Var the Stick Page 4

  Now, in this strange unfriendly camp, hurt by his own failures, he had come to her-his only contact with his only friend, the Master.

  "So you asked the young girls, and they ridiculed you," she said. "I had hoped better for you-but I was young once myself, and just as narrow. I thought power was most important-to marry a chief. And so I lost the man I loved, and now I am sorry."

  She had never talked like this before. Var lay silent, satisfied for the moment to listen. It was better than thinking of his own humiliations. She referred, of course, to her former husband-Sol of All Weapons, who had lost his empire to the Master, and had gone to the mountain with his baby girl. The episode had become legend already; everyone knew of that momentous transfer of power and that tragic father-daughter suicide.

  If Sola had loved power so much that she had given up the man she loved and the daughter she had borne to him, and taken the victor to her bed-no wonder she suffered!

  "Would you understand," she asked, "if I told you that when I thought I'd lost my love for ever, he returned to me-and I found that it was only his body, not his heart, that was mine, and even that body maimed and unfamiliar?"

  "No," Var said honestly. It was easier to voice the words for her, for she understood him whether or not his wilderness mouth cooperated.

  "Not everything is what it seems," she murmured. "You, too, will find that friendship can make hard requirements of you, and those you might deem enemy are men to be trusted. Life is like that. Come, let's get this done with."

  He recognized a dismissal and began to crawl out of the tent.

  "No," she said gently, holding him back. "This is your night, and you shall have it in full measure. I will be your woman."

  Var made a guttural sound, dumbfounded. Could he have-understood her correctly?

  "Sorry, Var," she said. "I hit you with that too abruptly. Lie down."

  He lay down again.

  "Wild boy," she continued, "you are not a man until you have taken a woman. So it is written in our unwritten code. I came to make sure you accomplished it all I have"-here she paused-"done this before. Long ago. My husband knows. Believe me, Var, though this appears to be a violation of the standards we have taught you, this is the way it must be. I cannot explain it further. But you must understand one thing, and promise me another."

  He had to speak. "The Master-"

  "Var, he knows!" she whispered fiercely. "But he will never speak of it. This was decided almost ten years ago. And you must know this, too: I am older than you, but I am not past bearing age. The Nameless One is sterile. Tonight, and the nights that follow-it ends when we reach home camp. If you should beget a child on me, it will be the child of the Weaponless. I will never wear your bracelet. I will never touch you again, after this journey. I will never speak of what happened here between us, and neither will you. If I am pregnant, you will be sent away. You have no claim upon me. It will be as though it never happened-except that you will be a man. Do you understand!"

  "No, no-" he mumbled, already sick with lust for her.

  "You understand." She reached out suddenly and put her hand upon his loin. "You understand."

  He understood that she was offering her body to him, and that he had no stamina to refuse. He was wilderness bred; the willingness of the female was the male's command.

  "But you must promise," she said, as she took his clubbed hand, only recently capable of any gentleness, and brought it to her tender breast. She was already nude within her bag. "You must promise-"

  The heat was rising in him, abolishing any scruples he might have had. Var knew he would do it. Perhaps the Master would kill him, but tonight- "You must promise-to kill the man who harms my child."

  Var went child "You have no child!" he blurted. "None that can be harmed-" And became aware again of his crudity and cruelty of word and concept. He was still wild.

  "Promise."

  "How can I promise when your child is long dead?" She silenced him with the first fully female kiss he had ever experienced. His body accelerated in response, knowing what to do despite his confusion and what seemed like madness on her part. She talked of her dead child while preparing to make love, but her breasts remained soft, her legs open. "If ever the situation arises, you will know," she said.

  "I promise." What else could he do?

  She said no more, but her body spoke for her. This supposedly aloof, cold woman-novice that he was, Var still recognized in her a sexual fury of unprecedented proportion. She was hot, she was lithe, she was savage. She was at least twenty-five years old, but in the dark she seemed a buxom, eager fifteen. It was not hard to forget for the moment that she was in fact middle-aged.

  As the connection was made and the explosion formed within him, - he realized that it might be his own future child he had just sworn to avenge.. . anonymously.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The Master was waiting for them. He used one of the crazy hostels as a business office, and had entire drawers of papers with writing on them. Var had never comprehended the reason for such records, but did not question the wisdom of his mentor. The Master was literate: he was able to look at the things called books and repeat speeches that men long dead had said. This was an awesome yet useless ability. -

  "Here is your warrior," Sola said. "Var the Stick-a man in every sense of the word." And with an obscure smile she departed for her own tent.

  The Master stood in the glassy rotating door of the cylindrical hostel and studied Var for a long moment.

  "Yes, you are changed. Do you know now what it is to keep a secret? To know and not speak?"

  Var nodded affirmatively, thinking of what had passed between him and the Master's phenomenal wife on the way home. Even if he had not been forbidden to talk of that, he would have balked at this point.

  "I have another secret for you. Come." And with no further question or explanation the Nameless One led the way away from the cabin, letting the door spin about behind him. Var glanced once more at the sparkling transparent cone that topped the hostel and its mysterious mechanisms, and turned to follow.

