally but also biologically linked to their chief. Maria Santiago had said it in her drugged state. Her job was not to think but to obey. The king’s religion was the religion of the nation, even if that nation numbered only sixty-one.
Guards were posted at the few easy entrances to the valley. Anyone was to be allowed in, but none were allowed out, not even truth-bearers of whatever rank. Raiding parties of the best warriors would be sent out to capture and haul back any strays, to build strength wherever possible. The valley could easily feed a hundred or more for a long time, if they were careful, and with new training and new ideas they might be enough to become the most formidable army in the recent history of Matriyeh.
The bow and arrow were easily fabricated, but were on the forbidden list. It wouldn’t take many archers to decimate a tribe like Sosa tribe. Salt preserved food for long periods and there were a number of salt outcroppings in the region. Sledges could be rigged to carry what was needed over long distances. Santiago knew how to construct the bolo, a weapon so obscure it hadn’t even made the forbidden list. Obscure, but damned effective.
Vulture was getting tired of skulking around. Now it was time to bring revolution to Matriyeh and bring down this terrible and cruel experiment—but subtly. If it were done right, and the weapons and tactics properly chosen, it might not even appear that any of it was of alien origin. Master System was also about to learn a lesson in evolution. If you keep an environment soft and comfortable, the people are pushovers; if you have them in continual conflict, danger, and under constant pressure just to remain alive, you are going to get only the smartest, strongest, and toughest surviving.
Without the tribal bonds that were the heart of the trap, the tribes themselves would have disposed of a chief committing such heresy. Not here. Here the people belonged to the chief. It was a gaping hole in Master System’s otherwise perfect defense, but it also remained untested. Surely innovation and invention was not uncommon on this world; chiefs were of the personality to put self above religious restrictions when power was available. The normal control procedure was to administer one of the drug compounds in the truth-bearer’s bag of tricks. So far, it had been effective; certainly nothing in Omaqua’s experience indicated a major failure.
Now Vulture and Warlock intended to rock the very foundations of that system and see just what they could shake out. The risk was that the protectors would have to break out the heavy artillery or technical defenses, but that would mean some folks in the holy place knew a lot more than the rest, and it would require bringing those people to the scene.
The campaign had been going well, carefully taking on selected contiguous tribes whose numbers were within the reach of Warlock’s band. Within weeks they numbered more than two hundred, the most powerful organized force on the planet outside the priestesshood, but it was almost immediately clear why no action had yet been taken against them.
A band that size was simply unmanageable by the system of Matriyeh. It was not sufficient for Warlock to take each tribe member once; the chemical bond only held strong, it seemed, if each member were taken every few weeks at most or was made pregnant, and the numbers were against Warlock from the start. Most Matriyehans were no more oversexed than most Earth-humans, but none were celibate. Here the urge for sex was far more biochemical, a survival mechanism for the race. Warlock’s capacity was great but not infinite; certainly no more than four in a day and that was exhausting enough. That was a hundred and twenty a month, once a month. Already that left eighty and loss of control began perhaps eight to ten days after a period. Those would find what relief they could among themselves, and that would inevitably trigger the sexual sea change in one or more of them.
Warlock felt frustrated and incensed by it, but Vulture simply decided on a change in tactics. Warlock didn’t like it one bit, but she was smart enough to see that there was no real alternative; she was more frightened of Vulture than of diluting her power. It was time to halt, take stock, and let the truth-bearer pharmacy grind into action.
Another truth-bearer was attracted by all the action, though, and was quite startled to find one of her own already there. Omaqua suggested they go off someplace quiet and discuss things first. They looked so much alike that few could even tell that the one who returned wasn’t the one who left, but Vulture had a better briefing on the situation, a new perspective, and a whole second set of drugs and aids that would be badly needed.
Warlock’s movements had indeed attracted attention, but the truth-bearer’s instructions had been pretty limited toward what Vulture and Warlock thought of as a major movement. Wait until it splits and new chiefs fight the old, then move in and take one of the new tribes and eliminate the innovations. There was a definite implication that more truth-bearers would be heading this way to take care of the others, but there didn’t seem to be any hurry or sense of urgency. This was routine stuff; it was their job. There was a flaw in Master System’s defense, of that Vulture was certain, but it wasn’t the fear of empire. It was obvious now that that route had been effectively foreclosed. The weakest route was the one thing the very culture and background and biochemistry and system provided against. One chief for each tribe, and that tribe was a maximum of a hundred, but the chiefs would see other chiefs, other tribes, as rivals for food, territory, and resources. They fought each other during fallow times and otherwise avoided one another; they would never think of banding together.
As soon as Maria and Midi had borne their children, and a small amount of time had been allowed to rebalance their biochemistries, Vulture began the program. It was none too soon; after using her chemicals to restrain the development of spontaneous chiefs in the mob, she was running low on material in spite of the double supply and did not want to risk hitting another sacred place to replenish her stock. She hoped another priestess would show up soon, but as of yet none had.
Although both the alien women were tough and aggressive, neither had the fire to be chief nor the self-ego to desire the sexual trappings that went with it. It was necessary, even with their understanding, to use the hypnotic powders to ease the way. Vulture only hoped that both, who would have far preferred to remain as they were and nurture their children, would have enough sense of loyalty and mission to become what was required and stay that way.
