Hokas Pokas Part 12

The clamor grew with more candidates offered. Just before people came to blows, Igorsh had shields beaten again. And Dzenko's voice cut through, crying, "Hold! Hold! I speak for the Deliverer!" until the a.s.sembly was seated and quiet.

"Enough of this," said the baron scornfully. "Did you think the Prince himself knows not what is the Sorrow of Avilyogh?"

He paused for effect. "Well, what is it?" Igorsh asked at length.

"Why!" Dzenko spread his arms wide. "What but the Giant Demon Ilnya which has prowled your hills throughout the centuries? What but its accursed existence has spoiled your luck and brought these other misfortunes on you? Now no more! Today the Prince will seek out the Demon and slay him, and a golden age will come to Avilyogh!"

Males stared at each other. Charlie caught some of the puzzled murmurs: "Demon? . . . Giant Ilnya? . . . I never heard . . . Well, at least it isn't that decapod 'Tisn't your fool Rookery, either. . . ."

Meanwhile Igorsh inquired plaintively, "But where is this creature? I, ah, I must admit my own memory is somewhat hazy on the subject. It's, ah, not ordinarily discussed."

"Of course it isn't," Dzenko said. "Doesn't that prove how cunning the Demon is? But fear no more. In the interests of expediting things, esteemed colleague, I took the liberty of dispatching huntsmen of my own to your island. They landed secretly and, armed with magical knowledge given them by the Prince, scouted out the lair of the ogre. I have a map they made. According to it, the Prince should be able to get there in a mere few hours."

Many people shuddered to think the fiend had been so near them for lifetimes, and they never aware of it. They drew signs against evil. There was no further argument.

It wasn't that New Lemurians were stupid, Charlie thought . . . they were by nature as intelligent as humans. But they were brought up in an environment where countless superst.i.tions were believed. n.o.body had ever taught them to ask for scientific evidence before accepting a story.

If any did suspect this was being staged, they must be keeping quiet for the sake of getting rid of the hated King Olaghi.

A party left Vask before noon. It consisted of Dzenko's following, plus Igorsh and some of the more prominent citizens of his baronry. Conversation was impossible while bouncing along on a yachi, and Charlie had much time to brood. He hardly noticed the woodland scenery as he climbed the heights of the island.

When they stopped for lunch, he drew Dzenko aside into a thicket; a nearby waterfall helped cover their low words. The n.o.ble had beckoned a certain member of the troop to come along. This was a weatherbeaten sly-eyed male who, while equipped like a soldier, was actually the huntmaster of Roshchak.

"Hadn't you better tell me what's what?" Charlie proposed.

"You do need instructions," Dzenko agreed. "Boraz, are you sure everything is in order?"

"As of yesterday morning, it was, Lord," the hunter replied. To Charlie he added, "I stayed behind when the rest of my gang returned, to care for the ilnya, and got back barely in time to catch the ferry."

"Care . . . for . . . the ilnya?" Charlie spoke in a daze.

Through his mind pa.s.sed what he had heard about beasts of that kind. An ilnya was a carnivore, the size of a tiger and not unlike one in appearance, save for blue fur, short tail, and enormous hind legs which helped it run down its prey. The distribution of such species throughout the islands meant there had been land bridges in the past.

Fear chilled him. "I don't know anything about ilnya hunting," he said thinly.

"You need not," Boraz said. "My men and I captured this brute and chained him in a cave. You will go in alone. How declares the Prophecy? 'Swiftly, then, merrily, swinging his swordblade, Slays he the scarer called Sorrow of Avilyogh.' All you have to do is stand out of reach and hack away. When he's dead, cut off his head to slip the chain free, and bury it. The chain, I mean; you'll need the head to show."

The time grew unbearably long as they traveled on-and then, when they dismounted at mid afternoon, it was as if no time had pa.s.sed whatsoever.

Nothing appeared real to Charlie. He felt his own trembling and smelled his own sweat. The sunlit greenness around him seemed infinitely far away.

Boraz pointed. Uphill from the animal trail which they had been following, barely visible between trunks and leafy boughs, a cave mouth gaped black in a bluff. "Yonder lairs the Demon," said the hunter. "Can you not smell his nearness?" Indeed a rank odor lay beneath the forest fragrances.

Awed, the natives stood mute. Mishka drew blade. "Take you my sword," he bade Charlie, "and would that I might be with you!"

"The Prince fares alone to his destiny," Dzenko said fast.

"What's this?" exclaimed Hector. "Alone? Ne'er whilst breath moves a MacGregor breast!"

