CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

The discipline that they had worked so hard to perfect was lost. Half of Rakki’s warriors were fleeing this way and that, heedless of Enka’s shouts and exhortations, terrified that they would be next, while others stood petrified where they were. Some who had been nearest were groaning or crawling on the ground, hit by flying debris. The rest of the cave population were shouting and boiling around in confusion. Rakki stood stunned, staring at where the four flying war engines of the gods had been just moments before, symbols of the power that was to be his to command one day. Two of them were unrecognizable, just heaps of twisted wreckage, one starting to flare up in flames; the other two had been hurled aside like baskets in a wind storm, one lying on its side, the other overturned, both smashed and broken. Of the gods that he’d thought had proved the mightiest, nothing was left. A smoldering hole in the ground marked where Zeigler, his Warrior Chiefs Jorff and Kelm, the woman who spoke tongues, and the others who had arrived with Zeigler at the meeting point, had been standing. The god-warriors who had stood with them had been struck down and scattered. Rakki couldn’t see one who had been missed. What force, unleashed from where, had done this?

His triumph had been complete. Exactly as Jorff and Kelm had foretold, they had come out of the sky with the speed of streaking fire-stars, stormed from their carriers to find Jemmo where the eyes of the metal bird had seen him, and taken him before either he, his bodyguards, or anyone was able even to summon the will to react. Embodying the ultimate of terror and power, Rakki had stood before the ranks of his invincible warriors and proclaimed to the cowed yet marveling Cave People that he, Rakki, had returned to claim the overlordship that was his by valor and force of arms, not by the ways of lies, deception, and treachery that were the resorts of cowards. Then he had turned to look contemptuously at Jemmo, disarmed and disgraced, menaced by weapons that he had been able only to wave like a toy but which Rakki’s men had mastered, and ordered his warriors to dispose of him.

In the way that Kelm had instructed, they had led Jemmo, with Iyala, Alin, Dorik, and his other lieutenants, and stood them along the wall while the clan looked on. Given his own way, Rakki would have made it a slower and more entertaining business, but Zeigler had been firm that such was not the way of gods. The children of Yellow Hair were led out and stood alongside them too, for she would be Rakki’s now, or given to one of his favorites. The moment of culmination of Rakki’s years of scheming, planning, and inner burning had arrived.

It must have been one of the devils that White Head spoke of at times. It had come down on them like a giant arrow shot from beyond the sky, with the shriek of a thousand caw-birds signaling bush cats near their nests. Straight and true into the midst of god-warriors who had thought to defy some even greater power before which they were as helpless as grubs in a burning log, blasting them into nothingness with the flash and fury of a thunderbolt. Those had been Rakki’s Great Protectors, who had awed and overwhelmed him, and whom he had pledged his clan to serve? What worth was his power now?

Still he stood, dazed and bewildered, while around him his warriors tried to regain order, the Cave People babbled and ran about in disarray, and the injured staggered and fell. He and his men had been spared; yet it was they who had been about to carry out the deed. It was Zeigler and the errant gods, the ones who had conceived it and urged Rakki to do their bidding, who had been destroyed. It meant something. He was being given a message to unravel, a lesson of immense significance to learn and absorb, to make part of himself for the remainder of the life he had been allowed. But what was the message? 

He became aware, then, of stillness descending around him. Turning numbly and looking around, he saw that the people were staring upward again, some pointing. Another flying vehicle was approaching. He braced himself, thinking this must be his turn to be delivered retribution… . But no. This was no thunderbolt of destruction and death. Whatever it was, it came down steadily in a shallow descent… gracefully yet somehow commanding. Its form was white above and orange beneath, the colors of the purest sky and the brightest flames. Rakki had a sudden feeling of a presence approaching that represented a power so absolute and assured that demonstrations of violence would be unbecoming, a power without need to prove itself. He let the hand that was holding his rifle fall to his side and stood passively, accepting and unresisting to whatever fate should be decided.

This was surely an emissary from the true realm of the gods. Sleek like the swiftest of birds, yet of smooth and rounded curves, adorned by twin tails of pure black, it came to rest not two tens of paces away from him, while the people fell back to clear the space. Its power poured out in a deep, pulsing drone that seemed to make the earth itself quiver and seize Rakki by his very bones. Murmurs of fear and wonder arose among the people. A God who overthrew the mightiest of god-warriors and their chieftains like playthings was emerging.

