Lookouts informed me that the Spood beyond the hills were still unaware of our presence. I felt that condition would not last, so I had to hurry. I addressed our three thousand prisoners, informing them that in about twenty minutes I would be allowing the drooves to graze, and that they would appear not to be guarding them. However, make no mistake, I told them, for if any made a move to escape, the drooves would notice and stomp that would-be escapee to death.
My bluff seemed to result in the desired effect. They were aware I had a measure of control over the beasts, so I was hoping they would believe my powers extended beyond what I actually possessed. Those not assisting the attacking drooves would also keep an eye out, to dissuade the prisoners from roaming.
At the hilltop, my small band gathered, lying prone and hidden as I took one last survey of the conditions. To my left the drooves remained penned, and I hoped the corral was of the same flimsy construction as the one at the mining camp. My eyes conducted a methodical sweep of the landscape. It was mid-afternoon and the fieldwork proceeded with a lazy normality. The scene might appear idyllic to the casual observer, if not for the cracking swoks and the clanking chains.
Borsar stood down to my right. Something had changed since my last view of this scene. The grottis was now up, its wings outstretched to the sky—and someone was hanging from it! Irritation rose in me. Why hadn’t the lookouts informed me of this?
I turned to the others. “We have to get down there, now!” Without waiting for a response, I pivoted back to the drooves.
I touched the bracelet bone and spoke.
“Creet drooves in the pen, break out and kill the Creet soldiers in the fields.” I had no interest in refining the order. The time for niceties was at an end. I hoped twenty minutes was enough to finish the job.
“Let’s go,” I urged the others. We rose and swept down the hill. I glanced over as we sprinted through the grass and saw the drooves had broken free and were swarming the fields. Borsar noticed the far away drooves on the loose, and his diverted attention assisted our approach.
My legs churned as I held my spear poised in a stationary position above my head. Izzy’s sword was out, pointed forward as she ran. Lillatta and Semral hoisted spears as I did, and Brilna clumsily followed while clutching my leather bag—an item she refused to relinquish.
A cry sounded behind me. Brilna was down, but she would have to rise on her own. Borsar’s guards spied us and gave the priest warning. We were on them an instant later. Metal and wood clashed. I toppled a Creet with a sweeping cut that took his feet from beneath him, and then finished him off with a spearpoint to the chest.
Borsar screamed at his men to kill us, but the reality of the situation did not favor that outcome. His men were already beaten, either down and dead or capitulating. Four survived, along with a fleeing Borsar, who forced me to chase him down.
“Not so fast, fat man,” I said. I overtook the out-of-shape priest and got around to his ample front. A shiny and persuasive spearpoint beneath his double chin halted his flight.
I prodded the sweating redhead back to the others and heard a soft moan. Glancing up, I felt my heart seize. The hands of fear, as I had never felt them in my life, took hold and squeezed the breath from me. A dark-haired boy hung limp on the grottis, chained tightly to the wooden abomination. Javen’s nose dripped blood and his right cheek appeared puffed. Thankfully, he was alive, and he was offering me a sickly grin.
“Get him down from there!” I demanded. “You and you!” I stabbed at two of the surviving Creet with my spear to get them to comply. Javen was down in moments and I went to him. Examining his wounds, I discovered, to my relief, that he had no broken bones or serious injury. He had a swollen mouth and could not talk, along with having sore ribs, but he indicated to me he was fine.
I turned to Borsar, who displayed a smirk on his chubby countenance. That infuriated me.
“Why are you acting so smug?” I jabbed my spear at his plump torso. “You are in no position to find any of this amusing.”
The smirk vanished, but not the attitude.
“You do not seem to understand the magnitude of what you have done. You have interrupted a sacrifice to Gor-jar,” the priest said, as if expecting that to frighten me. “That will not go unpunished. Gor-jar will demand his payment.”
“Sure he will. Like he did with me at the sperza?”
Borsar had a blank look, and it hit me that he did not recognize me.
“You don’t remember me, do you?”
“Should I?”
“Perhaps you remember a little girl whose skull was crushed, and a Creet bastard who wound up with a blade in his brain.”
That jogged the priest’s memory. He studied my face and his own grew dark
“You killed a good man . . . Kobar. He was one of my best.”
“A good man? He was an animal! He smashed the head of an innocent little girl!”
“She spilled water. The girl was nothing . . . a slave.”
