The Usurper (27 page)

Chapter Nineteen

The Annals are often laconic.

Consider the terse entry, “The sky was dark with the coming of ships.” Much, we suppose, lies behind so curt an entry.

One can gather, of course, that there were a great many ships. Something may be gathered, as well, from the apparent fact that reports and notices from various worlds, usually toward the perimeters of the empire, seem to have lapsed at much the same time. This does not, of course, entail that such worlds were destroyed. That seems unlikely for various reasons, for example, first, the prohibitive expenditure of resources which would be necessary for shattering a world and spinning its fragments into its star, or even to scorch its surface and destroy the great majority of, if not the entirety of, its life forms, and secondly, the pointless stupidity of destroying coveted objects. It would be a strange thief who would risk destroying what he intends to steal. This is not to deny that more than one world, by the empire, or others, was destroyed, or sterilized, to avenge a perceived insult or to set into public view an example of the foolishness of rebellion or dissent. On the other hand, a shattered world, or a scarred, and burned, world, would be a dismal, sorry prize for victory, a guerdon scarcely worth seeking in the expensive, dangerous, arduous games of ambitious men. One seeks productive populations, salubrious climates, and rich mines, established industries, green expanses and teeming seas, not ashes and cinders. Accordingly we may suppose that after the clash of fleets and the hammering and extermination of resistances, things might be much the same. Perhaps new ceremonies might be instituted and new oaths required. Indeed, in some cases, the same individuals might be doing much the same thing, only in different liveries and uniforms, under new flags. To be sure, once the mighty web of the empire, with its organization, its massive civil service, its networks of communication, its facilities of enforcement, its report lines leading ultimately to Telnar, built up over millennia, was torn, a thousand worlds would go their thousand ways. Indeed, on many worlds conquerors would come and go, taking worlds, losing worlds, abandoning worlds, seeking new worlds, their engines and ships remembered only in the stories of old men. And on such worlds districts, provinces, towns, and manors multiplied, and order and law would become diversified and local, often anchored to keeps and strongholds, often extending only as far as men could ride, only as far as swords could reach.

Nonetheless it is easy to understand, as it must have begun, the terror of the darkening sky, the ships, so many of them, the fire from the sky, the flames, the sounds and roars, the whines and crashings, the collapsing buildings, the leveling of entire areas, the screaming and running, the loosed, startled animals, the frightened, swarming
filchen
, birds, blackened, burned, falling to earth, the disruption of commerce, the lack of order, the loss of shelter and heat, the contamination of water, the cessation of traffic on the roads, save for refugees, the guttings and emptying of stores, the lootings, the banditry, the fear of anyone not known, and that of some known.

The storm that was rising over the empire had been long in its brewing. For centuries there had been, here and there, a flash of lightning, far off, a squall, a hint of the rising of wind, a crash of thunder in the distance. These signs were evident, but, we suppose, were commonly ignored. Is that not the way of men? Small objects, a plate, a chair, a table, before one, seem larger than the mountain, so tiny, so far away. A
torodont
, in the distance, seems smaller than the
filch
crouching under the table. But the mountain is large, and the
torodont
is mighty, even far away.

Clearly the empire was threatened. It was under siege. Walls were weakened, and crumbling. Borders were crossed. Strange ships plied familiar skies.

But the vi-cat and the
arn
bear are dangerous, quite dangerous. One enters their lair only at one's peril.

This was well known to Abrogastes, the Far-Grasper. He was no more willing, in an era of diminishing resources, where a woman might be exchanged for a cartridge, and a town for a rifle, to risk his Lion Ships than the empire was to risk the imperial cruisers.

Two parameters might be mentioned, one which favored Abrogastes and his sort, and one which did not. First, dissatisfaction with the empire, fear of its power, resentment of its oppression and tyranny, hatred of its taxes and exactions, were resented on many worlds. Indeed, some had seceded long ago from the empire, secessions often ignored by the empire, given the costs of an attempted reclamation, particularly on worlds regarded as less important. Indeed, alien forces were, on many worlds, welcomed as liberators, until the nature of the new chains became clear. This parameter worked out well for Abrogastes, and many like him, for it enabled him to woo and subvert worlds. Indeed, the industrial complexes of various worlds, some surreptitiously and others more openly, armed, supplied, and trained foes of the empire. On such worlds, Abrogastes, and his sort, could move and recruit, particularly amongst barbarian peoples, with impunity. The second parameter, however, worked muchly in favor of the empire. The empire, at least until the Faith Wars, was largely united, whereas those who would threaten, attack, and despoil it, were often foes of one another, as well as of the empire. No core of
civilitas
, no shared loyalties or traditions, bound them together as allies in a common cause. Indeed, the longevity of the empire was often understood as having been best explained by its skill in pitting its foes against one another.

