The Temples Of Ayocan

Chapter 13

Of the Lugsa's crew of fourteen sailors and six fighters, five sailors, including the captain, and three of the fighters were dead. Virtually all the others had been wounded, two of them so severely they died the day after the battle. Shorthanded as she was, the Lugsa was in no danger from the river itself. It flowed broad and straight and deep all the way to Gonsara, and even in bad weather it had no winds or waves high enough to endanger a well-built craft like the Lugsa. What Blade feared was another attack by men-either ordinary pirates or another boatload of Warriors and Death-Vowed sent by the cult of Ayocan. With half her crew dead or disabled, the Lugsa could never fight off such an assault.

As it happened, the rest of the voyage down the river was uneventful, unmolested, and more than a little boring. Gradually they passed out of the belt of tropical forest and into a broad river plain. The trees there grew in clusters well back from the river bank, with cultivated fields and white-painted houses spreading along the bank. The air there was even hotter than it had been in the forest belt, but less humid.

On the sixth day they passed into Gonsara itself. For all the peace between the two countries, both sides had forts marking the border on both sides of the river. And the river itself swarmed with the swift-moving patrol craft of both kingdoms. These stopped and inspected ships bound in either direction.

Two Gonsaran officials boarded the Lugsa and listened to the mate's tale of the battle that had decimated the ship's crew. It was a carefully edited tale, that made no mention of the cult of Ayocan. Blade had thought of giving a full account, to sound out Gonsaran opinions of the cult. But he had decided against it. Even if the officials were against the cult, they might talk about what they heard-and others might listen. The less said about the fate of the cult boat until Blade reached his destination, the better.

The Gonsarans were little shorter than Blade himself, but considerably thinner. Their bony faces were largely hidden behind bushy coal-black beards. How they wore their hair Blade could not tell, since they wore high tightwound white turbans. They wore black slippers, white pantaloons, and black sashes. A curved short sword and a curved dagger, both in silver sheaths, were stuck into the sashes. The men who rowed their boat were naked except for breechclouts, but carried six-foot spears with barbed bronze points. Altogether the Gonsarans looked to Blade very much like the warrior race they were supposed to be.

On the tenth day they reached Dafar, capital of Gonsara. Sweating gangs of naked slaves drew the Lugsa into a great basin under the eyes of the guards on the city's walls, and moored her to a long brick jetty. At that point the mate ceased to pay any attention to Blade. His orders had been to take this man-supposedly a merchant's agent-down the river to Dafar. He had done so. Now it was time for him to go about his own business-disposing of the Lugsa's cargo, hiring new crewmen and fighters, renting sweep-slaves, paying port fees and customs duties, and the like. He therefore dismissed Blade from his mind and his ship.

Blade went ashore without resentment. From this point he would be on his own in any case. And he already had a plan, one worked out with great care on the journey. It involved a good deal of danger, which didn't bother him. It also involved gambling that what he had been told about Gonsara was largely correct. That did bother him. But he didn't think he had any choice. If the secret of his mission was out-and he had to assume it was-sooner or later another cult ship would come downriver. And then the hunt would be on. He had to move fast, whatever the risks.

Visitors from Chiribu could move about freely in Dafar. No one questioned or challenged Blade as he drifted up the streets from the docks toward the heart of the city. He considered for a moment making his move here, in the dockside quarter. But the streets were narrow and litter-strewn — it would be hard to run. And the nearest temple mound was well over a mile away. Ducking occasional salvos of garbage and bathwater falling from the windows, Blade continued up the hill.

Another half hour of walking brought him to the marketplace. Here there were still too many people and booths around for a clear run. And so many people could easily start a panic, in which many innocent people and perhaps Blade himself could be killed. Neither prospect pleased Blade. He stopped at a booth to buy blue and white chalks, and walked on.

