The Hostage of Zir (12 page)

“Certes, good my lord; or rather, after we have enjoyed a good repast. You understand, of course, that the prophecy concerning you could not be grasped in its full import until the missionaries of Ultimate Verity enlightened us about the cosmic conflict, raging through the universe, between the gods of light and the gods of darkness. Your hair proves you one of the gods of light for, when a god assumes a mortal guise, he cannot hide all the stigmata of his divinity. Have some more kvad.”

“Gramercy,” said Reith, taking a deep pull. “But, you know, earthmen and Krishnans . . .”

“Eh? What’s that, Your Divinity?”

Reith was going to explain that hybridization of species from different worlds, no matter how superficially alike, was a biological impossibility. On second thought, he decided to say nothing for the present. If he made a point of their mutual sterility, Shosti might find his presence an embarrassment and have him pitched off the cliff. He finished lamely: “Nought, madam. I did but hope that—ah—the key would fit the lock.”

“Fear not, my lord. I have made trial of you
Ertsuma
before and find them compatible. Ah, here’s dinner.”

###

As a paling sky presaged the rise of Roqir, Fergus Reith yawned and sat up in the huge bed. Shosti slept soundly. As he lowered his feet to the floor and felt for his slippers, he looked at her with a slight grimace of distaste. Shosti was a well-built female, attractive by either Terran or Krishnan standards, but she appeared to have no interest in sex as such. She had submitted passively, evidently viewing this contact as a religious duty and not as an occasion for pleasure. There was no romance about it—not even so much as in his liaison with Valerie Mulroy on the
Goyaz.
Reith was left feeling like a hired stud.

Although Reith did not often let his neo-Puritan upbringing get in his way, he harbored a romantic yearning to find a dream girl and carry her off forever. So far from being romantic, copulating with Shosti was just a piece of exobiological research. Professor Mulroy would be interested, if Reith survived to tell him about it. He remembered the limerick he had heard from Santiago Guzmán-Vidal:

There was an old gaucho named Bruno,

Who said: “Sex is one thing I do know.

A woman is fine,

But a sheep is divine,

And a llama—(smack)—
nutnero uno!”

Where, he wondered, would Bruno have placed female Krishnans on his scale?

Reith eased himself off the bed and wrapped himself in a gauzy, frilly nightrobe. He looked down at the garment in disgust, thinking it would suit the dear boys better than him.

As he tiptoed towards the door, a golden gleam caught his eye. On a shelf above the lintel stood a golden skull. The previous night, between lust and dim lighting, he had not noticed it.

He reached up and touched the object. It was far too light to be solid gold. He lifted it down between his fingertips.

It was either the gilded skull of an earthman or a marvelous imitation. Although Reith was no osteologist, he knew enough about Terran and Krishnan anatomy to be sure that this was a human skull. The jawbone had been secured to the skull by golden wires.

Reith replaced the skull, stole out, and returned to his bedroom. None of the girlish attendants was there. When he had attended to his most immediate need, he looked around for means of summoning his tiring women.

A rope came through a hole in the wall, near the ceiling, and hung down within easy reach. Reith pulled. Somewhere a bell jangled. An instant later, two of the girls entered, squeaking.

“God den, mortal maidens,” he said in an attempt at the Ziro dialect. “Fetch Beizi, if you please. Meanwhile, kindly dress me.”

When Beizi arrived, she burst out: “The Protectress is awake. Her Rectitude was pleased with your performance last night.”

“Kind of her, but she controlled her enthusiasm,” said Reith.

“For her, my lord, it is a serious spiritual duty, not an occasion for frivolous pleasure. Natheless, she’s fain to couple with you every night, until she knows herself gravid.”

“That’s flattering, but I fear the
mortal body wherein I am incarnate needs a night off betimes.”

The girls looked downcast, murmuring. Beizi explained: “We had hoped Your Divinity might have some divine seed left for us.”

“For shame, Beizi!” said another girl. “You should not make such scandalous suggestions, even in jest.”

“I jested not,” said Beizi. “Whereas we’re forbidden commerce with males, such restrictions would not apply to His Divinity. Would they now, my lord?”

Reith replied: “When I have my sacred duty performed and gotten Shosti pregnant, we shall see. But how will she know? Terran women have a simple indication, but you Krishnans are different.”

