The Madness Season, page 11
And they would be afraid. Should be afraid. Not more than two of them were likely to survive. . . .
Silence, again. The drumbeats had stopped. Jovus stepped forward and lowered a taper into the wide stone brazier, firing the dried seyga roots within. And then covered it, with a dome of blackened glass.
His own mask was of ochre paint, with thick black lines that narrowed his eyes to slits, and the thin line of smoke which arose through the hole in the top of the dome curled about his face, adding to its ferocity.
Painted thus, he was no less frightening than Ntaya herself, and no more human in aspect.
Grotesque and silent, the adults of the Talguth -Tekk stood in the thickening seyga smoke, and awaited the coming of their children.
And remembered:
* * *
"You're afraid?"
She stood before the heavy iron gates and squared her shoulders, defiant. "No." The gates were massive, incised with images from Earth's distant past. She reached out a hand to touch them and saw herself hesitate, trembling. "Maybe a little," she admitted, and withdrew without making contact. Stepped back. "But only a little."
There were three of them, two girls and a boy, similar in age but worlds apart in temperament. The smaller girl, Willa, was a mere child yet; despite her years, the coming roundness of womanhood was still far in her future. She was lean and agile and not with-out spirit, but lacking in stamina. Ntaya wondered if she would survive the Blooding. Their male companion, self-named Jiande, was a cocky adolescent who overflowed with exuberance and courage; she hoped at least some of it would last through the trials.
As for herself . . .
The darkest of the three, and the tallest. Middle in age. Energetic, but contained. She bore a true Earth Name, which had been passed down through the generations, from the time of the Subjugation to the moment of her birth. Ntaya. It gave her a special strength to know who she was—who she wanted to be—while other children tried on names, and discarded them, a thousand times over. Ntaya. An Earth-sound, from the Free Time. She was ready to present it, and herself, to the elders of the Talguth-Tekk. Only the closed gate stood between the children and their adult existence . . . and the rite of the Blooding, which would begin when it opened.
"I'm not afraid," she whispered. A lie, but a nec-essary one. She tried to believe it.
Then slowly, ponderously, the heavy iron gates swung open before them. Above the pounding of her own heart Ntaya could hear a distant drumbeat keeping the same time, informing the hraas that the rite was about to begin. She reached out to one side and caught Jiande's hand, and squeezed it. Be brave.
Willa linked an arm through hers on the other side, and together the three of them moved forward.
Through the gates, and past all safety. They were in the land of the Tyr now, where the hraas held sway.
Forward they walked, step by step, then around a turn, then forward again. Beside her Ntaya could hear Willa's breathing, tense and fearful, and she wished for the safety of the iron doors and the Place of Children that lay behind them. But the gate, now closed, had passed from sight, and the home of their childhood would no longer welcome them.
"We could run," Jiande whispered. By this he didn't mean run in fear, but merely a quickening of pace that would take them to where they were going that much faster. There would be no shame in that. Ntaya looked at Willa, whose eyes reflected her own feelings on the matter, and she whispered back, "No. We need time to make it right."
As to whether or not they could make it right, Ntaya refused to contemplate. To be caught up in fear now would be foolish, if not fatal. The entire spirit must be bound together in courage if the Blooding was to be survived. They all knew that. Let childish hearts quail in fear, and fail the testing; Ntaya was determined to pass the threshold of adulthood with honor. No fear, now. No place for it. She was Tekk.
Another turn, then a long sloping corridor that led steadily downward. It was said that the upper tunnels were smoothly carved and brightly lit; here, in the Tekk domain, only scattered bits of fungus shed their luminescence upon the cracked and pitted walls. Overhead shelves of poorly supported rock loomed with menace, and vertical crevices that couldn't be seen until the children were right next to them might shelter any number of threats. This was the land of adults, where nothing was safe. This was the land of the Tyr, where only submission to the Will could protect them from harm.