  They walked a mile, passing warriors and their families busy at sundry tasks practising with weapons, mending clothing, cleaning meat and exchanged routine greetings. The Master seemed to be in no hurry. "Sometimes," he said, "a man can find himself in a situation not of his making or choosing, where he must keep silence even though he prefers to speak, and though others may deem him a coward. But his preference is not always wise, and the opinion of others does not make a supposition true. There is courage of other types than that of the circle."

  Var realized that his friend was telling him something important, but he wasn't sure how it applied. He sensed the Master's secret was going to be as important to his life as Sola's had been to his manhood. Strange things seemed to be developing; the situation was changed from his prior experience.

  When they were well beyond the sight or hearing of any other person, the Master cut away from the beaten trail and began to run. He galloped ponderously, shaking the ground, and his breath emerged noisily, but he maintained a good pace. Var ran with him, far more easily, mystified. The Master, as he well knew, was tireless but where was he going?

  Their route led toward the local badlands markers, then along them, then through them.. Var had thought the Weaponless was afraid of such regions, since his severe radiation sickness of the time the two had met. It had taken the man months to regain his full strength; and from time to time, in the privacy of tent or office, he had bled again or been sick or reeled from surges of weakness. Var knew this well, and Sola was aware of it, but it had been hidden from others of the empire. Much of the early battle training Var had received had been as much to exercise the Master gradually as to profit the wild boy. And it had been common knowledge that the Master avoided the badlands with almost cowardly care.

  Obviously he was not afraid. Why had he let men think he was? Was this what he had referred to just now that other kind of courage? But what
reason could there be for it?

  Deep in the badlands, but in a place where there was no radiation, there was a camp. Strange warriors manned it men Var had never seen before. They wore funny green clothing riddled with knobs and pockets, and on their heads were inverted pots. They carried metal rocks.

  The leader of this odd tribe came up promptly. He was short, stout, old, and bad curly yellow hair. Obviously unfit to fight in the circle. "This is Jim," the Master said. "Var the Stick," he added, completing the introduction.

  The two men eyed each other suspiciously.

  "Jim and Var," the Master said, smiling grimly, "you don't know each other, but I want you to accept my word on this: you can trust each. other. You both have had similar misfortunes. Jim whose brother of the same name went to the mountain twenty years ago, Var whose whole family was lost in the badlands."

  Var still was not impressed, and the other man seemed to share his sentiment. To be without family was no signal of merit.

  "Var is a warrior I have personally trained. His skin is immediately sensitive to radiation, so that he cannot accidentally be burned, no matter where he goes."

  Jim became intensely, interested.

  "And Jim-Jim the Gun, if you want his weapon-is literate. He and I made contact by letter years ago, when the the need developed. He has studied the old texts, and knows as much as any man among the nomads about explosive weapons. He is training this group in the ancient techniques of warfare."

  Var recognized the man's weapon now. It was one of the metal stones that were stored in certain badlands buildings. But it hardly seemed suitable for use in the circle. It had no cutting edge, and was far too small and clumsy to serve as a club. And once thrown, it would be lost.

  "Var will be liaison man between this group and the outside," the Master said. "Assuming he is willing. Later he'll be an advance scout, but I want him to know how to shoot, too."

  Jim and Var still merely looked at each other. "I'll break the ice," the Master said. "Then i'll have to go back before someone misses me. Var, fetch that jug over there, if you please." He pointed across a field to a brown ceramic jar perched on an old stump.

  Jim started to say something, but the Master held up his hand. Var loped toward it. About half the way he skidded to a stop. His skin was burning, He retreated a few paces and circled to the side, looking for a way around the radiation.

  It took him several minutes, but finally he found a channel and reached the jug. He brought it back, retracing his devious route. The Master and Jim had been joined by a dozen other men, all watching silently.

  Var handed over the jug.

  "It's true! A living geiger!" Jim exclaimed, amazed. "We can use him, all right."

  The Master returned the jug to Var. "Set it on the ground about fifty feet away, if you please."

  Var complied.

  "Demonstrate your shotgun," the Master said to Jim.

  The man went into a tent and brought out an object like a sheathed sword. He held it up, pointing the narrow end toward the jug.

  "There will be noise," the Master warned Var. "It will not harm you. I suggest you watch the jug."

  Var did so. Suddenly a blast of thunder occurred beside him, making him jump and grab for his weapon. The distant jug shattered as though smashed by a club. No one had touched it or thrown anything at it.

  "Pieces of metal from this long gun did that," the Master said. "Jim will show you how it works. Stay with him, as you choose; I will return another day." And he left, cantering as before.

  Jim turned to Var. "How is it that you are not bonded, since he trained you himself and trusts you with this secret?"

  Var did not answer immediately. He had not realized it before, but it was true he was not bonded. He was not a member of the Nameless One's empire or any of its subject tribes, for he had never been defeated in the circle. His only battle had been the formal achievement of his manhood. Ordinarily a warrior joined a tribe of his choosing by ritually challenging its chief. When he lost-as was inevitable, for no novice could match a chief-he was according to nomad convention bonded, subject to the will of that leader, or the leader's leader. If he fought a man from another tribe and lost, his allegiance changed; if he won, the other man joined his own tribe. Once Var had taken name and bracelet, he had become a free agent- until such time as he lost that freedom in the circle.