“She will suddenly lose all her sexual lust within a few days of conception.”

“I thought she had none to lose?” said Reith.

“She does a little, however sternly she curbs it. With pregnancy, the mere thought of coition becomes repugnant. No Krishnan woman could mistake the feeling.”

“I see. Should I join Her Rectitude for breakfast?”

“Nay, my lord. She sends her regrets, but for the next hour, the dawn ritual will occupy her. She urges you to break your fast and to entertain yourself.”

“Very good.” As Reith ate, he asked: “Tell me, Beizi, what means that gilded skull over the door of Shosti’s bedroom?”

She giggled. “That was another
Ertsu,
who was here some time ago. He fled to us to escape some trouble amongst his own folk. Noting that he had flaming hair like yours, the Protectress thought him the divine begetter of the prophecy. Let me think—he was called Bohal, or Boghel—something like unto that.”

“Felix Borel?” said Reith.

“Aye, that was it. This person readily confessed to being the envoy from Heaven and labored mightily at his predestined task. For a whole revolution of Sheb, he nightly futtered our mistress, but without engendering an egg. At last, convinced that he was but an impostor, she had him beheaded in the square. The skull she had gilded as a memento, to warn any others who essayed such japes.”

“A short life but a gay one,” said Reith, wondering if he could still perform with his predecessor’s cranium staring sightlessly at him from the shelf. “Continue, pray.”

“When Tashian became Regent of Dur, the source of Shosti’s error became plain. The prophecy said that the god would come in the reign of the pinchfist, but this Borel arrived ere Tashian’s accession. Her Rectitude took the pinchfist to be that brigand Barré vas-Sarf. He lusts after our temple treasure and seeks to conquer us to rape us thereof. Now ’tis obvious that Gámand meant Tashian, not Barré, therefore he must have meant you and not Borel.”

“Hm.” Reith thought furiously. The idea of his skull’s adorning the shelf beside Borel’s had no appeal. “When I finish this delicious repast, may I go for a walk? I would fain explore Senarzé.”

“Certes, Your Divinity. I shall summon your escort.”

“Escort?”

“We cannot risk that some untimely mischance befall your mortal frame—at least, not before you have impregnated our mistress.” Beizi giggled at her own insolence, opened a door, and called: “Captain Parang!”

A big, burly Krishnan in helmet and mail shirt, whom Reith recognized as the commander of the group that had brought him to Senarzé, stepped in.

“Hail, Your serene Divinity!” he said.

“Hail, mortal!” said Reith, beginning to enjoy his act. “This morning, I should like what Terrans call a guided tour. Can you provide it?”

“Certes, my lord.” The captain put his head out the door and whistled. A more plainly clad soldier, in a leather jacket studded with bronze buttons, came in.

“How long have you two been guarding my room?” asked Reith.

“We came on duty but a half-hour gone,” said Parang, “relieving the night watch. Unlike Your Divinity, we mortals must sleep betimes.”

“I will see that you get a just ration of sleep. Now let us forth.”

He set out, flanked by the two soldiers. They watched him closely. Their vigilance should wear off with familiarity, he thought. Meanwhile he would learn all he could. People had escaped from more difficult places. The trick was to flee during the period when his guardians had gotten used to him but before Shosti’s non-pregnancy aroused her suspicions.

They started with the temple. It had an ornate interior structure, bedight with columns and statues gleaming with gilt and precious stones. Reith did not pretend to judge Krishnan art. Its conventions were quite different from those of any Terran art, somewhat as Mayan art differed from that of the Old World. Still, it made a fine spectacle, glittering with gold, silver, ruby, emerald, and sapphire.

“Magnificent!” said Reith, thinking flattery of local pride would do no harm.

Captain Parang and the private soldier beamed. “Our Protectress imported artists and architects from as far as Majbur and Misheé. No cost was spared to make this fane worthy of the True Faith.”

At the far end of the cella, behind the altar, stood a group of statues representing Bákh, Qondyor, and Yesht, three leading divinities of the Varasto pantheon. From all Reith could gather, Shosti’s cult of Ultimate Verity was a syncretic, eclectic religion, identifying the native Krishnan gods with various divinities of whom the Krishnans had heard from Terran missionaries. Thus Qondyor, the Varasto war god, was supposed to correspond to Allah.