Suddenly, without warning, a figure jumped out in front of them. Teeth bared, menacing, the form that might once have been human was decked out in bits of leather and fur, so that neither its face nor its true form were visible. Bright paint was splashed across its skin in mockery of Tyr-pattern, blue and scarlet and green and orange, with jagged swirls that crested like Tyrran armor-plates at the shoulders and outer thighs. The face itself was a mask of death, half hidden by studded leather and half transformed by corpse-paint into the image of a grinning skull.
As more of its kind jumped out at the children— behind them, beside them, everywhere where there was a crevice to leap from— the hideous creature grinned, and extended its arms toward Ntaya. Leather mitts bound its extremities into a four-fingered parody of the Tyrran shape, while bright metal claws fastened to the fingertips twitched hungrily toward the young girl's eyes. It was a fearful sight under normal circum-stances; combined with the tension of the Blooding, it was terrifying.
Ntaya—who had never seen a real Tyr, and was not quite sure that this wasn't one of them—stood her ground. This was the testing, she was sure of it. She emptied her mind of all thoughts of flight, all dreams of defiance, and held herself rock-steady as the deadly steel slivers came closer and closer to her face.
She was the tunnel-way, dark and silent; she was without fear, being rock, and would stand like a boulder while this Tyr-creature worked its will. Steel touched her cheek while the beast-face leered at her, its fur-ends brushing against her lips as she bit them, trying to control herself. Then there was sudden pain as the steel bit deeply, cutting into her cheek. Still she did not move. Outward, up again, the sharp steel talons moved toward her left eye, drawing a line of blood along her face. She knew that the creature might well blind her— knew only too well that those who survived the rite were often maimed in the process— but still she was rock-steady, and refused to fear. The Will of the Tyr would protect her.
At last the creature stepped back, grinning its pleasure. Despite her best intentions Ntaya felt tears coming, tried bravely to force them back. Claws gouged her shoulders as another creature, kin to the first, slashed her from behind; there must have been some kind of poison on the claw tips, no mere steel could cause that much pain. Now there were more of the creatures, dancing a death-dance about her while Tekk drumbeats marked time in the distance. Talons of steel cut into her back, her abdomen, her thigh, leaving streaks of blood and rivers of pain in their wake. But these were the Tyr, and the message of the Rite was unshakable: only by submitting to the Will of that species might she earn the right to pass through the gates of adulthood. And so she refused to move, refused to protect herself, refused even to fear, but forced herself to submit to their torture, crying out only when the pain was so great that for a split second her animal-self surfaced, taking control of her voice.
At last, it was over. The creatures stepped back from her, grinning at their sport. Something trickled into her eyes, blinding her. With a shaky hand she wiped it away, then blinked until that last of it was gone from her vision. Blood. She turned slightly so that she might see her companions, was heartened to find them still standing. We will brave adulthood together, she promised them silently.
The lead creature gestured for the children to pass between their taloned ranks; Ntaya hesitated only a second, then stepped forward. She was expecting them to attack her as she passed, could not help but flinch as she led her companions, single file, between the lines of their tormentors. But the children were not cut anew—at least, she wasn't—and a few steps later the corridor turned again, leading them out of sight of the terrible creatures.
There was sniffling behind her, perhaps tears. Willa? Jiande? She didn't turn back to see, but whispered,
"Courage, It's almost over." Blood dribbled down her legs and collected under her feet, making footfall slick and dangerous; she looked at the stone floor ahead of her, noted the stains of previous generations of Bloodings. We're not alone, she thought. The spirits of all those who had gone before were here, in this place, giving them courage. At least, that was what the children whispered when there were no adults about, their own rite-mythos. She hoped it was true.
Then another turn, and she saw the ghosts. Painted all in white, like the palest ones from Earth, they bore bundles of long, thin rags which were braided together at one end to form a handle, and which hung loose at the other. As Ntaya approached she could see that the strips of cloth were wet, and not with water.
