I was surprised to learn it was still in use.
I could see them on scope—hundreds of Taka, lined up abreast, almost as if for war. I wasn't worried— nobody could be closer to the Taka than I.
'Sure you want me to put you down there? They don't look too friendly.'
'I'll be all right.' I could see them out the plex, a strong force of Taka warriors, Dark Clouds and Red Hands from the Clan of the Sun, stretched across a wide flowery meadow in two ranks. I was completely relaxed but I could feel a little stirring somewhere deep inside me, watching those stone-age soldiers.
'Well, squawk if you need anything. Hope your friend is there.' The aircar banked into a tight turn, losing altitude, whistling over the trees. Light rain peppered the plex.
'He'll be there.' I hadn't told anyone about Moontouch—only Tara knew. And Tara knew everything.
We settled down in a field of knee-high flowers in a great halo of spray. I jumped out of the aircar.
'Good luck!' A cheery smile from the kid. I waved, and the aircar shot into the sky and turned back to the north, leaving me alone in my litesuit, comtop secured to my waist. I had an E strapped to my chest, but no plans to use it.
The Taka approached from across the meadow out of a scraggly tree line in a misty rain. A long line faced me abreast in perfect order. They were walking, carrying little shields of exoseg hide, stabbing spears and tridents. Hundreds of them, dressed in savage finery, painted for war. As they walked, their shields swayed from side to side in perfect rhythm, flashing all together, and then I heard them, chanting to strange gods in unison, the voice of the clans.
They stopped, as one. An icy crack rippled across the meadow—spears banging against shields, all at once. Again, again, again—crack, crack, crack—and it was like hundreds of E's firing at once.
A terrifying, banshee howl arose from their ranks—the dogs of war, baying to the Gods of Hell. It put a chill to my spine. They charged forward suddenly and my heart leaped, but they stopped just as suddenly, slamming the spears to the shields—Bang! Bang! Bang! Two parallel ranks of warriors, front and rear. The rear rank broke through the front, howling, chanting, charging at breakneck pace, coming right at me. They, too, stopped suddenly, banging their shields.
They sang, a stirring savage chant, and I knew it was about brave warriors and lovely virgins and lost loves and vanished empires and doomed causes and soldiers dying young. Then they screamed, enraged, and danced forward, banging their weapons again, a horrific racket. They stopped. Bang! Bang! Bang! Forward, howling their war cries. Another stop. Bang! Bang! Bang! A second song, a rush of sweet melody; it could have been a church choir. It was about a boy, sacrificing himself for his people.
The rain stopped. A single warrior broke free from the ranks, naked to the waist except for a necklace of exoseg teeth, long tangled dark hair decorated with flowers, a tough black shield of exoseg chitin, a short stabbing spear balanced on his shoulder. He approached, walking directly towards me, confidently, and each time his feet struck the ground his warriors banged their shields. It was Deadeye Flowers, Standfast, Waterwalker, He Who Defies the Gods—my blood brother. And the earth shook as he approached, like a God.
His warriors howled, shrieking, foaming at the mouth, the ranks wavering, every single soldier eager to break into a wild charge and annihilate the enemy.
It was so beautiful I could only stand there, enchanted, and I knew I would never forget this moment with my alien brothers on Andrion 2.
Deadeye stood before me, his boyish face totally serious. He held out his spear for me. I reached out and grasped it, then released my grip. Deadeye had offered me his life and loyalty, and I had accepted. His warriors erupted, a savage cheer. We embraced like brothers.
'Deadeye!' I said in Taka. 'You are a King!'
'Welcome, Slayer,' he responded. 'I am only a slave—but I guard a Princess, and a boy who will be King.' He grinned, overjoyed to see me. 'Your slave Moontouch, my Princess, commands me to bring you to her.'
'How did you know I was coming, Deadeye? How did Moontouch know? I told no one.'
'She speaks with the Gods of the Past, Slayer. She knew you would come today. She knows everything! Her power grows—you are her only weakness. You must be strong, Slayer. Do not let her take your soul!'