All eyes went to the Hoka. He planted his feet firmly and glowered defiance. Small though his teddy bear form was amid the big New Lemurians, they were too shaken to attempt force on him. "Whaur Bonnie Prince Charlie fights, there fight I," he told them.

"Order him to stay," Dzenko snapped.

It was the wrong tone to take. "Why should I?" Charlie flared. "I am the Prince. Remember?"

"But," said Igorsh reasonably, "you must slay the Sorrow of Avilyogh. You're not supposed to have a.s.sistance."

The wily Dzenko saw a way out. "Our Deliverer's faithful servant can leave his steel behind," he said. "And . . . ah . . . things may happen when one is dealing with a demon, things not fit to be related in public. You will keep silence about whatever you witness, will you not, Sir Hector?"

"If the lad asks it, I wull." The Hoka nodded.

Dzenko gave Charlie a meaningful glance. "Silence may be to your best advantage, Prince," he reminded.

"Yes," whispered Charlie. "Please, Hector."

"I swear, then, by the honor o' my clan, nae wor-r-rd s'all e'er pa.s.s my lips," promised the Hoka. "Aye, twill not e'en get as far as my teeth."

Quickly he divested himself of sword and miscellaneous knives. He kept his bagpipes, maintaining that these were a military necessity. Igorsh was dubious; bagpipes were completely unknown in Talyina, and this might be a weapon of some kind. Hector defied him to find any sharp edges in the apparatus, and he gave way.

Mishka wrung Charlie's hand and clapped his shoulder. No one had words. Boy and Hoka trudged uphill to the cave.

Quietness hung heavy. Shivering, Charlie entered. For a second he stood blind in damp, strong-smelling gloom. Then his eyes adapted and he could see.

The cave was about ten meters deep. Its floor was soft dirt, easily movable to hide the chain, collar, and staple that held the ilnya captive. When first he made out the beast, at the far end, Charlie strangled on a cry. It was truly a giant.

But it lay so quietly. He decided it was asleep. Step by step he moved closer, until he realized that this was an old animal-oh, very old. Its great body was bone-thin, its coat faded and in many patches fallen out. As he watched, it began to snore. The mouth curled back, and he saw that the fangs were snags or altogether gone. Once it had been proud and beautiful, but now-no wonder Boraz's men had been able to lay nets and ropes around it and drag it here to await its death!

"Och," said Hector eagerly, "ye've n.o.bbut to stab whilst yon cat snarks, and your second Feat is done."

Dread washed out of Charlie, leaving only a huge compa.s.sion. "I, I can't," he protested. "That'd be like shooting somebody's old pet dog."

"Pet? I dinna think yon claws are for decoration, laddie." Hector considered. "Aweel, gi'en the size o' him, I doot one stab wad sairve anyhoo. So, if you wish, I'll rouse him." He tucked the bag under his arm, put one of the pipes to his muzzle, and blew. The bag inflated.

A grisly vision rose before Charlie-the butchery he was supposed to carry out. It might take hours to end the torment.

"No!" he cried. "Stop! I won't! I don't care what they do to me-"

He was too late. Hector had begun playing.

A screech such as New Lemuria had never heard before erupted in the cave. Echoes blasted Charlie's eardrums and rattled around in his skull. The ilnya came awake. By sheer reflex, it bounded upward. Its head struck the roof. It fell with an earthshaking thud and lay still.

Slowly, in eerie wails and moans, the bagpipes deflated. Hector goggled through the dusk. "What . . . what- 'Tis dead!"

Charlie took his courage in both hands and approached the ilnya. He knelt, prodded it, felt for any breath. There was none. "Yes," he said.

"What happened?" Hector asked.

Charlie rose. "I think," he said in a hushed voice, "I'll never know for sure, but I think- It was so old and feeble, and it could never have heard anything like that racket of yours before. I really think it died of a heart attack. Thank G.o.d for His mercy."

"A heart attack?" For an instant, Hector was dumbfounded. Then he brightened. "Ah, the bra' notes o' Hieland music! Ever hae Caledonia's foes withered and fallen awa' at the pure and powerful sound o' it!"

t.i.tle: Hokas Pokas Author: Poul Anderson & Gordon R. d.i.c.kson ISBN: 0-671-57858-8 1983 by Poul Anderson & Gordon R.

Copyright: d.i.c.kson Publisher: Baen Books

7.

Man and Superman

Now Charlie must remove the head of the ilnya and hide the evidence. "I hate being dishonest like this," he said.

