A terrible blow struck him across the belly. It burned like the strike of a sword or a claw and he expected his insides to fall to the floor. Reflexively, he grasped at the terrible wound… and felt nothing. Another sharp blow slashed at the back of his leg, and he should have fallen with his leg ropes cut… but he didn’t. Repeatedly the blows fell upon him, and he stood there and took it despite an almost uncontrollable urge to run, to flee, to try to escape toward where he thought the passageway should be. Reaching up, he tore the blindfold and gag from his face, but now his eyes were even more dazzled by the torches.
“Kill me,” he gasped, controlling his voice, “but no play at me as hatchlings with food pets! I fight for The Mother all my life. I honor Her, submit to Her! Kill me!”
“Sounds almost like pride, does it not?” came an urbane, well-spoken voice. Something answered in a tongue Halik had never heard. He felt fear again, but not the visceral, dangerous kind of fear, the kind that would make him prey. This was different. Another blow fell across his back, and finally, a mounting rage drove all fear from him and he lashed back. By some fluke, he managed to grasp the weapon and realized it was a whip. He jerked it toward him and then lashed up against the extended arm of his tormentor with his forearm. The whip was his! He reversed the handle and flailed it about himself with practiced ease, creating a wall of lashing leather while his eyes began to adjust. Another blow fell across his back, and with lightning speed, he spun and directed a reply. The whip cracked against the only target he could see-a pair of glowing eyes. He was rewarded with a shriek, and the glowing orbs were extinguished. Every instinct drove him to fall upon his wounded tormentor, but he forced himself to remain in a protective stance, backing toward the wall. He could see the shape of his attackers now, and saw there were others in the chamber as well. The others were gathered to one side and posed no threat, but the three remaining guards were approaching him, in the classic style, and now they had swords.
“A dilemma, Halik-Uul!” said the urbane voice-so calm! “Whatever will you do? You are not in the arena now!”
Halik forced his own passion to subside. The voice seemed… familiar… and on some level, he somehow knew the words were meant as guidance. What would he do? He must think! Suddenly, a wild insight took him. This was not a slaughter, a preparation for the cook pots. It was a test! A test to see if the strange thoughts and awareness he’d experienced of late had some greater meaning. What would he do? In the arena, a match like this would be hopeless. One could use only the weapons one brought to the fight. Sometimes things were deliberately staged that way, to see what would happen, but a single whip against three swords was a losing proposition. But he wasn’t in the arena! The voice had said so!
His back was almost to the wall; he could feel it with his tail. A quick glance behind revealed one of the torches-although it wasn’t a torch. Not like he’d seen before. An iron bracket supported a small glass globe with a burning wick protruding from a funnel shape on top. He didn’t know what the liquid in the globe was, but he knew it would burn. He’d used small bombs in the arena before. Just as the guards rushed him, he snatched the globe from the bracket and hurled it at the one on the far left. It shattered and spread burning fluid across the guard’s face and torso. He lunged past the conflagration and leaped upon the blinded, moaning guard. He didn’t kill him, but instead, snatched his sword from its hand. Sprinting to the opposite side of the chamber, he took a position with his whip in one hand and the sword in the other. The burning guard had flopped on the floor, flailing and rolling, trying to extinguish the flames. That left two. Confidence soared within him. A moment ago, he’d been doomed. He didn’t know exactly what the meaning of all this was, but he did know that with a sword and a whip, he could defeat any two warriors with swords he’d ever faced.
“Enough,” came the voice. At a gesture from the darkened figure, the guards obediently slew their wounded comrade and dragged him from the chamber. Halik had no doubt they’d have killed him just as thoughtlessly as they had the others, but now was forgotten.
“In the name of the Celestial Mother,” came the voice, as placid as it had been from the start, “you may lay down your weapons and no harm will come to you. I even promise they’ll be returned. The sword, in particular, you may wish to keep.”
Only then did Halik glance at the weapon. He’d also begun to notice things recently, in ways he never had before. Just as a visit with a female might bring pleasure, he’d discovered other things sometimes did. Success in the arena brought intense pleasure, but suddenly, so did the memory of an unusual sunset he’d once seen. Looking at the sword, he realized that the sight of it gave him pleasure as well! It was the most… beautiful thing he’d ever beheld. The blade was a type of layered iron he’d seen carried only by generals, and the hilt was elaborately decorated. Gently, he laid it on the floor.
“Come here.”
Obediently, Halik did so. When he drew closer, he could finally discern four robed Hij-and some other creature standing with them. He was still too invigorated to take much notice, and his eyes quickly sought the source of the voice.
One of the Hij drew back his robes and revealed himself as a first general, the highest of the high, and a member of the Celestial Mother’s very house. Halik flung himself onto the cold stones of the floor.
“He did well,” murmured another voice grudgingly. “The fire was a nice touch, and he is the first to have used it. Clever.”
Halik certainly recognized that voice. It belonged to the Chooser himself! He’d heard it many times over the years during the Sports.
“Arise, Halik-Uul,” came the first voice again. “The Mother’s Chooser will take you from this place and his assistants will prepare you for the usual Holy Rites of Elevation. You and I will talk again, and I look forward to conversing with you as one Hij to another.”
After Halik was led, dazed, from the chamber, General Esshk looked at Kurokawa. “An interesting recruiting method you have devised. It tests their wits as well as their discipline, ability, and resistance to the Urge. Ultimately, it tests their obedience as well. Most interesting.” He glanced at the bloodstains. “Perhaps a trifle wasteful.”
“Perhaps,” Kurokawa agreed, “but for the war we must prepare for, one Halik is worth a hundred of those others. Maybe a thousand.”
Esshk hissed a sigh. “I believe you speak truth, or this activity would not be allowed. There is resistance, however. The Celestial Mother remains unconvinced, but she is willing, at least, to experiment.” He glanced in the direction Halik had been taken. “That Uul is not unique, but he is rare and we will need many, many more like him.”
“The Chooser opposes us?”
“The Chooser opposes all change. Nevertheless, the hatchling proposal progresses. We will see.”
CHAPTER 8
DD Rate, COMMANDED BY:
Attached to: ABDAFLOAT
Commencing: 0000, July 1, 1943, at: Baalkpan-formerly Balikpapan and ending: 1943 LIST OF OFFICERS
Attached to and on board of the USS WALKER (DD-163), commanded by M.P. REDDY, Captain, USNR, during the period covered by this Logbook, with date of reporting for duty, detachment, transfer, or death, from 1 July 1943, to 31 July 1943