Suni lost her child, possibly as a consequence of her wounds, and did not really seem to care. Vulture understood, but it was tough going to reach her. When Suni had seen Aesa fall after being unable to join the battle carnage out of beliefs far deeper than even the mindprinter program, something in Suni had snapped. She was now the last of the Indrus crew; she had no one and no status here, and she felt horribly alone and very, very scared. She had the same background and philosophy and personal religion as Aesa, but it had suddenly seemed not enough. She’d waded in, wanting only revenge, seeing only Aesa’s bloody body savaged and ripped again and again, and she had killed like a maniac.
Afterward had come sanity of a sort and the realization of what she had done during that period. She felt that her soul had either fled or died in that moment and that she was now no more than an empty shell without purpose, living beyond its time. She had wanted to die in that battle and she had survived. Just how deeply the shock had gone amazed even Vulture, who tried with her hypnotics and what reasoning powers she could to enlist the aid of the woman. She understood Suni’s basic Hindu beliefs and knew Janipurian Hindi, close enough to be understood by her even with its bizarre pronunciations and odd terminology.
“We have a duty higher than ourselves,” she told Suni urgently. “We have a duty to humanity, to all those who call themselves human. We may fail, but if we do, let it not be because we did it to ourselves, that we quit. Your husband was committed to it, as was Captain Paschittawal and Lalla. You must not let them have died in vain. You must not let us fail because you fail. If we fail, let it be because the task is too great, or because others were too weak, but not because you were. Fate has placed you here. You must not refuse your destiny, for in that there is surely damnation.”
For a while she had said nothing, but then she said, in ancient Hindi, as if the mindprinter and its powers and its filters did not exist, “For I am death, the destroyer of worlds . . . ”
Vulture was shocked, although she knew that the powers of the mind were potentially greater man any program or any machine and that if anyone could prove it so, it would be one of the Hindu faith. “Suni . . . ”
The voice that replied was so strange, so utterly inhuman in accent and intonation, that it gave even Vulture chills. “Suni is no more,” the voice said, as if from someplace other than a human throat, someplace distant and very, very unpleasant. “Her soul has gone on, as it should.”
Vulture swallowed hard, not quite sure what she had here. “Then who are you? What are you?”
“Do you not know me? I am the true goddess of this place, the one whom they serve without knowing. I am the one who follows you about the universe. I am death. I am the void and the nothingness. I am Kali.”
Vulture sighed. All they needed right now was another wacko. Still, there was something unearthly, unreal about the woman, something not a little bit frightening.
“Most mighty and fearsome one, will you then for a time stop following and aid us in our struggle?”
“Those who worship me and serve me shall gain my favors,” she responded coldly. “If those conditions are met, I will participate, but not because I care about your cause.”
“Then—why?”
“Because it might be amusing. Because the places that follow the enlightened faith nonetheless do me no service any longer. I am here, this world is here, because I require a world of my own. The death of the child has given me power and incarnation. Now we will remove the sham religion from this place. Now shall this be my world.”
Vulture wasn’t quite certain what she had to deal with now, except that insanity seemed an added trap of this place, but pragmatism had to rule. If sheer biology limited a tribe to a hundred or so, then an alliance of chiefs could create a formidable force. With Vulture as go-between and councilor to the tribes, easing the automatic dislike and suspicion between chiefs, it just might work.
In the days after it began, and aided by the drugs of the truth-bearers, Santiago and Midi took on the male aspect and began carving out sections of the larger tribe, being selective for balance of skills and burdens. It tore Manka Warlock up to see this and she had a hard time repressing her desire to fight, to challenge these new ones, but she kept away with her own, comforted that she still had the largest tribe, and understanding the need as no native chief could.
Suni seemed to throw off all drugs and assumed the chief’s aspects rapidly on her own. There was a change in her that madness brought, a level of callous violence and cruelty that even Warlock would be hard-pressed to match. The next step was to move on other tribes as they also proceeded on their march in toward the center and flesh out the new tribes to full strength if possible. Working in concert, this proved relatively easy although not without losses; still, these were blooded, experienced tribes now, and after initial problems in coordination they began to function less as a tribe than as an army.
Vulture had a number of objectives, the first of which was to draw more important people from the holy places. So far they continued to be sent low-echelon truth-bearers who could conceive of such an alliance in theory, but who were ill prepared for chiefs who had no more regard for truth-bearers than for the lowest of their tribe and disposed of them as enemies.
In a matter of weeks all four tribes were at maximum strength. Using sledges and litters and salt packs, they were able to gather large quantities of food and preserve some of it to take with them. Such a force could even take on lava snakes.
Vulture’s goal was not the holy seat but a region about two hundred kilometers south and east of it—a broad valley located on the topographic maps burned into her mind at the confluence of three rivers into one mighty one, well away from the great volcanoes but lush from their bounty. What the volcanoes took in danger and sudden death they also paid for in rich soil. If properly managed, such a valley could support a population far in excess of their combined forces. That would be the point of challenge, the place where the priestesses would have to deal with them, on their own ground. And the people of this new nation would have a real stake in fighting for it.
While still on the way there, Silent Woman had her child. Vulture had been concerned that should the child be born dead, as many were here, or have problems that would mean its death, Suni’s madness would be as nothing compared to Silent Woman’s, but it didn’t happen. The child was normal and possessed a loud, strong pair of lungs, and she doted over it and protected it with a fierce loyalty beyond Matriyehan norms.