Behind the statues, occupying most of the back wall, was a mosaic depicting a map of Zir and adjacent lands. Tesserae of gold, silver, and copper were used for settlements and boundary lines. At the center, a jeweled star represented Mount Senarzé, sending its beneficent rays (represented by silver wires) in all directions. Captain Parang explained: “Since, according to the teachings of Ultimate Verity, everything in Heaven has its analogue upon our planet, we believe that Senarzé is the mundane equivalent of Mount Meshaq, the home of the gods. But why should I tell Your Divinity this? As a god, you already know it.”

“Just where is this—” Reith began. He meant to ask where the sectarians believed Heaven to be: on another planet, or in interstellar space, or in some other dimension. Then he firmly shut his lips. He remembered what Pedro Arriaga, the guide originally supposed to escort Reith’s tourists, once said to him. Reith had been practicing his Spanish, and Pedro said:
“En los países extrangeros, es mas prudente de no discutir la politica o la religión!”
To invite a discussion of politics or religion in this strange land might put his head on the block.

“Where is what, my lord?” said Parang.

“I did but wonder where your soldiers’ quarters are.”

“You shall see forthwith. Has Your Divinity finished with the temple?”

“Aye, good sir. Lead me forth.”

###

The town of Senarzé was slummy by comparison with the magnificence of the temple. Reith followed his escorts past rows of stinking hovels to the barracks, next to the temple the largest and most substantial structure in Senarzé. Inside, it was much like any other barracks, on earth or on Krishna: plain barnlike dormitories for the single enlisted men, separate quarters for the married, and so on.

Reith kept asking Captain Parang the Ziro words for things. “Since I may be here for some time,” he said, “I would fain master your local dialect.”

“Dialect!” said the captain stiffening. “Divine sir, I beg you not so to denote it! Ziro is a separate language, distinct both from Durou and from Gozashtandou. It is our priceless cultural heritage, to be preserved at all costs in its logical and expressive purity.”

“I crave your pardon,” said Reith. “Your language, then.”

“Here is the outer wall. Would Your Divinity walk the circuit? Such a promenade is popular with the Senarzeva, especially the young who have not yet mated.”

“Aye, good captain, I should like it.”

As they mounted the stair to the wall, Reith mulled over the map he had seen in the temple. If he were to escape, he would need a map of his own. But how to copy that in the temple without attracting notice?

“Captain,” he said at last, “when is the next service in the temple?”

“In mid-afternoon, my lord. Wherefore ask you?”

“I should like to attend. I feel the need for prayer and meditation.”

“That is most edifying, my lord. But, if you will forgive my impertinence, to whom would a god like Your Divinity pray?”

The question took Reith aback, but he answered: “Why, to myself, of course. What thought you?”

“I had never considered,” said Parang with a puzzled expression. “I am but a simple soldier, unqualified for theological dispute. Anyway, it shall be as you desire.”

They came to the end of the wall, where the footway ended in one of the great square towers of the main gate. Reith leaned through one of the embrasures and studied the terrain. To his left, the drawbridge had been lowered again. Below the drawbridge was the ditch dug out of the saddle that joined the peak of Senarzé to the nearest mountainside.

Although Reith’s experience with mountaineering had been negligible, he knew some of the principles from reading. If one had a long enough rope, one could loop the middle of the rope around a projection and rappel down, holding both strands of the rope, until one reached the bottom. Then one could let go one end of the rope and pull on the other until the whole rope came down on one.

From the ditch on down, the slope, while steep, was not entirely unscalable. There were rocky projections on which to snag the rope to lower oneself further. Lower yet, where the slope eased, there were scattered shrubs and stunted trees.

Now all he needed was a rope, a map, some food and similar supplies, and a dark night when nobody was watching him. His heart sank. While he was sure he could manage one or two of these things, he doubted that he could effect them all at once.

###

Days passed. By night, Fergus Reith serviced Shosti. By day, he explored every cranny of Senarzé, including the spiral stair that wound down to an underground pool. Excavated with enormous labor from solid rock, this stair provided access to water during sieges.