When he reached the next square, he decided that he had finally come to the right place. A continuous ebb and flow of people and wagons passed through the square. There were even more people on the ornate balconies of the buildings surrounding the square. Blade knew that he would have plenty of witnesses. But he would also have plenty of room to run. All four streets leading out of the square were wide, although their paving blocks were cracking. At the end of one of them loomed the familiar blue and white shape of a temple mound of Ayocan. And to his right was a large blank wall.

Blade walked over to the foot of the wall and took out his blue and white chalks. Working quickly, he sketched in white the outline of a man with a bat's head and outspread wings. By the time he had finished that, he heard the unmistakable murmur of voices behind him. For the moment he ignored them. Instead he concentrated on filling in the details of the outline.

The head he colored white, except for the wide-glaring eyes and the mouth, where teeth showed jagged against a blue interior. Then he started working on the wings. Behind him the murmur of voices rose still higher. He heard anger in it, one or two curses, and a distinct «Shame!» He continued to ignore the crowd that must be gathering behind him. He could only hope that none of them would be provoked enough to simply stick a spear into him from behind. He could also hope that none of the priests or votaries of the cult of Ayocan were artists. He certainly wasn't. Fortunately Ayocan was ugly enough so that the hideousness of the drawing would be blamed on the god rather than on the artist.

By the time Blade had finished the drawing of Ayocan, the murmurings from behind him suggested an angry crowd of at least two or three hundred people. That would be large enough for his plans. He turned and stared out at the crowd., He noted the men in pantaloons and turbans or breechclouts, the women in pantaloons and embroidered bodices. He also noted the sullen or enraged expressions on numerous faces and the number of drawn swords and upraised spears. Here in Gonsara the people went armed.

For a moment he wasn't sure that he hadn't already gone too far. His eyes roved over the crowd, sizing up its mood. It was threatening, but not yet out of control. Then he looked toward the temple mound, again measuring the distance. He would have a good run if the crowd got completely out of hand.

His eyes fell on the crowd again. He stood silently, fixing them with his stare, until they began to notice it. Gradually the mutterings died away, spear points dropped, and swords slipped back into scabbards. Good. They weren't so likely now to skewer him on the spot. He took a deep breath and began to speak.

«People of Dafar! Behold the image of the great god Ayocan. Behold the image of him who shall come to accept the strong spirits, to feed on them, to be pleased by them! And Ayocan shall be pleased! I-«

«You can go to hell, you priest's pig!» yelled someone.

«Not I,» shouted Blade. «You, perhaps. You have a weak spirit, to reject the counsel of one who speaks for mighty Ayocan. A weak spirit indeed. Ayocan will never feed on it when he comes. It would displease him. And Ayocan shall not be displeased.»

«Who cares about Ayocan?» shouted a woman. «I please myself-«

«I'll help you, dearie,» shouted a male voice. There was a general roar of laughter. For a moment Blade wondered if the whole mood of rage he wanted and needed for his plans wasn't slipping away.

Then the woman's voice rose again. «I please myself, I say-and I please myself by doing this to your damned blood-sucking monster-god!» An arm rose above the crowd, and a ripe fruit sailed past Blade's head to splatter on the wall just above Ayocan's head.

For a moment there was silence. Then as if the woman had given a signal, a barrage of fruit and vegetables came hurtling at Blade. He ignored it, raising himself to his full height and bellowing at the top of his lungs:

«You scorn and mock Ayocan, little people, weak spirits! His curse will be on Dafar when the time comes-his final utter curse! This I promise you in his name!»

«Well, I'll promise you this!» came a voice shrill with fury. Something small and dark sailed out of the crowd and cracked against the wall. Fragments of stone landed at Blade's feet. One stung his cheek hard enough to draw blood.

It was time to leave. He began sidling to the right. Break through that side of the crowd, and he would have a clear run to the temple mound. Be careful, though. He didn't want to hurt or kill any innocent people-just get them angry and keep them angry long enough for the priests of Ayocan to notice it.