'She already has it, Deadeye. I rent it out weekly, to the highest bidder. She's got it this week.'
'Do not joke about the Gods, Slayer. In the end the Gods will be laughing, and you will be crying.'
'I don't doubt it. Where is Moontouch?'
###
Moontouch ruled from the dead city of Stonehall. It rose on six thickly forested hills in the heart of God's Garden, a short walk from where Deadeye met me with his warriors. It had been Southmark's pride, a great metropolis of wide canals and magnificent stone temples and massive, brutal fortress walls, a hundred generations in the past.
Now it was rubble. We approached it along a wide, dry gully that had once been a grand canal. It was lined with time-ravaged stone statues, soldiers of the Golden Sword. Battalions of ghost soldiers, still guarding that ghost canal, and every soldier was missing his head. The Horde had been here uncounted ages ago, and brought down Southmark in oceans of blood, and plunged the entire world into savagery, for the rest of time.
Moontouch inherited it all—an empire of the mind.
She met us on the crumbling marble steps of a great mountain of stone, covered with mighty trees. She was just as I remembered her, slim and lovely, the Queen of the Dead, long silky black hair and tanned satin skin, dressed in a black robe. Her dark eyes were blazing. She was glowing like a nova, triumphant. And she was holding a child in her arms, a male child, over a year old, a beautiful child with his mother's eyes and nose and mouth, and my fair skin, and fine long light hair that was all mine, and limbs that promised he would be tall and strong. He was surely the most lovely child I had ever seen in my short immortal life, and I knew he would become a prince, and lead his people against their foes, whoever they might be.
He held his mother tightly, and looked right into my soul. And Moontouch looked somewhere past me, into the sky, imperial and distant. She was flanked by her personal guard, Dark Cloud warriors who had pledged her their lives.
I hit the release on the autorecovery of my E and held the weapon out with both hands. The spears and tridents snapped back nervously and the slingshots whirled like a swarm of angry bees—one false move and I would perish in a bloody pincushion of spears and a hail of rocks.
Moontouch reached out one finger, and gently touched the cold black barrel of my E. I went down on one knee. The Taka warriors broke into a fierce chant. I had offered her my life and loyalty, and she had accepted. I was hers—and she was mine.
'I knew you would come,' she said. Only that. I did not answer. I was thanking the Gods. The chances of my ever returning to Andrion 2 had been about a billion to one. But I had done it, myself. Me and the Gods.
###
I knew I would probably have only a few days with her, and with my only son. I treasured every moment—I was sure my orders would come through, all too soon. Orders to take me far, far away, forever and ever.
We lounged in a great silken tent set up in the ruins of Stonehall, full of incense and perfume. Soft breezes flowed through the tent to soothe our burning flesh. It had been so long since I had seen Moontouch. She had always been my hallucination—a fever dream in a hot night.
She served me warm goldpetal tea in a tiny cup, and presented me with a magnificent cloak of treesilk that she had knit for me, a little each night, while I was away. She sang sweet sad songs for me about her loneliness, songs she had composed in spidery Taka runes on little rolls of silk, during those long nights I was gone. And after every song she would burn the words in the incense pots, and vow to be sad no more, and the tent would fill with the scent of burning silk, and I would kiss her tender lips and lose myself in her yielding flesh, skin of satin talc, a soft rush of fine hair, and animal eyes burning, sharp white teeth sinking right into my neck. I didn't care about tomorrow—today was quite enough.
Our son was lovely as a morning star, so beautiful he looked like a little girl, and Moontouch would not cut his hair. 'He is my king,' she said, 'my little king, and Southmark's future. He is the Golden Sword, returned. He is the sunrise of our race.' She had named him Stormdawn, for Taka legend told of a King who would reclaim Southmark's heritage in a battle fought in a storm, at dawn.
He played with us in that magical tent, and slept with us at night. It was like paradise to me, after Katag and Uldo, after the march and the Mound and the Ship. And it seemed to me that this was what life should be—just to