I swung my hand and slapped Borsar across the face. The vicious blow stunned and he stepped back. I swung again and struck flabby flesh, and then again. Borsar was reeling and I slapped him yet again. I bore in, my hand stinging, but not nearly finished, my swings energized by the raw power of Ra-ta. My blows had been so impossibly rapid in succession that the priest had been unable to lift his arms to protect himself. Now he did and I halted.
“How does it feel to be under another’s control, priest?” I taunted. “How does it feel to be treated as nothing?” I was breathing hard from the exertion. “Want to go again?”
Borsar was angry over the assault and his eyes blazed. He nursed his bruised face.
“You’re dead!” he shouted. “When my troops arrive they will cut your ragged lot to pieces. But I will save you for the grottis.”
Borsar’s hubris and stubborn blindness to his precarious situation were unbelievable.
“Your troops can’t help you,” I said, and then pointed to the fields. “Don’t you realize what is happening?”
The priest turned to look. In the distance, drooves milled about. There was no sign of Creet soldiers. Instead, slaves were making their way toward our position. Borsar’s face registered alarm as he turned back to face me.
“What have you done? Where are my men?”
I shrugged and said, “My guess is they are dead.”
Borsar took another glance at the approaching slaves. His anger rose.
“You will not get away with this! I have three thousand more soldiers who will hunt you down and—”
“They are right over those hills,” I interrupted. “They are my prisoners. I imagine they are resting comfortably, waiting for my return.”
Borsar did not believe me.
“How could you have captured three thousand Creet soldiers? They would have crushed your rabble like bugs beneath their feet.”
“Of course,” I said. “What could I be thinking? Perhaps we captured three thousand starfens. I get confused. They certainly fought like rodents. So, maybe you are right.”
Borsar glared at me, not very appreciative of my sarcasm.
“Believe what you want,” I told him. “You are finished in this land. What made you think you could come here and enslave our people?”
To my surprise, the fat man laughed.
“It is our right,” he said, and I saw he believed it. “The Spood will always be masters of the world. You inferior races will continue to be subservient to us. You think because you are way out here that you can escape our reach? Gor-jar will demand—”
“Gor-jar is dead,” I informed Borsar. “I killed him.”
The priest laughed. “That is very humorous. You cannot kill a god. You won’t be so cocky when Smerkas sends more troops to—”
“Smerkas is also dead. I’m afraid I killed him, too.”
The fat priest was enjoying the joke.
“
You say you have killed them, but I see no proof. You are fooling yourself if you think Smerkas will not come for you. Gor-jar will have many more feasts.”
I motioned for Brilna to approach me. She did, bringing along the leather bag. I reached in and pulled out the ceiling light from the white room, which still glowed, though faintly. The surviving Creet guards shrank back in fear. Semral displayed a similar reaction, but I noticed Borsar simply eyed the glowing object with a studied intensity.
“So, you recognize this, don’t you?” I said to the priest. “I took it from Gor-jar’s room. I can tell you know where that is.”
“I…do.”
“So you tell me how I came to have it. Would Gor-jar not have killed me if I were in his lair?”
Borsar laughed again. “That is easy. You were one of the slaves sent in to gather the coins. You took the firelight then. I am not so easily fooled.”
The priest felt confident in his ability to expose what he took to be my feeble lies. I could have reminded him that no slave could have sneaked the light out without notice, but I felt it was time to try something else.
“Brilna has a fascinating little wand you might find of interest. Show it to Borsar,” I said to her.
Brilna extracted the glittering rod and held it out so the priest could get a good look. The recognition and shock were immediate. Borsar trembled as he reached for the scepter and turned it over in his hands.
“I took that off Smerkas when I killed him,” I said. “You’ll find him just outside Grell, lying on the road, if you care to check.”
“It is not true!” Borsar’s vehement denial could not hide his fear and doubt. As he examined the clear evidence before him, he said, “This can’t be possible!”
“Oh, it’s certainly possible,” I said. “Smerkas was nothing more than a pompous, arrogant fool, much like you. I killed him and I killed your weak god, too. Don’t you know who I am?”
Borsar stared at me, unsure what I was asking. The Creet were wary and attentive. They, too, thought I had already revealed myself—the slave at the sperza. Semral looked confused, and who could blame him.
“Look at my hand,” I instructed Borsar. “What do you see?”
Borsar was suspicious as I held out my palm for him to inspect, but he came forward to peek. His head lurched back and his face drained of color. He looked fearfully into my eyes.
“The mark of the spear!” His trembling increased. “It is you?”
“It is,” I confirmed. “I am the Disrupter.”
The Creet showed their fright, with one of them collapsing to his knees.