In the process, the levels and numbers of third-rank truth-bearers had to be priestesses of the false religion. Vulture kept wondering when they would either send one or more of higher rank or make a bolder move in force, but so far they seemed unwilling or unable to comprehend the idea that things were really getting out of hand. Like the system itself, the priestesses were too used to dealing with things in a normal fashion and no longer ready or well suited to grapple with radical departures. They would soon be forced to, however. If there was some kind of computer brain at the heart of this system, it would now be getting very concerned. The new movement struck at the very heart of the religion, a more radical revolution than any political or technological idea. If chiefs could learn to cooperate with one another, to divide the spoils and work together when need be, there was the threat of a real rebellion here. Its very success might even inspire other chiefs who merely heard about it to try it, as difficult as it might be. Deep down, no one really liked the constant struggle and quick and early death of the life here, not if there was an alternative. In many regions they would be forced to remain so by geography, but much of this world was rich and bountiful and could be organized.
Even the people of the tribes felt that they were a part of something new and good. The security of such a massive force with cooperating allies on all sides rather than enemies fed on their need for such security and groups. The chiefs could never be friends; the situation made it next to impossible for them even to meet without the urge to challenge and come to deadly blows exploding inside them, but no such constraints were on the firebearers, who carried the messages between the chiefs and faithfully represented their own leaders to the others. Only Silent Woman was useless in this, but the birth of her child had become the only thing in her mind of importance and she easily relinquished the post to Oona, a sycophant with some intelligence and a near worship of Manka Warlock.
Vulture was most nervous, waiting always for the priestesses to make their move, but she ultimately guessed that it wouldn’t happen until the tribes had attained their initial objective of securing the valley. Vulture’s aim was to keep them guessing. This might be a native rebellion, or it might be alien inspired and led. If native, it could be dealt with once it could be seen where all this was leading. If alien, then the alarms could be sounded before they reached the holy seat. Once the apparent objective of the new force was achieved, the priestesses would act. The only question was how.
The heretic army had reached the edge of the river valley and had looked down on the promised land before the first new move occurred. They strode boldly into the large encampments looking unworried and unafraid; seven mild-rank priestesses led by an eighth who was most definitely different.
She had the same basic appearance, but the holy tattoos covered every square centimeter of her body and she wore a cape of skin and fur. Her necklace held not only the usual totems but also a shiny metal charm: the bird in the tree. Her staff was metal-tipped with what looked like gold dulled by age and use, and she had the arrogant look and swagger of someone who knew the gods were on her side.
They had finally sent someone of the second rank to have a firsthand look at the situation.
Vulture hurried over to Warlock, who was watching the parade. “What now?” the chief asked.
“Truth-bearer need be alone with truth-bearer chief. Separate, delay others. If cause trouble send to Suni tribe.”
“Truth-bearer chief not stupid. Must know others come, no go. What if truth-bearer chief no want one-talk?”
“Then truth-bearer do change right here before all if have to. Manka tribe take others.”
Warlock nodded and gestured to Oona, making the orders plain, then stepped back, not wanting to have a direct confrontation now. There was no telling what nastiness a truth-bearer chief might carry with her. That was why a separation was vital as early as possible. Take the second-rank official, and the others were irrelevant. Any attempt to take them immediately and by force might bring out some surprises they neither wanted nor needed.
Warlock was right; the old girl was no fool even if she had placed herself in a precarious position. The mere fact that she had indicated the presence of some weapon, or other way of dealing with a group this large, meant trouble. She was, however, very surprised to see a third-rank priestess here, in this camp, apparently alive and unharmed. Vulture approached reverently, bent down and kissed the hand of the second-rank priestess, and waited,
“Stand,” she commanded. She looked around at the large assembly of tribes present, then back directly into Vulture’s eyes. “Explain this.”
“If imperfect truth-bearer can talk to Holy Mother beyond other ears . . . ”
“Talk here. Look around. See heresy. See blasphemy. Explain!”
“If Holy Mother can . . . ”
Vulture was suddenly stunned as the holy mother brought up her staff and struck the other hard, hard enough to cause Vulture to fall to the ground with blood trickling from the side of her mouth. Vulture wiped it away with her hand as best she could but did not immediately rise. She was getting pretty damned mad fast, and the smirks on the seven third-rankers’ faces did nothing to calm her down.
“Truth?”
“Always,” the holy mother responded.
“Spirit sent by sun god come. Command this. Say truth-bearer chiefs not talk for gods, talk for demons. Tribes obey command of sun god.”
“Liar! Holy fire come down from sky and strike blasphemers! Cook whole tribes in fire of purity! Show this spirit! Holy Mother will show demon, not god!”
Vulture looked around, made eye contact with Oona, and nodded. Oona didn’t know what was coming, but she had her orders and she certainly wanted to remove these people before they went through with their threat. Then Vulture got up and stood straight before the holy mother. “Power against power!” she screamed suddenly so all could hear. “Faith against faith! Truth against lie! Truth-bearers stand back!” She gave the holy mother a bloody grin, and saw the other’s hand groping for something concealed in the great cape. Vulture reached out, and the holy mother stepped back a pace. All work had stopped now; all eyes were on the pair save a few well-chosen warriors whose spears were directed at the seven lesser priestesses, who didn’t seem to know it.
Vulture smiled grimly. “Faith against faith. Might truth-bearer not kiss the hand of Holy Mother first?”
“What stand before Holy Mother is no truth-bearer!” the older one said nervously. “Are demon!” The movement back into the cape was quick, but Vulture was quicker. Not knowing quite what to expect, but having only to make full skin contact, she lunged forward, and her palm touched the exposed chest of the high priestess even as that worthy was bringing from the cape a small, slender object that was unfamiliar to Vulture but which had a trigger. The holy mother stiffened in a look of extreme surprise, and the process began.