"Statecraft, lad," Hector rea.s.sured him. "Turning his ain guile again' the Sa.s.senach." He inflated his instrument once more. "Yet 'twas a gallant beast here, desairving o' meelitary honors." And while Charlie did the job, the Hoka skirled forth a coronach.

Thus Charlie emerged from the cave with his ears numb and ringing. Mishka whooped and sobbed for joy as he ran to embrace the human. "Why, where've the others gone?" Charlie wondered.

"They fled from the Demon's shrieks and roars," Mishka answered. "I can't really blame them, either. 'Twas all I could do to stand my ground while those gruesome noises shook my very liver."

"Shrieks?" Hector tilted his bonnet in order to scratch his head. "Roars? I heard naught. Naught the least. Did ye, lad?" He snapped his fingers. "Och, but o' coorse, I was playing the pipes. Naught could reach me but yon sweet melodies."

And, Charlie realized, those were precisely what had stampeded the Talyinans. Mishka didn't draw that conclusion, fortunately-or unfortunately, since the tears on the guardsman's cheeks made the human feel guiltier than ever. He got no chance to think further about that. The sergeant lifted a horn slung at his side and winded it to summon the rest of the party. They hadn't gone far and made their yachis take huge leaps while they shouted forth their happiness.

Charlie couldn't resist twitting Dzenko: "I never thought you would flee from a being you understood so well."

The baron looked embarra.s.sed. "It was . . . unexpected . . . that noise. I almost thought the Prophecy spoke truth-" He caught himself. "That is," he snapped, "my men were departing, and naturally they needed me to lead them."

Entering the cave, the Talyinans murmured in awe. Charlie wondered why. Admittedly the ilnya was of uncommon size, but weren't the signs plain that it had also been of uncommon age? Besides, they had never had a legend about an ogre in such a shape till Dzenko invented it for them this morning. Yet they solemnly offered prayers and poured shmiriz on the ground to the G.o.ds before they began skinning the animal. The carca.s.s they would leave for a sacrifice, the head they would mount in the Councilhouse, but the hide they would cut up into tiny squares for distribution among the folk as prized relics.

Hasprot, minstrel of Roshchak, took the word after they started home. He was a short and skinny male, his gray crest of hair dyed with the blue juice of berries and his whiskers waxed to keep them from drooping. He affected polka-dotted trousers, bells on his boots, and a jacket not of leather but of fluorescent pink neolon from Earth. However, he did have a good voice, and he was among the few who could speak-not needing his jaws tied shut-while bouncing along on a yachi. He could even play a horpil as he rode. That was an instrument not dissimilar to an ancient Greek lyre, except that it was tuned to a different scale and had a rattle built into the frame which was shaken at suitable points in a recital.

Hark [he intoned] to the tale that I have of the hero, The Prince of Prophecy prancing among us-

Charlie listened in amazement. The part about the shooting of the bellfruit was fairly straightforward, if a trifle florid. ("Piercingly peering through fog stood the Prince.") You couldn't blame Hasprot for having been taken in by Dzenko's trick. But when he came to the Sorrow of Avilyogh, the minstrel gave his imagination free rein. For example, there was the moment in the fight when the Demon had turned itself into a raging fire and threatened to burn them all to a crisp. Still more outrageous, Charlie thought, were the forty-seven Demon kittens which had been about to rush from the cave and lay waste the whole province when the sight of the valiant lords Dzenko and Igorsh sent them wailing back belowground. Hasprot's diplomatic narration extended to the rest of the group. According to him, they had not fled. No.

Raging, they ran where they reckoned the foe Starkly might strike, did he stretch the Prince dead.

This section of the epic chanced to be composed during a rest stop, and Charlie saw heads nod and heard self-satisfied voices rumble, "Ah, yes. . . . Just so. . . . Indeed, indeed. . . . How well he captures the essence. . . . Hasprot, would you mind repeating that bit about how I personally challenged the Demon?"

Because their lives were hard and usually dull when not disastrous, these people needed brightly colored visions. When suddenly it seemed that these might become real, they were bound to seize on that hope and to gloss over any flaws in the evidence-not even aware that they were doing so. Likewise, they unconsciously edited their eyewitness memories in order to save their pride.

The same thing had happened over and over on Earth.

Charlie glanced at Hector. Was that kilted teddy bear really very different from the natives . . . or from man?

He was too tired to think further. When they reached Vask, well after sunset, he stumbled directly to bed. Hector had to be restrained from playing him a lullaby on the pipes.