  Why had the Weaponless never made arrangement for Var? And how had Jim known about this omission?

  "He was scrupulous about saying 'if you please' to you," Jim said. "That meant he could not order you."

  "I don't know why," Var said. Then, seeing the perplexity on the man's face, he repeated it more carefully, forcing his tongue to get it right. "Don't-know."

  'Well, it's none of my business," Jim said easily, affecting not to notice Var's clumsiness with the language. "I won't bother with the formality of address; if I tell you to do something, it's not an order, only advice. OK?"

  "OK," Var said, able to pronounce these syllables well enough.

  "And I'll have to tell you a lot, because guns are dangerous. They can kill just as readily as a sword can, and do it from a distance. You saw the jug."

  Var had seen the jug. What could shatter it at fifty feetshould be able to hurt a man at the same distance.

  Jim put his hand on the metal at his hip. "Here-first lesson. This is a pistol a small handgun. One of the hundreds we found stored in boxes in a badlands building, We had to use the click-boxes to chart a route in; I don't know how the boss knew about it. I've been running this camp for the past three years, training the men he sends... but that's beside the point." He. did something and the metal opened. "It's hollow, see. This is the barrel and this is a bullet. You put the bullet in here, close it up, and when you press this trigger-blam! The bullet explodes, and part of it shoots out here, very fast. It's like a thrown dagger. Watch."

  He set up a piece of wood, pointed the hollow end of the pistol at it and shoved his forefinger against the spike he called the trigger. "Noise," he warned, and there was a burst of sound. Smoke shot out of the gun and the wood jumped.

  Jim broke open the weapon, that now seemed to be hot, and showed Var the interior. "See-bullet's gone. And if you'll look at the target-that piece of wood-you'll see where it hit." He offered the weapon to Var "Now you try it"

  Var accepted the gun, and after some struggle got a bullet in. But his hand would not fit around the base properly, and his finger was too thick and warped to maneuver the trigger. Jim, perceiving the difficulty as quickly as Var did, quickly produced a larger gun. This one he managed to fire.

  The shock traveled up his arm, but it was slight compared to the tap of a stick in the circle. His bullet plowed into the ground. "We'll show you how - to aim," Jim said. "Remember, the gun is a weapon, but unlike the instruments you are familiar with, it can kill- by accident. Treat it as you would a sword in motion. With respect."

  Var learned a great deal in the following days. He had thought there was little more to discover, after Sola had shown him the marvelous social intricacies of generating life. Now he wondered that anything at all remained, as Jim showed him the devastating unsocial devices for terminating life.

  The Master came for him. "Now you know part of my secret," he said. "And I will tell you another part. This is an invasion force-and we shall invade the mountain."

  "The mountain!"

  "The mountain of death, yes. It is not what you have supposed-what all nomads suppose. Not every man who goes there dies. There are people- living beneath it-similar to the crazies, but with guns. They hold hostages-" But here he changed his mind. "We must storm that mountain and drive out these men. Only then will the empire be secure."

  "I don't understand." Actually, it was a questioning grunt.

  "I have held the empire in check for six years, because I feared the power of the underworld. Now I am ready to move against it. I do not say that these are evil men, but they must be displaced. Once the enemy is gone,
the empire will expand rapidly, and we shall bring civilization to all the continent."

  So the murmurings of discontent had been wrong there too! The Weaponless was not stifling the empire-not permanently.

  "I have a dangerous assignment for you. I have left you a free agent so that you may choose for yourself. It will require working alone, going into extremely unpleasant places, and telling no one of your mission or your adventures except me. I told Jim you were to be liaison man and scout, but this is dangerous scouting he doesn't know about. You may die violently, but not in the circle. You may be tortured. You may be trapped in lethal radiation. You may have to violate the code of the circle in order to succeed, for we are dealing with unscrupulous men. The leader of the underworld has only contempt for our mores and our honor." -

  The Master waited, but Var did not reply.

  "You may ask what you want in return. I mean to deal fairly with you." - -

  "After I do this," Var enunciated carefully, "then can I join the empire?"

  The Nameless One looked at him, astonished. Then he began to laugh. Var laughed too, not certain what was funny.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The beginning was only a hole in a pit in a cavity in the ground, where water disappeared during storms. But underneath it expanded into a cavern he could almost stand in. Var remained there for a time, motionless, getting his full night vision and absorbing the smells.

  He knew in which direction the mountain lay. This sense, like that of smell and his sharp night sight and his ability to run almost doubled over, had remained with him after he left the wild life. He was still quite at home in the wilderness.

  He shook off his shoes. He had never been comfortable in them, and for this work his hooflike toes were best.

  Some water still seeped down, but the main section of the cave was clear. The base was caked with gravel; the sides were slimy with mosslike fungus. On a hunch abetted by observation, Var took a singlestick and scraped the wall. As the plant life and grime gave way, metal touched metal.