Warlock was quick to move forward even as it happened. “If Maka tribe truth-bearer be demon and Holy Mother be of gods, then Holy Mother win. If Maka tribe truth-bearer be of gods, then truth-bearer soul will enter Holy Mother! Watch! Bearers make sure no help either one!”
That last was unnecessary; the seven truth-bearers were as appalled by what they were seeing, and as transfixed, as most of the tribal onlookers. Warlock, however, was more concerned about them afterward, since this show would certainly betray alien origins. She was fairly confident that they could not escape no matter what, but they might do a great deal of damage.
The gun slipped from the hand of the holy mother as Vulture’s body moved, enveloped, and merged with the older woman’s. It was ugly, grotesque, and unpleasant to watch, but Warlock was a pro. She darted in and snatched up the gun and examined it. It seemed to be molded out of a single piece of medium-red synthetic, except for the trigger, which was merely a long, thick rod with no bigger guard. The barrel mouth indicated a beam rather than a projectile, but the lack of sights or aiming devices suggested that the gun packed enough power, it didn’t need much expertise to use effectively. The damned “eating” process took fifteen or twenty minutes, and then Vulture wouldn’t be any good for a while except for show. For just a moment she considered firing into that writhing mass of flesh or whatever it was, ridding herself of Vulture and the holy mother at one and the same time. With a gun, a chief could go very far indeed. The problem was, she didn’t know what the gun really did, nor could she be certain it would kill Vulture. She was not unmindful that the creature had killed dozens in the high-tech labyrinth of Melchior before being not killed but merely stunned.
It no longer really mattered, either. At the moment her interests were Vulture’s interests were Thunder’s interest. Without Thunder she could lead a savage band until she died; with it on her side, the role of empress in a rebuilt Matriyeh was not out of reach.
“Étranger,” she heard someone whisper, and several other voices whispered the same. “Prenez garde!”
Warlock whirled, gun in hand, and her look and her gestures motioned everyone else back from the seven priestesses. “Prenez garde, Maka’s ass!” she shouted, and fired at them.
There was a burst of light, and five of the seven were suddenly in flames; the guards were startled but not startled enough not to trip the other two as they began to run. They were caught by the crowd even as the others screamed and burned, and a blood cry went up as the two untouched priestesses were torn to bits by the mob. They were seeing miracles here; great power beyond their comprehension, but they knew who was wielding that power and who was its victim.
Warlock watched the five women burn; they were already dead, but they made a very nice line of bonfires. She’d been right about the gun: it had been quite effective, and would have been more so had that Holy Mother pulled it out, screamed for god’s curse on Vulture, and burned her on the spot.
By the time it was over a new holy mother was stepping unsteadily out of the mass of goo that represented Vulture’s old body. She was concentrating mightily to keep control and bring off the show. She pointed to the mass of still-writhing, bubbling goo and said, in a loud if croaking voice, “That be soul of Holy Mother and demon! Behold Maka truth-bearer in body of enemy!”
That started a rumbling that became a roar and then a cheer as warriors raised their weapons and shook their fists and rejoiced that they and their great chief was truly in the right. Vulture raised her arms to show appreciation, but saw Warlock out of the corner of her eyes. “Better get me someplace so I can lie down,” she hissed in English. “I feel like hell, and I can’t keep this up very long.”
“They’re getting pretty worried,” Vulture told Warlock, using English rather than the more limited Matriyehan Warlock was forced to speak. “The command structure is far more like a Center than we thought. The experiment here might be radical and on a large scale, but the organization is still very much along familiar, if more primitive, lines. The old Holy Mother was still fairly ignorant, but she knew a pistol when she saw it and what it could do, and she didn’t think of it so much in mystical terms but rather as a pragmatic tool for keeping the faithful in line.”
“How many fire spears they got?” Warlock was getting worried. It wouldn’t take many of these things to wipe out the whole assembly.
“A lot. A whole arms cache. They aren’t very well versed on how to use them, though, which is why they’re more of the blow-everything-to-hell kind. There’re enough of those, and more powerful weapons, for the higher priestesses, but the third rank is kept ignorant of them and as fearful as the tribes might be.”
“Until truth-bearer become warrior.”
“Yeah, maybe—but I’m not sure about that. It’s been over a hundred years since they started this system. None of the original troopers are left, I’m sure of that, and their descendants are given basic information in mindprinter programs buried deep—but a mindprinter can only tell you how to use a weapon, not give you the skill to use it expertly. You and I would be able to handle anything they have a hundred times better than they would, but you put hundreds of those in the hands of the most unskilled people, and they’ll take out everybody from horizon to horizon.”
Warlock thought for a moment. “So they be no more good than warrior with same flame spear. Where they keep these flame spears?”
“Huh? Oh, I see what you mean. An interesting idea, but I’m not sure I like the idea of hundreds of warriors running around with those blowtorches. Even if we won, I’m not sure this world is ready for the consequences of that. More interesting is the idea of keeping them from using them.”
Vulture sighed, then picked up a stick and began to sketch a crude diagram in the earth as she talked. “The holy seat is in a broad valley ringed by very high mountains. They’re volcanic, but that area’s very old and inactive. The heights reach to twenty thousand kilometers, and at that latitude they’re snowcapped almost all the time. The melt comes down and is collected in a bowl-shaped depression that is probably a glacial cirque. That provides year-round fresh water, and during the warmest months it overflows and feeds a large river. The river provides the only outlet—here, at a great waterfall. Steps have been cut into the rock behind the falls providing the only way in or out with any ease. Those are both human and device guarded. The magical stuff is probably computer driven but designed, like the holy places around here, mostly to keep people out, not in. Still, between the high mountains and the guards and traps, it’s pretty nasty getting in and out.”