Many were the entangled strands, political, tribal, economic, social, and ideological, which constituted the restless, tumultuous skein of the times in question. Briefly, to facilitate the understanding of what follows, accept that the threat to the empire posed by Abrogastes, and such kings, was perceived as formidable and perilous. No longer was it a matter of subduing sporadic, localized banditry on the frontiers. Certain individuals, some of royal blood, realized the empire was in danger. One such was Julian, of the Aureliani; another was Iaachus, Arbiter of Protocol, in the court of the boy emperor, Aesilesius; another, in his way, was Sidonicus, Exarch of Telnar, whose particular interests seem to have been more his own than those of either the empire or its foes, from both of whom it seemed he might, by judicious arrangements, advance his own ends.

Chapter Twenty

“This is Telnar!” said a girl.

The vehicle, a carrier, rumbled down the street, on its treads. Fuel was more plentiful on Telnaria than in many other sectors of the empire.

A shadow raced on the street, cast by a passing hoverer.

“What has happened here?” said another girl.

Cornhair hooked her small fingers into the chain-link webbing.

“Fire,” said a girl.

There lingered, even days later, a smell of smoke.

Fire, incidentally, was always a hazard in the large cities of the empire, given widely spread poverty, squalor, and crowding. Certain districts, of course, would be more at risk than others. Many streets were too narrow to admit a wagon, scarcely allowing the passage of a sedan chair, should any choose to dare such streets. In some places, leaning forward, a lamp could be handed from a window on one side of the street to a window on the other side of the street. In many areas, there was no running water except in local fountains. Many availed themselves of public latrines. Wastes were often disposed of in the streets. Construction in such areas was often inferior. Buildings were often torn down and rebuilt. A wall, or a floor, might collapse. Repairs were endemic. Interior furnishings, stairs, walls, and such, and roofs, were usually of wood. Most heating was in the form of fire, contained in bowls or braziers. Most individuals lived in apartments, generally small, of a single room, and most windowless, many without smoke holes, on upper floors. The higher the apartment the less the rent. More well-to-do tenants in these buildings lived on the first floor, or that directly above the numerous open-fronted shops which lined many streets. In this way, they could avoid climbing dark, narrow stairwells, where brigands might lurk, and, in the case of fire, had a more immediate access to the street. Many times a building was afire, flames quickly spreading, climbing and raging, through rickety construction, before those on the upper floors became aware of the situation.

In any event, it seems there had not been so destructive a fire in the capital city in four hundred years. As the annals have it, between a tenth and a fifteenth of the city was destroyed. To be sure, in distant millennia, greater portions of the city, from time to time, had been ravaged by flames. Certainly fire was not unprecedented in Telnar. As the records have it, the fire began in one of the Floonian temples, an Illusionist temple, which doctrine, it seems, was to the effect that Karch, in his benevolence and perfection, in speaking to diverse species, would not have permitted grievous harm, or, indeed, any harm or pain whatsoever, to come to an actual, feeling, living individual doing his will, bearing his message, and such, whether an Ogg, a Vorite, or whatever. That would be unworthy of the goodness of Karch. Accordingly, he had chosen to communicate his word to the many worlds not by an actual person, but, rather, by means of a seeming person, a simulacrum, an image, or illusion. Anything else would be unthinkable, casting discredit on the moral character of Karch.