Several more stones smacked the wall behind him. A small one struck him in the ribs, making him wince. He would have a juicy purple mark there tomorrow. He kept on toward the right, one step at a time, ignoring the stones, still shouting curses and threats in Ayocan's name. He had to be careful, though. Make too many threats, and the priests of Ayocan might think him a mere madman instead of a loyal convert.

He was almost at the edge of the crowd before anyone noticed what he was doing. Then several voices rose at once, shrill and fierce.

«He's trying to get away! Stop him!»

«Send his spirit up to Ayocan!» somebody else shouted.

«Kill!» issued from a dozen throats.

Blade didn't wait any longer. He plunged forward like a football player heading for the goal, head down and elbows out. The first man who came within range Blade kicked in the knee and punched in the jaw. The impact of Blade's fist catapulted the man into the crowd, knocking down half a dozen people behind him. More surged forward to get at Blade, tripped over the fallen, went down themselves in a hideous tangle of thrashing limbs and screamed curses.

Blade didn't wait for them to untangle. Again he plunged forward trying to avoid stepping on any of the fallen. He reached the far side of the tangle, knocked down two more men who rushed at him, snatched up one of their spears, and kept on going. Now people drew back from around him. He had stopped shouting curses. Now he shouted war cries from all the dimensions he had traveled in, waving the spear about as he did so. People continued to draw back from around him. They could have rushed him easily, but the first few to make the attempt certainly would have died. And for the moment no one wanted to be among those few. Blade had the traditional advantage of one man over a mob.

Before any could screw up their courage far enough, Blade broke through to the open. At the far end of the avenue on his right rose the great temple mound. Contemptuously hurling his spear down on the paving stones, he headed down that avenue. With equal contempt, he did not bother, looking back. Instead he raised his voice again in a shout.

«I go to the House of Ayocan in Dafar. There those who serve mighty Ayocan are honored. I will watch the god pass his judgment on you when the time comes. And I will laugh at your writhings and screamings and agony when he calls all you weak spirits. Weak, crawling, tiny spirits, that displease him. AND AYOCAN SHALL NOT BE DISPLEASED!» The last words came out in a roar that must have been heard halfway across the city. Then Blade threw back his head and laughed long and loud and harshly.

Curses and screams of rage rose from the mob. So did more stones and fruits. Then the people on the fringes surged forward, drawing swords, raising spears or their bare fists, mouth open wide. Blade did not wait around to observe more. Turning on his heels, he bolted for the temple.

If Blade had simply wanted to outrun the mob, he could have done so almost without working up a sweat. But he didn't want that. He wanted to bring the whole mob up to the temple of Ayocan hard on his heels. He wanted to make his arrival and his pleas for sanctuary in the temple mound as dramatic as possible.

So he reined himself in, throwing occasional glances back over his shoulder to see if the mob was falling too far behind. Some of the women and older men soon dropped out. On the other hand, a cluster of men in the pantaloons and sashes of warriors soon outstripped the rest and came pelting after Blade full tilt. Two of them hurled their spears as they ran. Both came disagreeably close to Blade. He began to weave from side to side as he ran, to make himself a more difficult target.

A couple of hundred people chasing one man through a major street of a major city in broad daylight was bound to attract attention. Blade began to see heads pop out of doors and windows and peer over the rails of balconies. Some threw pots and pieces of furniture at him, others came out to join the chase. Blade sprinted past a large cart drawn by four longhorned cattle. As the mob came up with the cart, the longhorns bolted, and the cart went clattering and banging away down a side street, the driver hanging on for dear life.

Now it was only a few hundred yards to the temple mound. Blade could see figures moving around on the slopes, and entering and leaving the little white but on top. And he could also see a cluster of white-pantalooned Gonsaran warriors standing at the base of the mound. Would they try to prevent him from taking sanctuary?

A hundred yards to go. The warriors had seen him and his pursuers. They were rising to their feet and spreading out in a line around the base of the temple mound. Damn it, they were going to bar his path! Or were they? Only one way to find out.