“And inside valley?”
“It’s a rough life for the truth-bearer tribe. They spend all day tending fields and crops and doing backbreaking labor to feed and maintain the area, then spend whatever time is left training for their destinies as priestesses. No wonder they’re anxious to get out of there! Unlike the tribes, the truth-bearers in the field don’t do much work or any fighting and they have a privileged spot wherever they go. Caves and depressions in the rock provide the storage facilities, but they live in the open like the tribes do. Dug into the rock at the far end of the valley is the Great Temple itself, which is a pretty impressive structure. Huge reliefs of the great and lesser gods looking down on the Earth-Mother are carved into it so they also symbolically look down on the valley. Inside is the Inner Temple, with a huge statue of the Great God—and the Great God not only listens, it talks and even shows pictures. A real miracle idol. The second rank maintains the whole area, and the very small first rank, all of whom are pretty old for anyplace and ancient for this world, do all the talking and ordering. They’re considered divine, infallible, and without sin or fault—goddesses in human form. It’s a sin for any third-ranker even to look at them as they pass, and death to walk in their footsteps.”
Warlock nodded. “Do great chiefs believe own perfection?”
“Huh? Oh, I see what you mean. It’s hard to say—as a field supervisor and part-time teacher, I’ve never actually laid eyes on one. They’re not ignorant, though. I bet they know all the automatic systems and nasty stuff they need even without stimuli. Knowledge only the gods possess. Whether that’s made them corrupt cynics or whether they feel they really are demigods we can’t know. The ultimate leader is the Earth-daughter, who is said to be eternally young and beautiful—all knowing and immortal. If she’s real, or how they work it if she is, I don’t know.”
“Then Earth-daughter wear ring.”
Vulture frowned and gazed off into the darkness for a moment, looking puzzled. “No, I don’t think so. She’s the ultimate chief, judge, general, whatever, but as all chiefs have firebearers, she has a ring bearer. That would be the adjutant, the executive officer, the one who runs the day-to-day operations.”
“Human with power.”
“What?”
“Ring must be with human power. That be ring bearer. Why not Earth-daughter? Maka wonder . . . ”
“Good point.” She looked up. “Unless the Earth-daughter is either mythical or—nonhuman. Either one explains why I never met anyone who saw her. I’ve met people who know people who say they saw her, but that’s possibly bragging or exaggerating to look important. Even within the second rank there are the ins and the outs—those in the temple look down on those in the field. Buck sergeants versus top sergeants. But what if she is real?”
“If ring bearer got ring, then ring bearer be Matriyeh chief. Should be top.”
“Yeah, I see what you mean. If the ring bearer’s the chief administrator, the highest-ranking human with power on this world, then who would be over her? Immortal—hmmm—could we have a Val in there keeping the Center honest?”
Warlock held up the gun and looked at it. “No flame spear like this could kill metal demon.”
Vulture nodded. “Yeah, I did one in, but with a heavy-duty laser at point-blank range. A Val and a master computer with satellite links. This is getting a bit complicated. Damn! I wish I could talk to Thunder now! We’ve come so far—I’d hate to have to do this all over again, but it’d take many weeks to get back to the blind zone, call up there, then get back here. They won’t wait that long. We have two separate problems, though. First, we have to take the ring without them knowing about it, and, second, we have to negate religious control without the computer calling in the SPF. Damn it! I am fifteen people, yet I need China’s expertise, Hawks’ way of approaching a problem, and Star Eagle’s analytical skills and data. I’m the only one who could give you any information and protection, yet I’m the only one who could possibly make the distance and discuss the problem.”
“Truth-bearer chief got no magic here,” Warlock said “Send Holy Mother and truth-bearers. Will make war if Holy Mother no report. But if Holy Mother report trouble ended . . . ”
Vulture’s jaw dropped slightly. “What an interesting, devious idea. There aren’t any Vals out here, and not much else. Most of the stuff they know is word of mouth and reports taken from the truth-bearers at the holy places. Okay, so I go in there and I tell ’em my seven truth-bearers are taking care of the job, that it was all indigenous, and that the tribes are separating and returning to the old ways. Fine. I have the ability within me to create whatever experiences are necessary or expected, even under the mindprinter. That was my original function, remember. But will they accept that? Sooner or later that computer is going to notice that none of the seven report in to holy places. Other truth-bearers may come and report otherwise. How long can we maintain the fiction? If they find out my lie, then they’ll know somebody can beat their mindprinter, and that will trigger the alarms.”
“So? What if tribes go back old way? Go far to south, far from holy place. Find new rich territory, much food. Wait.”
“You’ve forgotten the effects of those drugs. I haven’t. And for all four tribes to settle in the same area, to take the same territories, will mean war with whatever tribes are there now. More death, more risk—but also in the end more people. Maybe several more tribes’ worth. And we’re fresh out of Thunder chiefs.”
Warlock spun around and stared at Vulture. “Matriyehans not animals! Humans! Think! Sky demons want make Matriyehans animals! Not stupid. Many warriors see, like, what Maka tribe and other tribes do. Wonder, doubt, question old ways, old beliefs. Would keep talk.”
“I wonder. You can’t even be within eyesight of another chief without an irresistible urge to fight. It’s in the biology.”
“Chiefs speak through firebearers, like now. No can have tribe but so big. Only fight then for food. Plenty food here. Holy Mother take many seasons if need to. Chiefs still be ready.”