Two doors opened like arms on the underside to deliver him to the ground. He moved slowly and unhurriedly, conceding neither to haste nor urgency, masterful in his dignity. His face, framed in a close-fitting mantle, was dark and terrible, eyes of mountain ice blazing above a close-trimmed beard streaked with white. About his body he wore a robe of purest silver gathered at the shoulders and enclosing his arms like a cloak. He advanced with a steady tread, his mouth set tight in a downturned line.

Rakki tried not to let his trembling show as he awaited the verdict. And then his eyes widened, and he peered more closely. He knew this God! It was the one they called Keene, the one Rakki had thought of as the head god, and then abandoned to serve instead the false god, Zeigler. Keene had stopped and was staring at him. He was waiting for Rakki to interpret the message. Rakki’s fate would depend on the answer he gave.

Rakki looked away and saw Jemmo, along with the most loyal of Jemmo’s followers, the young ones of Yellow Hair, still lined by the wall, as paralyzed and uncomprehending as everyone else. The God looked at them too. He wanted Rakki to contemplate them.

Keene and the long-haired Goddess had tried to teach Rakki other ways. They had told him that the power he sought to share could be his, but it could not be obtained through killing, hatred, and destruction. The huge machines that had brought them from beyond the sky, and the cities that they would rebuild across the world, the knowledge that revealed the mysteries of life and the meaning of why pain and hardship, pleasure and joy existed—these things were achieved by cooperation and trust, by uniting in an effort to overcome the challenges that the world posed, not dividing and striving to overcome each other. The false gods had proclaimed, as Rakki had believed through all the time he had lived, that power came from instilling terror and compelling the obedience of others. And in his wisdom, the God Keene had allowed Rakki to follow that path if he chose, and now he had shown him where it would lead.

The power that Zeigler would have offered had been pitted against that which true Godhood promised. Rakki was looking at the result. And now, in his moment of revelation, it all seemed so simple and self-evident to him. He had seen the intricate fashioning of the interiors of the craft in which the Gods flew over the land, and of the artifacts that filled them; the immense constructions they were erecting at their city to the north; the windows that brought living images from distant places, the light that appeared on command, and countless other arts for manipulating objects and forces, and directing thought of which he had no comprehension. How could the clumsy swinging of a club, the ending of a life, rage, and bloodshed accomplish any of those things? All they could result in had been shown to him in the calamity he had just witnessed. White Head had told him that the whole world had tried to follow the path that Zeigler and the false gods had thought would bring them greatness. And it too had met with its calamity. Had that too been visited by the Gods who were now asking Rakki which world he would rebuild? And he knew his answer, and he knew what he must do.

While the whole of the Cave Tribe looked on, he walked to the wall where Jemmo and the others were standing and drew up in front of him. He brought up the rifle and saw Jemmo’s jaw tighten, his body tense. And then Rakki extended his arm back to hand the weapon to Enka, who had followed him. He beckoned to Yellow Hair, and she came across, hesitant and apprehensive. “Take your children and care well for them. They will help us begin a new world,” he told her.

And then, to Jemmo, showing his empty hands, “Can we forget the hatreds that are behind us? Our peoples, working together, can learn to build cities and fly beyond the sky. And we can learn to live wisely, as Gods. True Gods.”

Keene put out a general announcement via the Varuna that Zeigler and the entourage that had gone with him had been wiped out, and their attempt to raise a native force was over. The supporters left at Serengeti and up in the ships were on their own and leaderless. Adreya Laelye came through shortly afterward to say they had capitulated, and she had taken charge at Serengeti.

A medical unit was despatched to Joburg for Charlie Hu. They reported that he was weak but hanging in. The treatment the women there had applied had been effective, and he was expected to recover. A short while later, a flyer landed at Carlsbad to collect Keene.

He left for Serengeti stiff, aching, numb with cold and exhaustion; but inside, weak with relief, and still not really believing things could have worked out this way. A clamorous reception was awaiting when he arrived, but a bath, clean clothes, a meal were all he could really think of. After that, he was sure he would sleep for a week… .

Until Sariena informed him that a signal had come in from the Trojan, obviously intended for Zeigler. The ship was now the possession of the Terran Planetary Government, in whose name it had intercepted and taken command of the Aztec. Both vessels were proceeding to Earth. Valcroix congratulated Zeigler on his dedication and ability in carrying through a difficult and demanding task.