With a fair wind to fill gaily striped sails, two dozen ships plowed eastward. They included not only the combined naval forces of Roshchak and Avilyogh, but volunteers that had arrived after Dzenko's couriers, and ordinary folk in boats, had spread the news of the Prince through the western islands. Charlie found it fantastic that he should be aboard the flagship of a war fleet, a mere three days after he landed.

The vessels varied in size and appearance. But a typical fighting ship was about thirty meters long, broad in the beam, high in prow and stern, gaudily painted, and decorated with a fierce-looking figurehead. The two masts were square-rigged, apart from a fore-and-aft mizzen sail. The steersman used a wheel to control a central rudder and a primitive magnetic compa.s.s for guidance. Down on the main deck, a few peculiar cannon poked their snouts through the bulwarks on either side. However, the princ.i.p.al armament was catapults and mangonels. A hundred males were crowded aboard. Few were professional warriors, just ordinary fishers, farmers, laborers, or sailors, who had no armor except perhaps a shield or a kettle helmet and whose weapons had been in their families for generations.

The sea danced and sparkled. Foam went lacelike over the sapphire and emerald of its waves. They whooshed when they made the ships rock. From horizon to horizon, islets were scattered green-here and there a cottage or village visible-as if a jewel box had burst open. Surf broke upon reefs in a blinding purity of white. The sun was warm, but the wind was cool and brisk; it smelled of freshness and distance. Seafowl cruised and cried against an enormous heaven.

From the staff of the lead ship flew a tartan banner which Hector had supplied. Charlie and Dzenko stood alone on the foredeck, gazing down across a ma.s.s of crewmen and fighters. It was a conference which the human had demanded. He was tired of being put off with vague promises or distracted with sports and excursions, while the baron handled everything that mattered.

"Have no fears," Dzenko said. "Our cause advances as if the G.o.ds had greased it. We proceed openly now, because the king is bound in any case to get word soon of what's happening. But he will need time to investigate and still more time to gather in his strength, from those provinces whose masters support him. Meanwhile, the rest will be flocking to us. Especially after you have accomplished the third of the Feats."

"Yes, what about that?" Charlie fretted. "To fight the Three Brothers of Belogh-" He regarded his own slight frame.

Dzenko twirled a whisker. "Have no fears," he repeated. "All is arranged. I've not been idle since the first we met."

"But do the Brothers-well, I mean, suppose they admit afterward that they threw the fight with me."

"They won't," Dzenko promised, "because they are quite sincere. My agents went to a good deal of trouble there.

"See you, young friend, in olden years-when the Prophecy was composed-the city-state of Belogh was powerful. And ever it maintained three of its doughtiest fighters, who were supposed to be brothers, as champions. They took the lead in battle, and they represented the city in trials by combat.

"When Belogh was brought into the kingdom, this custom died out. But it was never officially abolished, and traditions about it survive. The task of my agents was to find three, ah, suitable brothers and persuade them and the local government that they be proclaimed heirs to the post. These three believe it's strictly honorary, a credit to their family and, ah, an a.s.sertion of Beloghan spirit in our era of despotism. When you land and challenge them, they will have to accept. But I trust they will get no advance warning. If they knew who you are, they might decline the engagement, and then how could you prove your ident.i.ty?"

He stared at the main deck. "Yes," he continued, "we must always be careful."

His glance fell on Hector, who stood in earnest talk with Mishka. "For instance," he mused, "that a.s.sociate of yours has seen a shade too much and may let slip information best kept from the public. It would not be overly distressing, would it, if he . . . ah . . . suffered an accident?"

Horror smote Charlie. "What?" he yelped.

"Oh, nothing cruel," Dzenko pledged. "Brawls will happen, you know, when armed males are crammed together. If several of them simultaneously took offense at something he said- Do you follow me?"

"No!" Charlie shouted. "If, if anything . . . like that-well, if you want my help, you'd better keep Hector safe! Otherwise," he choked forth, "you may as well kill me too . . . because I'll be your enemy!"

"Hush," urged Dzenko. Eyes were turning forward, attracted by the noise. "If it will make you happy, I hereby swear that"-he grimaced-"that creature will be safe as far as I am concerned. Are you satisfied? Perhaps we ought not to talk further this day." In a swirl of his robe, he strode off.

Charlie took awhile to calm down before he also descended the ladder. Hector and Mishka met him. "Prince," the sergeant declared, "we have discussed your forthcoming ordeal-"

"Aye, hear him oot, lad," said the Hoka.