She passed between the first pair of them, feeling her muscles tense. Then she was struck, and the whiplash drove liquid fire into her wounds. She gasped, and faltered. Immediately they were upon her, and there was no need for them to strike hard, although they did. Whatever fluid had soaked those scourges, it was like acid in her wounds. She forced herself forward, step by step, knowing that to falter here was to die beneath their lashes. But although she suffered terribly, she was not yet afraid. All was as it should be; this was the rite of Submission.
Do to me what you will, she thought, as she passed between the last pair of whip-wraiths. I am Tekk.
They all three made it through. Ntaya had been concerned for Willa, who was neither strong nor courageous. But the dark-skinned youngster, bathed in blood, bared her teeth in an attempt at smiling as she passed the last line of torment. Jiande was still, and concentrated on breathing evenly. He is trying not to be afraid, Ntaya realized. After a moment the three children looked at each other, and Willa grinned nervously. "I am Willa," she said, small hand striking her blood-scored chest in illustration. "I am Tekk-Human, and do not fear."
They echoed the words, choruslike, and wiped the blood from their faces.
"Is there more, do you think?" Jiande's voice was trembling, betraying the intensity of his fear. Ntaya tried to sound more steady as she responded, "There must be."
"Let's go on," Willa whispered, and the three of them began to move.
They followed the path of old blood beneath their feet, adding their own color to its markings. Soon the passage widened, so that all three might stand abreast once more. Ntaya felt a hand brush hers, then grasp it. Jiande. She squeezed back, wishing she could make courage flow from her heart to her hand, and into her friend. The boy needed it badly.
Then the passage became a chamber, with a single candle set in its center. The ceiling had been cleared of glow-fungus, and dark shadows danced upon the walls as the children entered, gathering about the source of light like insects.
"Look," Willa whispered, and Jiande followed her gaze. Figures stood on all sides of them, tucked away in niches that had been carved into the chamber's walls. Some were like the Tyr-creatures they had met, or like the ghosts which had beaten them. Others were even more grotesque, with masks and markings that were a parody of human features. Smoke rose from a brazier in the room's center, and its pungent odor clung to her nostrils. Seyga, the narcotic caveweed. All about her she could feel the painted figures radiating tension as they waited, deathlike in their utter stillness. Any time now. Any time . . .
A low scratching sound, claw upon stone. The children whirled to face their new attacker, and Jiande cried out. A hraas. Long, graceful, deadly, it moved into the chamber without a sound, its sharp nose raised to take in air, to sift it clean of its messages. It glanced at the painted figures, at the children, at the source of light. Glanced again, and sniffed. Ntaya held herself still, telling herself: This is the final testing.
This is what will make me a Tekk.
And then it was running. Muscles bunched together beneath its fur, then released; it left the ground in a powerful leap, all the force of its progress concentrated into one soaring package. Ntaya stepped back, an instinctive reaction. But the hraas wasn't going for her. It passed to one side of her, claws extended, and landed full weight upon her friend, bearing Jiande to the ground. Ntaya heard a child's cry, realized it was her own. She breathed deeply as she watched the hraas tear her friend's throat out, trying to regain control of herself. Blood was spurting from the wound like a geyser, rhythmic gushes that marked Jiande's last heartbeats. I am not afraid, Ntaya told herself, tears running down her face. I am Tekk. Tekk do not fear the hraas. The Will of the Tyr will protect me.
The predator turned, its jaws stained with blood, and looked at the two girls. For a moment its jeweled eyes focused on Ntaya, and the intensity of the creature's gaze forced her backward, until she had to take a step to steady herself. Then the great predator turned toward Willa, and Ntaya could see the girl tense.
It leapt again, and tore out the young girl's throat with such swiftness that Willa didn't even have time to utter a cry of surprise. Then it quickly turned its gaze upon Ntaya, and the bright blue eyes met hers, pierced her soul, and searched for defiance. The seyga smoke had banished all else from her awareness, so that in the entire universe there was only herself, and the hraas. She met its gaze without flinching, felt herself being drawn inside it. Into the soul of a hunter. Into an intelligence so alien that the Tekk could neither understand nor control it, but had developed a working relationship nonetheless. Those whom you spare at the Blooding will be safe from your kind forever.