“And the drugs and inevitable other truth-bearers?”
“Got two pouches magic dusts from dead truth-bearers. Holy Mother teach. Maka do magic on truth-bearers! Big joke! If no work—truth-bearers die just like warriors each day. Fire-bearers, other chiefs watch, too. Protect others. Whole life Maka fool great chiefs. Maka fool these, too. Warriors will obey long as Holy Mother takes. Mean better life for children if not them.”
Vulture sighed. “All right—I’ll see each of the other chiefs and explain it. If they agree, then that’s the way it’ll be. I just hope I can find you again.”
“Tribes stay close. Not hard to find. Good land to south. Twenty days, maybe more. Come here, go south. Tribes not be hard to find.”
Within the next two days the plan was discussed with the other chiefs in turn, and Vulture was surprised to find agreement with all of them. Suni, or Dakuminifar—goddess—as she now insisted she be called—actually thought she’d commanded it, since great magic was needed to counter great magic. After some initial reservations, Midi was now clearly enjoying the chief’s role and in no hurry to give it up. And Mari, the most reluctant of all, had come to terms with herself.
“Matriyehans be good people,” she said. “Thunder people be only hope tribes have. Mari teach much—learn, too. Mari was chief in stars and beaten. Mari chief again. This time no get beat. Have chance do great thing here. Not know, understand, but this be where Mari belong. Mari needed here.”
And so Vulture taught what she could, and wished them well, and started out, not back toward the fighters but in toward the holy seat only a hundred kilometers away. She wondered, idly, even if this operation was successful, if any of them would go back aboard the Thunder. It was difficult to see Manka Warlock as a revolutionary and social organizer, let alone a visionary, but history tended to glamorize the visionaries and heroes. How many had been egomaniacal and psychopathic to boot and still done their great deeds?
Maria Santiago had lost her ship and much of her crew, and all she’d done was wallow in guilt at that loss and dream of a new ship. Now she was captain of a new organization with a much larger crew and dedicated to their welfare. She had a new command, and hope. If they broke the grip of Master System she could do wonders for this world. If they didn’t, she might just as well remain as she was.
Midi, too, had new responsibility, new commands, and she had nothing to go back to. She might well be less visionary and more selfish than the others, but she had more here than she had anywhere else. As for Suni—if she survived at all, better a self-deluded goddess here than a sane and lonely character up there.
And Silent Woman was back in her element once again and given back that which seemed lost forever.
Vulture could only wonder which of them would still be alive and in charge when she finally made it back to them—and what their mental condition and commitment would be if and when that happened.
And, most of all, she wondered what she would say and do if Thunder went after the ring at the expense of helping its people.
The holy seat was as good as invisible from the plain leading up to it. As far as any eye could tell, a wall of great mountains simply rose up into and beyond the almost omnipresent clouds. To find the entrance, one followed the river—now flowing fairly fast although not nearly filling its eroded bed as it might in other seasons—to the waterfall that fed it from perhaps three hundred meters straight up. Only up close could you see that there were the mystic signs and warnings and then a stone stair carved sideways in the gray rock going up toward the source of the falls.
It was also nearly impossible to see the small guard posts, cut as they were out of the mountain and disguised so that only eyes and weapons need betray themselves. As in the holy places that were the prime information source for this theocratic leadership, there were also effective automated guardians that required passwords and recognitions and at least one that appeared to read footprints from two plates set in the rock. One was expected to climb the stairs without hesitation, saying or doing what was required routinely, even automatically, and pausing for nothing else. Anything else was a sign of weakness, and would cause suspicion.
The valley itself was a great gouge in the rock, roughly five kilometers wide by more than twenty long. It had been well planned, with one area set aside for fruit- and nut-bearing trees. Another for bushes of the same type, yet another for the growing of grains. The diet was well balanced but generally uniform and totally vegetarian.
At the far end of the well-worn river trail loomed the temple itself, with its dramatic carvings above and below the inverted crescent-shaped opening. They were so huge they could be seen even from the top of the stairs, although as one approached, the detail and sheer scale of them became evident and overwhelming. Most startling to someone like Vulture was that they did not seem to have been cut by machine, but rather hand-carved by who knew what talents and numbers and over a very long period of time.
It took almost the whole day to get to the temple, a task made even harder by the seemingly incessant requirement to stop every time a junior was encountered and have them kneel and kiss her hand. She was not allowed to eat or drink during this period; total fasting was required until after the report was delivered.
It was dark by the time she reached the temple itself, its entrance all the more eerie, lit by the glow of internal torches, and here again there was another falls, grander still but not nearly so great as it was in the hottest season. Now she removed her cape and put down her staff and the rest and stepped into the pool and under the icy-cold falls.
The Matriyehan body had a tremendous temperature tolerance, but cold was cold.
All that she had remained behind save the necklace and other crude jewelry. Those, too, were washed and put back on. Then, stepping from the pool, she allowed the breeze to dry her, and then proceeded up the stairs and into the temple itself.
It was unclear whether the temple had been developed out of a natural cave, or whether it had been human-made, but it was enormous—a great cavern adorned with multicolored pillars and also with stalactites and stalagmites, indicating rock layers of other than volcanic origin somewhere above. The statue of the Great God, rising twenty meters in the main cavern and still not touching the curved ceiling, looked down upon her and others within, all of whom she ignored, prostrating herself on the cold, damp floor and saying the prayer-chants to the statue.