In any event, as might be expected, the Illusionists were blamed for the fire. Had it not begun in their temple? What better evidence of the bitter fruits of heresy? Naturally, there were numerous, spontaneous demonstrations against the Illusionists. Many were hunted down by gangs and either beaten or slain. In the senate there were claims that the Illusionists constituted a danger to the state, and should be sought out and sacrificed to one god or another, or be exiled to barren worlds. Nothing came of this, however, first, perhaps, largely, because there was no reason to believe that the traditional gods and goddesses, Orak, Umba, and so on, would welcome such sacrifices, seeming to prefer, at least according to tradition, those of cattle, and small animals and birds, and, second, because most Telnarians were unclear on the doctrinal differences amongst the many sects of Floonians. It is suspected they could not, for example, tell the difference between an Illusionist and an Emanationist. In such a case, any retaliation, state-sanctioned or not, as was pointed out by Sidonicus, Exarch of Telnar, in both public pronouncements and private interviews, might affect not only Illusionists, but, tragically, Floonians in general. In any event, the Exarch of Telnar pleaded for mercy, at least for reformed heretics, and implored their conversion to the true faith, which, it seems, was his own. His prayers, it seems, were answered, for the fire, and its consequences, broke the back of the Illusionist doctrine, now generally understood to be mistaken, if not pernicious, and many fled to the more orthodox, or more general, view, the identical-but-different view, so to speak. Some, of course, remained unrepentant, proclaiming their innocence, as one would expect.

“Smoke,” said one of the girls.

It is true that the smell of smoke lingers. Indeed, if one were to prod about in the rubble, one might, here and there, even now, have stirred some embers alive, uncovering a dully scarlet residue, a subtle recollection of falling walls and flaming timbers.

“See the buildings,” said another.

“It is a whole district,” said another.

The carrier rumbled on, and soon the blackened rubble, the projecting, half burned ribs of buildings, the trash, and debris, were left behind.

To be sure, the stink of the fire, given the direction of the wind, would continue to be evident, here and there, for days.

“What will become of me?” wondered Cornhair, on her knees, unclothed, collared, continuing to cling to the linkage of the chainlike mesh.

The Telnarians were not noted for their consideration of slaves.

Chapter Twenty-One

“Shall I withdraw, Master?” inquired Elena.

Iaachus, Arbiter of Protocol, looked up, angrily, from his notes. He cast the notes on the table before him. He turned his curved chair toward the girl.

“Is Master angry?” asked Elena.

“Approach,” said Iaachus, irritatedly. “Kneel down, here, before me. Put your head down. Press your lips to my feet. Kiss and lick them, tenderly, and at length. Press your cheek against them. Let your hair fall about them.”

The girl knelt before him, and put her head down.

“I must think,” he said.

“I trust Master is not angry,” whispered the girl.

“I am angry,” he said.

“I trust not with Elena,” she said.

“No,” he said. “Continue.”

“Yes, Master,” she said, head down.

“It is restful to have a woman at one's feet,” he said.

“It is where we belong,” she said.

“Continue,” he said, idly.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“Very restful,” he said.

“A slave hopes to please her Master,” said Elena.

“Enough,” he said.

She lifted her head.

“I would think,” he said.

He turned a bit away from her.

“I shall withdraw,” she said.

“No,” he said. “Stay here, as you are, kneeling here, beside me, at my knee.”

The slave complied.

“Let us speak together,” he said.

“You would speak with me?”

“Yes,” he said.

“I am only a slave,” she said.

“You are an extremely intelligent woman,” he said.

“I am a mere slave,” she said.

“Do you think the locking of a collar on your neck makes you less intelligent?”

“No, Master,” she said.

“Intelligent women make by far the best slaves,” he said.

“Perhaps,” she said, “we are more in touch with our own feelings and needs, more ready to accept ourselves, more sensitive to our desires and depths, more open to, and more ready to acknowledge, what we want, what will fulfill our truest and most profound nature.”

She pressed the side of her face down, against his knee.

“Do not dare to love,” he said.

“It captures one,” she said. “It is stronger than chains.”

“How far you are from the glory of a free woman,” he said.

“I do not envy them their freedom,” she said. “Let them not envy me my servitude.”

“Would you not fear to be seen so, as you are, by a free woman?” he asked.

“No, Master,” she said, “for I am a slave.”

“What if a free woman should enter?” he asked.

“Many free women own slaves, of either sex,” she said. “Perhaps she might enjoy seeing a slave humbled, one of her sex collared, owned, and prostrated before her.”

“The contrast might much exalt her own freedom, and superiority,” said Iaachus, Arbiter of Protocol.

“Doubtless,” said the girl.

“And humiliate you a thousand times,” he said.

“No, Master,” she said.

“‘No'?”

“No.”

“Do you know some free women have themselves accompanied by leashed slaves, as by apes and monkeys, that their own raiment and beauty, by contrast, will seem all the more dazzling?”