He neither stopped nor slowed as he raced up to the waiting line of warriors. He did not even bother looking at them. Instead he ran straight for a gap between two of them, ignoring the men as though they had been invisible. A sword flashed free and started toward him. But before it could complete the swing, he was through the line and scrambling up the slope of the mound.

As he climbed, he began to shout again, «Help me! Help me! I sought to spread the truth of the god Ayocan among the people of Dafar. Now they seek my life. I sought to serve the god; and I had to flee. Give me aid, give me shelter, have mercy on me!»

The priests had seen him now, and several of them were starting down the mound toward him. As they did so, a tremendous uproar rose from behind Blade, at the foot of the mound. He risked stopping for a moment, to turn and look.

The mob had also dashed up to the base of the temple mound without stopping or slowing. By sheer weight of numbers they were forcing the soldiers back. The soldiers all had their swords drawn. But it was obvious they were reluctant to shed the blood of their own people in defense of the cult of Ayocan. Blade wondered if they might not in fact turn and join the mob, regardless of what King Thambral expected them to do. He had mixed feelings about the idea. On the one hand, the mob and the soldiers might join forces, invade and sack the temple mound, drag Blade out, and hang him. This would certainly cause the needed break between King Thambral and the cult of Ayocan.

On the other hand, Blade would be too dead to take any advantage of the situation. And, other things being equal, he preferred to get out of this sort of affair alive. In the boiling mass of people at the base of the mound, he couldn't make out what was happening. He decided the safest thing was to get up the mound as fast as possible.

He was halfway up when the priests came down to meet him. He threw a quick but searching glance at the face of each one, to see if there were any he could recognize-and who might possibly recognize him. But they were all strangers. He knelt and raised his hands in the traditional suppliant's posture. But he didn't want to look or sound too abject. He wanted to impress them as a «strong spirit.» Otherwise they would never admit him, except as someone to be turned into one of their mindless slaves.

«Who are you?» said the first priest sharply.

«One who has sought to serve Ayocan, as I have said. I wrought a picture of the god upon a wall in the Square of the Goldsmiths, and sought to preach to the people. But they desecrated the picture, and all but slew me. I have come to you, that I may continue to serve the god.»

The priests were silent for a time that seemed endless to Blade. Behind him he heard the continued howls of the mob. Although the priests here would have no Holy Warriors to set on him, they could still get rid of him quite effectively. All they would need to do was send a message to the mob below-«We reject this false servant of our god. Come and punish him as you see fit.» That would mean a messy end for Blade.

«You drew a picture?» said the first priest. There was more incredulity in his voice than anything else.

«That is what he said,» put in a second priest.

«I heard him,» snapped the first priest.

Blade tried to look humble without looking abject. «Have I erred in some way, making a picture of mighty Ayocan?»

«No,» said the first priest. «No error. It is just-well, such courage I have heard of, but never seen. To do this in Dafar, the City of the Witless. . As I said, such courage. .» His voice trailed off.

«If he is telling the truth,» put in a third priest.

«Of course he's telling the truth!» snapped the first priest. «What else could have provoked a mob like that? A picture-a picture of mighty Ayocan. Such a brave man. Such a strong spirit.»

«Then will you accept me for the service of the god, the free service?» Blade asked. He managed to sound like a free man who knows his own worth. But his mouth was dry as he waited for an answer.

«How could we do otherwise?» said the first priest. «Ayocan will reward you himself in time. But for the moment we also can reward you by permitting you to enter Ayocan's service. You are welcome, oh, strong spirit.» He turned, and motioned toward the top of the mound.

Blade rose and followed the priest, ignoring the howl of fury that went up from the mob as they saw him being given sanctuary. For the moment he was safe. More important, he had entered the service of Ayocan under better auspices than he had expected-or believed possible. Luck and his professional skills together had done the job.

But as he climbed, he could not help thinking of the irony of saving his life by fleeing to the priests of Ayocan. For him, that was rather like escaping from a pack of wolves by jumping into a pit of snakes.