Borsar stared again at the infamous mark. Then, the alarming piece of news I had previously relayed to him finally appeared to register. He looked again at me, this time his expression revealing awe along with the fear.
The shaken priest glanced up at the empty grottis and then he turned back to me and spoke the dreaded words.
“Gor-jar—he is truly dead?”
“He is, truly,” I said, unable to resist a mocking tone. “I stepped inside him and took his power. The Blades of Sorrow can attest to this.”
I indicated Izzy and Lillatta, who stood there smiling at the dazed and dumbstruck priest.
One more surprise I impulsively chose to throw in.
“Sester sent me to kill Gor-jar,” I lied. “He wants his people back.”
I relished the reaction. The discovery that Sester had returned added an explosive level to already stunning revelations. News that the long-absent god had deployed the most feared figure in Spood prophecy, the Disrupter, to kill the god’s rival I saw to be incomprehensible to his followers. Borsar, Gor-jar’s rabid disciple, had the look of one confronted with forces beyond his understanding or control. Yet even through his fog, he must have sensed that one does not trifle with the machinations of the gods.
The priest unexpectedly dropped to his knees in front of me and bowed his head to the ground.
“Oh great and powerful Disrupter, what does Sester desire of me?”
His deferential tone took me by surprise. It was quite a turnaround from his previous cocky self-assurance.
I imagined he was earnest. It is always in one’s best interests to please the deity currently in charge. Still, why was he asking me what Sester wished of him? How would I know? Me, privy to what a god wants? I’m sure Sester was laughing aloud at the mere presumption.
“I’ll get back to you on that,” I told him. “First, I want to take care of my friend.”
He accepted that and seemed resigned to the notion that there was a new order, and that the power structure had changed. We moved Javen to Borsar's hut and there I nursed his injuries. I sent out for plants and other natural healing ingredients. Within a couple of hours, Javen was resting comfortably.
One of the seven who had accompanied Javen to this camp told me later that he and his small group had encountered the Creet soon after crossing the river. Captured, Javen had attempted escape. Caught and beaten, he was awaiting sacrifice to Gor-jar within the hour of our timely arrival.
Word came, as we expected, that the drooves had annihilated the Creet forces in the fields, with help from a slave uprising. We grouped the few survivors of the slaughter with our three thousand other prisoners. I promised Borsar I would address this group, to tell them what Sester wanted of them. They knew by now that I was the Disrupter, and had heard of the deaths of Smerkas and Gor-jar by my hand.
On a clear fall morning I stood before an expectant audience eager to hear the wishes of a sun god. This god happened to be Sester, but it could just as well have been Mim or Ra-ta. I could tell them anything, I knew, and they would believe me. But I felt I had a responsibility to tell the truth, at least as I understood it, for perhaps the sun gods had chosen me to deliver some message of great wisdom. Perhaps they would move my lips as Ra-ta had often moved my arm when my weapons had to fly far and true.
I was uncomfortable. I did not understand why people needed someone to tell them the right thing to do. They were looking for another god to follow, and for someone to tell them how to worship that god. They wanted to be told how to pray, what rituals to perform, and what not to eat on what days. They were eager to form and set in stone new rules and new laws to be obeyed without question. They wanted to know how to distinguish the heathens from the righteous, and how to deal with the unbelievers. If you won’t comply with the new, true faith, do we ostracize you, forcibly convert you—kill you? I had no answers for them. Why concern yourself worrying about or trying to control what anyone else believes? In the end, you will be judged alone, with that judgment based solely on what fills your heart. They had to look inside themselves. That is where all answers lie.
“I am here to tell you what to do,” I began, and could not believe how lame and pretentious that sounded coming out of my mouth. I hoped Ra-ta, Sester, or Mim had some better lines forthcoming.
“Sester wants you to stop sacrificing people.”
There, that was better, clear and concise.
“He wants you to set all your slaves free and learn how to do for yourselves. He wants you to respect others as equals and learn to cooperate.”
I was grasping for words.
“Sester wants you to be happy and to bring joy to others. He wants you to treat all others as you would want to be treated.”
There, that one I liked. Still, the inspiration was running dry.
“So, be good and—uh—well, have a nice day.”
Oh, that sounded stupid.
Well, I did my best. Whether my words would enlighten and free minds or be twisted to control and enslave I did not know. It seems people will always find a way to do both, even when given the same inspiration. As I turned to leave, cries of alarm sounded from several locations. I looked to where everyone pointed and saw a green beast loping across a distant field. This, I couldn’t resist. I had to do it.