When Clayben and his team designed Vulture, they knew that their creation would be useless if it could not pass a mindprinter test and reject imprints. In effect, Vulture could create her own mindprint program, using the holy mother’s memories until they were no longer convenient and then writing whatever ending was necessary. It was a complex process but she did it automatically when desired and had no idea how she did it. Vulture could remain a passive observer, its own memory stored elsewhere and in a way that no mindprinter was ever designed to detect. In effect, the form and mind there now was that of the holy mother—as edited and rewritten—and no one else, although Vulture could reassert control at any time.
When they’d been trapped by that first truth-bearer with the hypnotics, Vulture had been in full command of Uraa, and there had been no time to sever the connection. It was a sobering lesson on yet another vulnerability, and one she had no intention of repeating.
And now it was time to go down a long side tunnel and report to the duty officer, another second-ranker like herself. The fact that the duty officer wore a finely woven cape with the bird and tree design in gold and wore metal jewelry marked her as the upper temple rank, but technically they were equals and there was no deference, no bowing or hand-kissing.
“Holy Mother Francine Yvonne reports from the field,” she said simply and firmly in the temple tongue—which was French.
“We have been waiting anxiously for you,” the duty officer responded. “Speak your preliminary report to me now. Then you will be sent up for a full debriefing.”
“It was a major heresy, the worst I have ever seen or heard about. I am filled with great joy that I was adequate to the challenge.”
“You have dealt with it, then?”
“It is in the process of being dealt with. Some chiefs needed replacement, others needed to be merely reminded of their sacred duty and all four tribes involved will have to undergo extensive reeducation. I feel that the sisters I brought with me are adequate for the task, but I will keep checking on their progress. At least we managed to break up the unit, and the tribes are moving to find other hunting grounds and in the ancient ways prescribed by our divine commands.”
The duty officer looked pleased. “Nature of the heresy?”
“Two chiefs with little faith and much ego and cleverness managed to find a way to talk with and ally with one another. Their combined success took over other tribes, and they were able to place like-minded chiefs at the heads of those tribes. Innovation and alliance were encouraged, cooperation praised, and this was leading to the eventual attempt to seize the Muse Valley not far from here and establish there a permanent settlement.”
“Grave indeed. And what of the other truth-bearers sent before you?”
“Most were killed, I think, although we might never be able to be certain of that, but two at least had been turned against the faith. I cannot conceive of such a thing, but somehow it happened. They were quite young and inexperienced, I think, and vulnerable.”
“And what kept you and the others alive?”
She smiled sweetly. “The challenge, of course. I brought down the wrath of the Great Sun God upon them in full view of the tribes they were with. That and some other examples of the Great God’s wrath set things straight.”
“It always does,” the duty officer noted, “but it’s an ultimate defense, a last resort. Still, for something this huge, and among tribes who almost certainly have killed our sisters, I think it was the only way. This will look quite well on your record, Mother Francine. The only other question was demonic involvement. Was there any evidence of such?”
“None directly. At least, none of the chiefs and tribal elders I interrogated using the magic powders and potions betrayed any forbidden knowledge I could find. They were simply self-deluded. They found a new way that made things easier and then created a complex rationalization for it within our scheme of things.”
“You are confident the situation will return to balance?”
Vulture shrugged. “I have no reason now to believe it will not. Naturally I will have to monitor them for some time to be sure.”
“The Earth-goddesses have been very concerned about this one and will have to make the final decision,” the duty officer said.
“Other than destroy them, what else could be done?”
“There is a potion that can be distributed to the people in great numbers. It is sweet to drink but later is quite painful, I’m told. It burns out all personal memories, all knowledge of self. It destroys identity and memory without destroying skills. One is like a newborn child, eager to be taught the truth. It is used only in extreme cases because it takes a fair-sized staff to manage them after for the period of readjustment and because it dulls the mind as well—a complex process. Still, such was the concern that it was talked of here in high places. Hopefully it will not be necessary.” She sighed. “Very well—report to debriefing.”
“Debriefing” was a carved wooden chair with straps and many vinelike things that were attached to the body. It looked primitive but was not: it was a full-blown mindprinter machine set to record. Vulture had expected it or something like it; there almost had to be one to double check reports like this and to capture any missing details or attempts to embellish the report for the sake of career advancement. The only worry Vulture had about the process was that her abilities had been tested only in the lab; this was her first time going head-to-head with a Master System computer.
If any alarms rang, though, they certainly weren’t apparent. Afterward, she was given a strong, sweet liqueur to build strength, fed quite well, and given a place to sleep that actually contained a hard, thin mattress—although it felt odd after all this time sleeping on the ground.
The next day she was taken up to see the first rank for the first time.
There were seven of them, and they were all old and somewhat wrinkled, something almost never seen on Matriyeh. They looked, however, in good shape and their minds were clear, their eyes alert. They wore white, silk-like robes and headdresses of silver with large gems set in them, and more silver gems in rings and bracelets and necklaces and earrings. All but the one in the middle, whose headdress and jewelry were gold, and on whose left ring finger was a monstrous gold ring with a black stone setting. Kissing that ring was something that almost caused Vulture fits.
She had kissed the ring itself, the duplicate of which was still hidden in the charm around her neck. So close she could take it right off—it seemed a bit large for the Earth-goddess’s finger. Take it, yes—but with no way to call in the guard for a getaway.
Still, it was interesting that the ring did not fit. The highest human authority on Matriyeh definitely took it off when not in public performance.