“Of course, Master,” said Elena. “But I fear this stratagem may be ill-considered, as the attention of men is often the more directed to the ape or monkey.”

“Do you know that all women are rivals?” asked Iaachus.

“Of course, Master,” she said. “Collared, I need no longer deny it.”

“Doubtless there is some gratification for a free woman in finding a rival so helpless, so reduced and vulnerable.”

“I suspect so, Master,” she said.

“Particularly,” said he, “if a personal rival, and perhaps one now personally owned.”

“I would think so, Master,” said Elena.

“I am angry,” he said.

“Not with Elena?”

“No.”

“Master is tired,” she said.

“Perhaps,” he said.

“May I serve Master
kana
?” asked Elena.

“No,” he said.

“Master has worked hard,” she said. “He is weary.”

“The weight of the empire is heavy,” he said.

“It need not be borne alone,” she said. “There is the emperor, the empress mother, the ministers, the generals, the admirals, a thousand servants, ten thousand functionaries, on Telnaria alone.”

“Is the empire eternal?” he asked.

“Surely, Master,” she said.

“I wonder,” he said.

Once again, the girl put her lips to his knee, gently.

“How precious you are,” he said.

“I am Master's slave,” said Elena.

Again she bent her head to his knee.

“Cease!” he suddenly cried.

She drew back, frightened.

“It is a contagion, a superstition, a plague,” he said, angrily, “an infection. It spreads through the empire like a pestilence!”

“Master?” said the slave.

“What do you know of Karch?” he asked.

“He is one of the many gods,” said Elena.

“And who speaks for him?” asked Iaachus.

“Who would dare speak for a god?” she asked. “And what god would be unable to speak for himself?”

“Are there not a billion gods?” he asked.

“I have heard, a great many,” she said.

“I know a hundred sects, with a hundred different gods,” he said, “each of which claims their god is the only god.”

“How would they know?” she asked. “And if there are so few, perhaps there are none. If most do not exist, perhaps none exist.”

“And do you know which god is the only god? In each case it is their god.”

“I am not surprised,” she said.

“Can you conceive of such colossal arrogance?” he said.

“It seems a breach of good manners,” she said, “if not of mutual respect and common civility.”

“What do you know of a prophet, Floon?” he asked.

“Are there not ten thousand prophets?” she said.

“Of one called ‘Floon',” he said.

“As others, little or nothing,” she said. “An Ogg, from Zirus. I have heard he preached to all living things, to people, to trees, to insects and dogs. He seems clearly to have been insane.”

“He preached to the lowliest,” said Iaachus, “to the lazy, stupid, ignorant, and incompetent, to the penurious, to the miserable and failed, to the unsuccessful, to the unhappy, the frustrated, the jealous, resentful, and envious, to the secret haters, to the outsiders, to those who want prosperity by magic, without effort, who feel they are entitled to the fruits of others' labors, who feel they are entitled to share in what they have not produced, to those who castigate not themselves, but others, for their own miseries, lacks, failures, and shortcomings, men who, having nothing, claim to have been robbed of riches they never possessed, enemies of the better, enemies of the superior, and strong.”

“Surely not, Master,” she said.

“He may have been executed on Zirus,” said Iaachus.

“But surely he was innocent, wholly inoffensive, if unusual, or strange,” she said.

“Apparently more dangerous than you realize,” said Iaachus. “He called out to the lowly, to the unhappy and dissatisfied, preaching not so much a radical reorganization of society, as, essentially, its abolition, a doing away with duty, rank, discipline, order, obligation, form, and stability. All convention is to be eschewed, as rulers and ruled, as taxes, as money, as law, as family, as marriage.”

“He is said to have been a sweet and kindly creature,” she said.

“Do you not see the volcanoes into which such ideas may tap?”

“But men need such things, discipline, institutions, law, stability,” she said.

“And they will soon have them again,” he said, “even if they are called by new, lying names.”

“I do not understand,” she said.

“There are many ways to turn the wheel of power,” he said. “Thrones will not long be empty. He who would abolish one throne intends to occupy another. He who would reform one society intends to rule another.”

“Surely not the gentle Floon,” she said.

“No,” he said, “but those who would pervert his doctrine and turn it to their own advantage.”

“I trust not,” she said.

