McCoy shrugged. “The Messiah moves in mysterious ways.”
As the clan column neared the encampment, a rider trotted out and spoke briefly to Tram Bir, who was riding at the front. He nodded and sent Greth, who rode next to him, off with the message. Then he angled the column to the left, skirting the eastern edge of the horseshoe until they reached an open space at the end. Kirk pulled the caravan to a halt on the inner side of the assigned space. Around them, clansmen began unloading baggage carts with practiced haste, and umbrella-like tents were soon springing up. The carts bearing the clan dead were driven into the open center area, and stiff bodies, stinking after two days in the hot sun, were carried off and laid shoulder to shoulder with the rest.
Chekov and Scott, who had been riding in the van, got out and began to stroll among the clansmen. They hadn’t got more than twenty meters before Tram Bir, who was supervising the placement of the tents, stopped them and said something, jerking his thumb toward the caravan.
“What’s up, Scotty?” Kirk asked as the two came up.
“It looks like we’re under house arrest. The birkie says that i’ we go wanderin’ aboot barefaced, we might end up wi’ oot our heads.”
“So tell hun we’ll wear hoods.”
“I did. He says we canna. Relatives or nae, we’re still Beshwa.”
Clan pennants began to ripple as night breezes blew in from the sea. The sharp scent of burning wood filled the ah-, and Tram Bir’s men began preparing their evening meal. Then, as leather provision sacks were opened, the stench of vris wafted across the campsite.
McCoy sniffed. “You know, I think I’m finally getting used to that smell,” he remarked.
“No wonder,” Kirk said with a grin, “you ate enough of it at the feasting last night.”
“I… what?” McCoy exclaimed, his face incredulous.
“At least three helpings. Isn’t that right, Mr. Scott?”
“Och, aye, Captain,” Scotty said. “A’ the least. Wolfed it down like it was his last meal, he did. I remember thinking then that there was nae accounting for taste.”
“There certainly isn’t, haggis eater,” retorted McCoy, not knowing whether to believe what he’d been told or not. He sniffed again, gagged slightly, and disappeared behind the van.
As Kyr set, a mournful howl of clan horns began from the direction of the Messiah’s black pavilion. Hillmen began to move from clan tents out into the grassy area between the arms of the horseshoe-shaped encampment.
Kirk moved forward, too, forgetting Tram Sir’s admonition, but was turned back by a guard. He thought for a moment, and then clambered onto the van’s top for a better view. McCoy and the rest climbed up after him.
Hillmen bearing torches stationed themselves along each of the long arms of piled wood extending from the circle of corpses. They stood silently, waiting. There was another hooting of horns and the flaps covering the entrance to the Messiah’s tent were thrown back. Marching out of the pavilion came the clan chiefs in order of precedence, Tram Bir nearly last. Moving in single file, they circled around the platform that had been erected and formed a line in front of it, facing the dead.
There was silence until the Messiah appeared, then a great roar went up. He walked slowly forward to the platform and mounted its steps. He stood for a moment, head bowed. Clansmen, as if on cue, scurried out from the sidelines with large leather sacks. Liquid gushed as they drenched the kindling.
The Messiah raised his head and cried in a ringing voice, “Give fire to the gods!”
The waiting hillmen flung their torches onto the oil-soaked wood. It ignited with an explosive юwhoosh, and a cross of flames leapt into being.
Lit by the leaping flames, the Messiah began to speak. In spite of himself, Kirk felt a shivering tingle run up his spine as the hypnotic voice rolled out over the assembly.
“The gods have touched me and ordained that I work their will through you, their instruments of holy wrath. Tonight we have kindled a flame which shall spread out against the darkness until all Kyros shines with holy light.
“I am the hammer of the gods, and I will forge your souls in battle until all dross is driven forth and they, bake shining blades, arise at last to their reward in Afterbliss.”
His left arm stabbed toward the east. The thousands turned as one and watched the glittering point of light climb over the horizon.
“There, the souls of those who died for me already walk the golden streets. But disembodied souls can never know the joys of battle, wine, and surging loins. And so all men have always feared that final sojourn in the joyless halls of death. But now, for you who follow me, who serve as swords to win a world-wide holy state where I may rule as viceroy of the gods, they have prepared a golden place. There, warrior bodies unite with warrior souls and find each day of their reunited, eternal life a new delight. Behold! The first to fall depart.”
An awed moan came from the watchers as a shimmering pink opalescence sprang into being around the white-swathed bodies. Then, as a low, throbbing sound began, the dead seemed to stir.
“They live again! The gods summon them to Afterbliss!”
As if in response to the Messiah’s words, the dead clansmen began to rise into the air, slowly drifting upward accompanied by the awed moaning of the warriors. Faster they rose, and faster, like snowflakes falling upward, they vanished into the darkening sky.
“A tractor beam from the Enterprise,” Scott whispered.
Kirk paced silently for a moment and then faced the others.
“After that demonstration, there’ll be no stopping Spock once he begins to march. His men will rum into berserkers when the fighting starts. Now… they knew that death in the field is a passport to a warrior’s idea of heaven.”
“And they move against Andros tomorrow,” McCoy said somberly. “Once through the gates—what we saw in that village yesterday is just a taste of what’s going to come. What do we do now?”
“We use the only weapon we have—Sara. She’s the only one with half a chance of getting close enough to Spock to do any good. We know she turns him on—that episode at the inn the morning they beamed down shows what kind of animal he’s turned into. Look, Bones, he’s bound to have some kind of celebration for the clan chiefs tonight. We’ve got to get Sara in there to dance. The way she had Tram Bir’s men howling shows that, once she’s turned her dop loose, she can be as hypnotic as Spock.”
“And what if the nullifier doesn’t work?”
“Then we’ll kill him,” Kirk said flatly, “I don’t know how, but we’ll kill him.”
The two stood silently and watched as subdued hillmen streamed back to their clan areas. Then a familiar voice caught their attention and Kirk peered down into the darkness. Tram Bir had just returned and was questioning one of the guards.
“Where’s Greth? He was supposed to be here an hour ago.”
The guards shrugged. “I haven’t seen him since he rode off just as we entered camp.”
“The Messiah wants an exact accounting of our clan at once,” Tram Bir said in an irritated voice, “—men, weapons, and neelots. I don’t have time to prepare it; I have to dress for the Messiah’s feasting. Have Greth attend to the counting as soon as he arrives.” Muttering to himself, he was turning to go when Kirk jumped down and called to him.
“Was the Messiah pleased with your gift of spearstone?”
“I couldn’t get close enough to tell him about it,” Tram Bir grumbled. “Obeisance was by ranking of clans, and I was so far back in the line that the ceremony started before I could get to him. It’s thanks to your healing that my numbers are enough so I wasn’t the last of the chiefs. As it is, though, I’ll have to sit in the last row as we feast.” His unhappiness about his placement was evident in his voice.
“Preference shouldn’t depend on numbers alone,” Kirk commiserated. “If there were just some way you could attract the attention of the Messiah… I know that if you just had a chance to talk with him he would see at once— as I did—that you are a leader among leaders, a warrior whose fierce courage and wisdom in battle fit him to be chief of chiefs…”
“I agree,” Tram Bir said, waving a hand to interrupt Kirk. “But how could I attract the attention of one so mighty?”
“We Beshwa are practical men,” Kirk said. “If you stood at the Messiah’s right hand, we couldn’t help but benefit. I think I know a way.”