“We have analyzed your debriefing, Mother, and find much joy in it,” the chief said in a low voice that was somehow both masculine and feminine at the same time. “We wonder, though, about the permanence of these reforms. Nothing poisons souls like the spread of evil ideas. The concepts such as the litter, the cultivation of crops, the bow and arrow—these are dangerous and far more difficult to stamp out. Such images linger in the mind and corrupt. We are talking of—what? Four hundred or so people, not counting the children too young to remember. We commend your evident skills and courage in this, but can seven novices with your advice contain this? Speak.”
It was time for Vulture to be Vulture again. “I may be inadequate to the task, Holiness, but I have been told of the potion of forgetfulness, and I find it extreme and wasteful unless absolutely necessary. I would like to try the gentler ways first.”
“There is division among us about that. You were there, we were not. Still, we have a sacred duty to their souls far beyond any regard for trouble and inconvenience on our part, and to the souls of others not yet corrupted. Dare we chance not doing it? Dare we chance not making an example to the other tribes who might have gotten ideas?”
“Holiness, your infinite wisdom and divine perfection is to my own poor self as the Great God whose glory brightens the world is to the lowest of worms. I cannot presume to do more than set my case and obey your commands.”
“But? . . . ”
Vulture hesitated a moment. “Holiness, if it were mine to decide, I would try the gentler way first. If the contagion has not been contained, it will be quickly obvious and can then be dealt with drastically, as you suggest, and at only a slight additional cost in human power and reserves. But if it can be contained without doing so, then it will save many innocents pain and our holy order much trouble.”
“All contagion must be stamped out now, ruthlessly!” another of the Earth-goddesses snapped. “We cannot compromise with evil! One compromise, and it will destroy us!”
“No!” another responded just as firmly. “She’s right. Such an operation with four tribes will strain us to the limit and even then can’t be guaranteed.”
The chief put up her hands and all quieted down. “Mother Francine, you are now privy to a great secret—that we are not omniscient in our decisions. I suspect that anyone of your rank probably guesses that anyway. I did when I was Mother. We have asked the Great God, but she does not clearly respond. Such an operation comes at a bad time, with lower than normal personnel and much to do here. We cannot afford to do it, and we cannot afford not to do it. We—”
Suddenly there was a feeling, a presence, that beat down on Vulture’s back almost like radiation from the sun. Although still kneeling before the seven, and out of propriety not allowed to turn around, it was clear from the looks of the Earth-goddesses that someone else had just entered, someone powerful.
“Turn and face me, Mother Francine,” commanded a voice that was very feminine, musical, even beautiful to hear, yet carried with it such confidence and power that one had to obey.
Vulture turned, head bowed, then looked up and gasped.
She was everything perfect in a Matriyehan, totally feminine yet conveying a sense of power and awe beyond that of any chief. She was totally nude, unblemished, unadorned in any way, and unmarked in a way no Matriyehan could be. She was not of the priestesshood; she had long hair that might never have been cut cascading down almost to her ankles—hair not dark brown but golden, as golden as the ring—and large, firm breasts and sensuous curves that were unbelievable. Thick lips, and large, dark, eyes that seemed to peer right inside you completed the picture, but there was something else.
She glowed. She gave off an actual, physical aura that shone and illuminated the chamber. Such a one could never have been born of human flesh; her perfection was too great, her glory supernatural in the extreme. In almost any terms this was truly a goddess, and there was no need for introductions. The aura of the Earth-daughter played across the whole room and carried with it also more subliminal commands. You didn’t want to take your eyes away from her, ever, yet at the same time there was this overwhelming urge to lie flat upon the floor and grovel. It was the latter that was finally forced upon Vulture; it actually hurt to look upon her for very long, such was the glory.
“The Holy Mother seems quite capable, far more capable than any of you at making hard decisions, and more pragmatic as well,” the Earth-daughter scolded. “Holy Mother, I shall grant you whatever you require to complete your mission. Ask and it will be yours. Eliminate this evil as you choose to do it. Purge their souls in my name. Do this for me and I shall cleanse you and raise you up. My mother gives me all power.”
And, just like that, she was gone once again. You could feel her go, and feel the aching loss of that going. Even Vulture was hard-pressed to explain it in other than supernatural terms.
After a while she managed to rise to her knees and turn back to the seven, who all seemed somewhat relieved that the decision had teen taken out of their hands. “What will you need?” asked the chief.
“Until I can return and assess the progress so far, I cannot say,” Vulture responded, her throat dry and voice a bit shaky. “It will take time most of all.”
“Then you shall have it, and whatever else is needed. We know you will not fail. No one can look upon a true goddess and hear Her commands and not obey.” Her eyes were shining, as if fanaticism was commonplace, as indeed it was. What believer could fail to be a fanatic when her goddess shows up and speaks? Vulture knew that Mother Francine’s eyes now showed the same sense of worship and devotion. “When do you wish to leave?”
“As soon as possible, Holiness,” she responded firmly.
“You have the goddess within you now, forever,” the chief told her. “She is with you and in you. Few ever are so honored. Therefore, we have no true secrets from you, for if you succeed you shall be raised up as she has promised. Come.”
They gave her a new cloak and staff, much finer than the old, and then they took her down a long set of stairs that few knew existed, until it seemed as if they were descending into the very heart of the Earth-Mother.
Then, finally, they stood in the darkness, but there was wind and a sense of open space. The chief, who was never without the others—damn it—clapped her hands and suddenly lights came on, almost blinding them for a moment like the Earth-daughter’s glory. But these lights you got used to, although what they revealed was something totally unexpected.
They were electric lights and they illuminated a modern, smooth area that looked for all the world like some sort of transport station.