“I am thought wise,” said Iaachus, “but I am a fool. I understand the turning of one man against another, the balancing of ambition against ambition, of jealousy against jealousy, the steel edge of honed, prepared weapons, the discharge of a rifle, the death concealed in a grenade, the destructive power of an imperial cruiser, the chemistry of poisons, but I know little of the darker poisons, the poisoning of the minds of men, the craftsmanship that can produce dupes, martyrs, and murderers, the sanctimonious technology of shaping the minds of men into a self-serving means of suppression and governance.”

“I think Master would not care to master such arts,” she said.

“True, sweet slave,” he said. “Such things would turn the stomach of even feared, dreaded Iaachus.”

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“Why is the temple superior to the palace?” asked Iaachus.

“Is it?” asked the slave.

“No,” he said. “The palace is real, like mortar, bricks, and wood, like steel and stone; the temple is an invention, ruling through the minds of men.”

“Surely it need not then be feared,” she said.

“It is much to be feared,” he said, “for it can mobilize mobs, set a torch to cities with impunity.”

“Surely not,” she said.

“It would be a shadow empire,” said Iaachus, “claiming the right to guide and rule the real empire, or disrupt and destroy it.”

“It would use the force and might of others to promote its own policies and achieve its own ends?”

“That is its ambition,” said Iaachus.

“It seems a lying, terrible thing,” she said.

“Have you heard of a
koos
?” asked Iaachus.

“No, Master,” said Elena.

“That is just as well,” said Iaachus, “for women do not possess a
koos
.”

“There are many things I do not possess, Master,” said Elena. “Indeed, I possess nothing, for I am a slave. I own nothing. It is I who am owned.”

“Supposedly only men possess a
koos
,” said Iaachus.

“What is a
koos
?” asked Elena.

“It is supposedly the true person, the real person,” said Iaachus, “temporarily attached to the body, but somehow not in space.”

“How can that be?” asked Elena.

“It cannot,” said Iaachus. “Supposedly the body, and its senses, are irrelevant and unnecessary.”

“Why then do they exist?” asked the girl.

“I do not know,” said Iaachus. “I suppose it is another one of many mysteries.”

“A mystery?” asked Elena. “What does that explain?”

“Nothing,” said Iaachus. “It is a substitute for an explanation.”

“This is hard to understand,” said Elena.

“One does not understand the incomprehensible,” he said. “One can only understand that it is incomprehensible, and cannot be understood.”

“How could anyone take such things seriously?”

“Many do not,” he said, “but the verbiage is easy to flourish. It is necessary only to say something confidently and frequently, and many will suppose it must be true, though they have no idea what it might mean, if it means anything. Essentially it is not even a belief or a lie, for something must be comprehensible to be either a belief or a lie.”

“But people take such things seriously?”

“There are a dozen or more sects amongst the Floonians alone,” said Iaachus, “whose adherents are willing to kill, or die, for competitive gibberishes.”

“This is all hard to understand,” said Elena.

“It apparently goes far beyond the conflicting accounts of the teachings of Floon,” said Iaachus. “In some of the accounts, now rejected as untrustworthy, he did not even speak of a
koos
. He seems to have been more interested in how men should live this life. In one account, now denounced as a false scripture, he seems to have suggested that the table of Karch, at whose board one is to feast, is set on this world, or, in his case, on Zirus.”

“It is unfortunate that Floon is not about today,” said Elena. “He could then explain more clearly what he meant.”

“He would not have the opportunity,” said Iaachus. “He would count as a false Floon, an impostor, a heretic, and be sent once more to the burning rack.”

“I still do not understand the
koos
,” said Elena.

“Do not concern yourself,” said Iaachus. “Women have no
koos
.”

“Women do not have a
koos
?” she asked.

“That is the orthodox doctrine,” said Iaachus.

“Only men have a
koos
?” she asked.

“Supposedly,” said Iaachus.

“What of animals?” she asked. “It seems they see things, hear things, feel things, taste things, smell things, and such.”

“It seems so,” said Iaachus.

“And they manage without a
koos
?”

“It seems so,” said Iaachus.

“As do women?”

“Apparently.”

“Why do women not have a
koos
?” she asked.

“I do not know,” he said.

“If women have no
koos
,” she said, “why should men have a
koos
?”

“Do not concern yourself,” he said. “Insofar as the notion is at all intelligible, which seems to be not at all, there is no such thing as a
koos
, so you are no better or worse off than men. Neither has a
koos
.”