The great head turned away. She felt herself exhale in relief, realized that she had not breathed since Willa's death. I am Tekk. The knowledge stunned her, left her speechless as the adults of the Talguth-Tekk, ignoring the hraas, came to greet her.
By what Earth Name will you be called?
She muttered the label she had chosen, her voice trembling as the shock of the Blooding finally sank in.
As the death of her two friends hit her. Tears flowed copiously down her face, cleansing her cheeks of blood. She had left her childhood behind her, and with it the memory of two friends who had never passed through its gates. Who had never been born at all. Such was the truth, as the Tyr would be told it.
She hoped someday she could believe it.
* * *
There were four of them, now, standing small and trembling before the adult company. None had succumbed to the tests of strength, which was good; such trials were meant only to prepare them for the hraas' scrutiny, and weren't intended to kill.
Three beasts had come to attend the ritual, their chameleon fur matched to the flickering orange of the candle's flame. Although it would be foolish to assign any Earth emotion to the enigmatic predators, Ntaya watched them and thought: They enjoy it. They like seeing the children afraid.
Sadistic grounders!
The first beast made its choice. With a motion as smooth as liquid fire, it singled out and leapt upon one of the children. A second was soon to follow, taking out the youngest of those who remained. The third hraas paced anxiously, sniffed the air, but didn't move. That was a good sign; Ntaya hoped the remaining children noticed it.
And at last it was over. The hunters nuzzled the last two children, bared their teeth and hissed at them, but made no move to harm them. Ntaya wondered—not for the first time—just how the animals made their selection. Would changes in the ritual result in a higher survival rate? They had refined the Blooding as much as they could, taking their cues from the hraas, but might it still be improved yet further? Or were the hraas simply unwilling to let the Tyr's human servants add to their numbers beyond a certain limit?
The implications of that! It sent shivers through her. How much did they really know about the hraas?
How much did anyone know?
Jovus addressed the children. "By what Earth Name will you be known among our people?"
"Io, if the starshi permit." The boy's voice was a mere whisper.
"Tigris, revered starshi."
Conservative names, with strong Earth-associations; Ntaya approved. But the children's voices were weak— the shock was beginning to hit them. In a short while they would be bundled in blankets and brought to a place of rest, where their minds and bodies would be nursed back to health. But not yet.
They had been trained from birth to serve the Tyr without question; such upbringing was necessary to insure that their façade of subservience never faltered. But now, for those whom the hraas had accepted, there was one more surprise to come. And this time it was her job to explain it.
And the truth might well prove the worst shock of all.
TSING COLONY NINE
There was a Marra on the landing field. Not the Tsing-Marra, but another. That implied that the fearful one had been wrong. Which in turn implied . . .
Don't get your hopes up,she warned herself. Not until you make sure that he is what he seems.
But no amount of isolation from her own kind could dull her Marra senses so much that she could fail to recognize another of her species, even at such a distance. Her life-sight picked him out unerringly from the two-legged creatures that surrounded him, and though he was clearly passing for one of them the two were as different in her sight as night and day.
So there was more than one Marra on this world, and therefore there might be more elsewhere, as well.
So much for the alleged agreement.
Much to her surprise, she hesitated to confront him. It was most unlike her. Could it be that she lacked faith in her current Identity, or in her memory? If it turned out that this new Marra shared the same delusion as his Tsing-brother, she would have to face a very unpleasant truth. Was it really possible that her entire race was divided, in hiding? That the Marra lived in fear of the mass-bound?
There was only one way to find out.
Girding her courage—and borrowing life from the plant life that had sheltered her, so that she wouldn't weaken herself by Changing—she adopted a form which could pass among these strangers. Biped, oddly balanced ... it could use a tail, she decided, but she refrained from adding one. Her new body's senses were sensitive enough; she made only minor adjustments to the airborne particle sense before she dared to come out of hiding, and approach the landing field itself.