“Can-rak, come to me,” I said. At once the animal switched directions and raced toward our gathering. Exclamations of fear grew in number and volume. People started to scatter. Izzy looked at me, shaking her head at my naughtiness. Semral had a questioning expression, indicating his doubts as to my ability to control this situation. Javen grabbed my hand. He wasn’t going anywhere.
As the can-rak drew closer, it began sniffing. It trotted, and then slowed to a walk, and I heard the humming. The beast stopped before me and rolled over onto its back. Stunned by the animal’s reaction, people began to inch toward us as I reached high to rub the can-rak’s stomach. It hummed with content as it pawed the air with playful swipes. I told the animal to walk over to Borsar and lick his face. The can-rak twisted and leaped to its feet. Borsar, caught by surprise, froze as the massive beast ambled over to slurp its tongue across his pudgy cheeks.
“Can-rak, resume your journey to where you were headed,” I said. The animal pivoted at once and bounded off to its previous destination. My summons of the can-rak had not been purely to entertain, but rather to enforce a point. I was allowing the prisoners to return to their homeland, and I wanted the Spood to be cognizant that I had considerable power over animals. It was a warning to them to stay on the path I had outlined, or risk a repeat visit from the Disrupter.
The priests and the Creet thousands prepared to leave. They were taking their drooves—not all, for we decided to keep some to breed—and heading back to Grell. I had witnessed a remarkable change in Borsar and my desire for vengeance had withered away. Of course, I could not be sure Borsar’s transformation was genuine; perhaps it was merely a ploy, a means of self-preservation. I really didn’t care. There had been enough killing. I offered a few words of wisdom to the priest before his departure.
“You will want to be careful when you get back to Grell,” I advised him. “It seems I might have let a few can-raks loose, and they are in the process of tidying up the place.”
Borsar’s face showed alarm. “I have a son back in Grell.”
I remembered his son. Chubby little kid who wouldn’t get his own water.
“Well, as long as he has no evil in his heart, he’ll be fine,” I said, and then smiled. “That, of course, goes for everyone returning to Grell.”
Borsar gave me a look. I imagined he hoped I was joking. Not in this case. For all their sakes, a change of heart would not be a bad thing to contemplate on their long journey home.
“Oh, and you might want to avoid that sperza you built,” I added. “I’m afraid I burned that to the ground.”
In the days that followed, representatives of both Sakita and Raab tribes met. We decided to abandon our former, antagonistic relationship, and to cooperate on issues of concern to both. Our recent brutalization at the hands of the Spood had made us realize our strength lay in mutual assistance. Since Javen and I had already established a rather personal level of cooperation, the efforts pleased me.
Izzy and Brilna decided to remain and experience life as a Sakita, and I was glad to have them. Izzy occupied herself by offering sword-fighting lessons to anyone, man or woman, desiring to learn. It amused me to see Oster as one of her most eager pupils. Izzy promised that someday we would all journey to the mysterious cave in the mountains, and I keenly looked forward to that.
Officially, I was still an outcast from my tribe, but Semral assured me he would remedy that situation. He also made me an offer. He asked me to accept the position as the new shaman of the Sakita. I reminded him that rules required a competition between candidates, but he waved that off. He told me we would be making new rules, along with many other overdue changes.
On a late fall morning, as Ra-ta peeked above the eastern mountains, Lillatta and I stood on a bank that overhung the mighty river Raso. We watched in silence as the sun touched the water, exploding it into shimmering light. Lillatta stepped forward to toss a blue-petaled flower into the shining water. It was a persun flower, the flower of preference in Sakitan rituals for the departed. Lillatta’s blossom was for Kalor, her lost love. I followed with three of my own. The first was for Satu, an orphan boy with a crippled leg who had no one to mourn his passing. The second was for a nameless young slave girl whose life ended much too early in a now vanished sperza. The third was for my father, a man who believed in destiny, a man who believed in me.
May the four of them roam the bountiful fields of Mimnon forever.
My eyes swept across the green hills and beyond to the eternal mountains. I was home. And tomorrow, with the first light, a new era would begin for our tribe, an era of equality. Council chief Semral and I planned to rise and together seek the wild herds. We were going hunting.
**
~~EPILOGUE~~
In a decaying white room below Grell, on a dusty desk behind a low partition, a small machine hums and emits a square glow. The device’s locked screen reveals a page of last entries. A fragment of ceiling tile falls, striking a button on the device. A wide, enhanced view of the screen projects into the blackness. Across the screen run the following curious rows of characters: