Empire of Women & One of our Cities is Missing (Armchair Fiction Double Novels Book 25) (8 page)

“Have you
made this trip often, Aphele?”

“Hundreds
of times, Captain.
 
In the last hundred
years, I have passed this way at least once every two years.”
 

GAN
GULPED.
 
So this was another of the
long-lived breed, according to Celys’ version of the secret.
 
She looked about twenty-two.
 
The Phiran year was but ten days shorter than
the Terran year, and the day was some two hours longer.
 
Gan glanced up at the bright orange double
star that served both Konapar and Phira as a sun.
 
Menkis, they called it.
 
On the charts it was labeled Menanger.
 

“What was
that device you and your friends were lowering through the floor when you shot
at me?” he asked, watching her face closely.
 
She did not even look at him, watching instead the flight of a gold and
blue bird hovering above their heads.
 
Her voice was a discreet murmur, audible not three feet away.
 

“It was
part of the secret which we did not wish the Konaparians to discover, as you
suspect.”
 

Gan felt a
swift elation surge through him.
 
So she
was a convert to his way of thinking; was a friend and ally against the
secretive selfishness of these so-holy priestesses.
 

Then she
turned her head and laughed, and spoke more loudly.
 
“What did you say?
 
I am so sleepy…”

He spoke
loudly himself.
 
“Aren’t you sorry you
shot at me last night?
 
You might have
killed me.”
 

Her eyes
danced.
 
“Oh, I could have, but you are
too good-looking to kill.
 
I meant only
to take some of the smugness out of you.”
 

“You did,”
Gan laughed.
 
“I will admit that women
can do as good a job of soldiering as men, and but short weeks ago I thought
differently.”
 

Aphele
twitched the mort’s ugly head closer again.
 
She
whispered:
 
“I am sick to death of hearing the two sexes compared.
 
Never mention it to me again.
 
Do you hear?”

“No sex
conversation?
 
What will we talk about?”

Aphele
frowned.
 
“That is not what I meant, and
you know it.
 
On Phira, when a woman
decides she wants a Phiran male, she tells him so.
 
I understand that, with Terrans, the opposite
is true and the woman must never mention the subject closest to her heart, but
wait for the man to speak his love.”
 

Gan
nodded,
his eyes on hers doubtfully.
 
He read the signs aright—she was his friend,
and more!
 
Up to now it had been his
custom to avoid too close entanglement with any female.
 
They had always meant trouble.
 
Now it seemed he was in trouble again…
 
But there was
an honesty
and candor on her face—and Aphele was not only very lovely, but she was also a
woman who had already lived several lifetimes.
 
Perhaps her mind, also, was so far ahead of his in perception that she
knew exactly what he thought.
 
Certainly
the simple directness in her meant profound knowledge of the human mind rather
than simplicity.
 

He
asked:
 
“You have
lived so much longer than I, you should have greater wisdom, should be able to
guess my every thought before I speak; can you tell me what I’m thinking?”

Though she
looked at him whimsically, her lips gave a bitter twist.
 
“I know you’re afraid to have me say I am
attracted to you.
 
I know you are not
affected by my beauty.
 
I know that the
first Matriarch is in your heart.
 
But
listen to me, Terran.
 
Sometimes it is
better to be loved than to love.
 
I, at least,
would be your friend, and I would expect no lease on your life in return.
 
You know nothing of the nature of my
mind.
 
I can be more to you than she—if
you will allow yourself to understand.”
 

GAN WAS
struck by her serious tone, as well as by the thread of her speech.
 
But another thing occupied his
attention:
 
“You say the first
Matriarch.
 
Who is that?
 
I had thought Celys was the Supreme
Matriarch.”
 

“There are
several who play the part of the Supreme Matriarch.
 
She is but a figurehead.
 
The real power rests in the ancient one we
travel to consult.
 
She holds the keys to
the mystery, the secret you seek.
 
I want
to guide you correctly, so that it may be possible for you to live beside
me.
 
You see, Terran, I have lost two
mates in the years long past, because the secret is denied to males.”
 

Her
countenance was a bitter mask of strange loneliness for a second, and Gan
realized that living for centuries was perhaps not all peaches and cream.
 
Then the expression passed, and she smiled
again, perhaps at his suddenly lugubrious expression over hearing of her former
mates.
 

“You
needn’t fear me, Gan.
 
I am an
experienced woman, who has long ago given up the childish tricks by which young
women gain their ends.
 
If you need me,
come to me.
 
I will not pursue you.”
 

She
twitched at her mount’s reins, as if to ride ahead beyond earshot.
 
Gan reached out and seized the mort’s reins
in one big hand.
 

“You have
read my mind, Aphele, and answered my questions.
 
Can you also read the admiration and liking I
have for you?”

She
settled back, her face relaxed from its bitterness as he went on:
 
“I want to know one more thing, and then no
more questions.
 
Has Celys been married
too, lost her mates the same way?
 
Is
she, too, centuries old?”

She laughed
at his intent face
;
a laugh at once mocking and
tender, as with a child.
 
“You have a
disappointment in store, my friend.
 
Your
Celys is not one, but several.
 
Their
ages are not young or old, for they are daughters each of the other.
 
All of them are older than you, and have
children.
 
There is one, the youngest of
the Matriarch line, who is but twice your age.
 
You haven’t met her, yet you would know her surely, so closely does she
resemble her grandmother.”
 

Gan turned
toward the erect figure of Celys ahead.
 
“Her grandmother!
 
A grandmother, that one
ahead?”
He said it with a kind of dismayed awe.
 

Aphele
nodded, her eyes pitying, her lips twisted in a kind of sad smile.
 
“That is why I tried to tell you, a love such
as I offer you
is
at least less confusing than that
which you are bent on pursuing.
 
There is
but one of me, and I am not too proud to say you are a man above men, and above
most women I have known.
 
Now I leave you
to your thoughts.”
 

She rode
ahead, to pause beside the stiff, slender figure of Celys.
 
Gan burned with curiosity to hear what they
were saying, and if it concerned him.
 
He
knew that if he saw them laugh, he would feel like a fool.
 
Just then the two women laughed and glanced
back at him and he felt like a fool.
 

AT LAST
the long and arduous trip in the saddle came to an end and they came to the
hidden valley of Avalaon.
 
It was a
place of trees, tremendous in size.
 
Cedars or redwoods, or some relative of the conifers, towered in aged
splendor toward the sky, rich in foliage and mighty in trunk.
 
That there was a city beneath the trees would
have been indistinguishable from the air, and Gan could see that great care had
been taken to have no trails or roads leading into the valley.
 
The mouth of the valley was a hilly pass,
also heavily wooded, and it could have been defended by one man with an
automatic rifle, as the sides were precipitous.
 

Winding
down the faintly worn pathways into the dim depths of the wooded valley, Gan
did not expect to find any great number of people or any structures, but he was
surprised to find the flourishing city whose extent was difficult to estimate,
so the forest growth obscured the vistas.
 
The dwellings were built beneath the trees; several small streams wound
about through them and joined in a river that seemed to end in a lake in the
center of the valley.
 
The houses were of
stone, permanent and
old-looking
, as if they had been
there undisturbed for centuries.
 
But
they were lived in, for figures moved along the paths beneath the trees carrying
burdens of food or clothing or small cases of metal articles.
 

Aphele
dismounted as they reached the first of these hidden dwellings, and came back
to Gan, holding the mort’s head as he dismounted.
 

“How is
your backside?” she asked, smiling.
 

“I am more
conscious of its presence than ever before,”
grinned
Gan, bending and stretching.
 

“You are
now in a place never before reached by the uninitiated,” she said, her eyes
measuring him with evident delight in her glance, a look full of desire and
appreciation of his masculinity.
 
“I am
responsible for your being here, so if you have a care for my welfare, conduct
yourself accordingly.
 
No male has trod
these paths for many centuries—since before we can remember.
 
The sacred groves of Myrmi-Atla have been
entered only by women who have passed very stringent examinations and undergone
long purification.
 
You may be slain, you
know, before I have a chance to make a case for you.
 
I have long been a dissident from the idea of
complete female supremacy, and am known as a rebel.
 
Though there are others, we are in the
minority.
 
We want men
in the organization
,
we need men
.
 
The others will not have it.
 
There is much politics involved, but I will
advise you.
 
I am taking you to our true
head,
who
has no title.
 
She is over five hundred years old.”
 

Gan
nodded, feeling like a folly-stricken idiot treading where only angels would
dare.
 

The
warrior women shed the ugly and bad-smelling disguises, throwing them in a heap
where Gan had doffed his own cloak and hood.

SEVERAL
slight figures appeared from among the nearby trees and approached.
 
Gan started as he realized they were young
girls and quite naked.
 
They came forward
in innocent shamelessness, but suddenly one of them saw Gan’s stalwart male
figure with the curling red-gold beard proclaiming his essential
masculinity.
 
The girl gave a scream of
utter horror, as if she were confronted by a banshee, and took to her
heels.
 
In an instant the grove was
filled with the small naked figures running and screaming as the others saw the
cause of the initial fright.
 
The scream
brought still more naked young nymphs, who came running up.
 
When they saw the great man-figure with the
beard, they ran away as quickly as they had come.
 

There was
not a laugh or an expression in the whole troop of warrior women at this
development.
 
It was evident that they
had expected it.
 
There were several
frowning glances at Aphele, who ignored them.
 
Gan saw that her idea of bringing him here was disapproved by many.
 

“No good
can come from this violation of the inviolate grove of Avalaon,” one of them
said coldly to Aphele as they passed her with the saddles of their beasts.
 
They had turned the beasts loose in the
forest.
 

Gan,
weaponless, was appreciating to the full the chances of his death now mentioned
for the first time by Aphele.
 
But he
strode along beside her, just behind the tall and graceful form of Celys, who
was still the center of attraction to him in spite of her newest character of
grandmother to a woman who resembled her so closely as to be identical.
 

They
passed several of the small stone houses and came to a much larger structure,
placed between four of the forest giants so closely that the mighty trunks
seemed to uphold the walls and roof.
 
The
guarding troop stopped and lined up on each side of the low, wide doorway of
plain, rough timbers, deeply marked by time.
 
Gan passed between them with somewhat the feeling of a criminal
entering a jail, and the glittering uniforms and stern, if beautiful, faces of
the women made him feel guilty for being a man.
 

Inside the
rather dimly lit room there were several women working at desks and file cases,
and a score of others seated on benches about the walls.
 
The women at the desks were the first elderly
women wearing the regalia of the priestesses of Myrmi-Atla that Gan had
seen.
 
These, in a Terran civilization,
would have been women of sixty or sixty-five.
 
Here, Gan had no idea of their ages.
 

In the
center of the low-ceilinged place was a rough wooden dais and high-backed chair
on, which sat a woman Gan would have recognized as the leader without a nudge
from Aphele.
 
The high dome of white
brow, the weary-wise eyes, the strong mouth and chin, the proud look of her—Gan
moved forward with Aphele and knelt on one knee, as did his mentor.
 

The woman,
showing her great age in a mass of wrinkles, but otherwise appearing to be very
strong and able, inclined her head, studying them with her face bearing a
slight smile.
 
Her voice was
high-pitched, but full
;
a firm and even musical
voice.
 

“Aphele,
you have led one of the
enemy
here?”
 
Her voice was gently chiding.
 
“Can you justify the indiscretion?”

APHELE stood,
thrust her high bosom out, and lifted one hand in a gesture of complete
confidence.
 

“The
conqueror, Tor Branthak of Konapar, seeks the secret.
 
He hired this pirate captain to obtain it for
him without his followers’ knowing.
 
Since of course he could unearth no secret, Tor Branthak has ordered the
torture of the Supreme Matriarch until she tells.
 
This man rescued our first Celys from her
peril, brought her to me,
came
with us of his own free
will.
 
The rest is up to you and our
council.
 
I will have more to say in
council and you already know my opinions on the matter of secrecy.”
 

The old
leader smiled and nodded.
 
“We all know
your opinions, Aphele, and none will accuse you of secrecy about them.
 
You shout them out at every opportunity.
 
So, he is not a captive nor yet a hostage,
but merely a curious gentleman who wants to see for himself how we stay alive?”

Aphele did
not answer, but stepped back one pace with smart military bearing, standing
very erect and still.
 
This left Gan
facing the old leader of the Amazons alone, and a little sweat broke out on his
brow as the thought came to him that he was facing a person whose mind had
been pitted against all men for some five centuries—and had won.
 
Gan kept his eyes on hers unwaveringly, his
face quite empty of expression, but he could not control the nerves of his
hands, which kept opening and closing as if to grasp some material thing to
aid him in this predicament.
 

The voice
of the old woman took on a deeper note, a rasping, critical, angry tone of
disapproval.
 

“Do you
realize that these groves of Avalaon have not been violated by man’s presence
for near a thousand years?
 
And now you
come blundering in where the last strength of the female lords of Phira licks
its wounds, expecting mercy and benevolence and perhaps romance from our
so-pretty warrior maids?
 
You are a
bigger fool than the woman who brought you!”

An angry
exhalation from the two-score female breasts in the room emphasized her
words.
 
It was a long, deep sigh, a kind
of “aye”, and it meant unanimous agreement with her.
 
Gan, startled, let his glance sweep the room,
where more and more of the women were clustering, as the curious took note of
the strange meeting.
 
Peeping between
the red-uniformed legs of the guard at the door were a score of naked young
nymphs, their mouths round with astonishment and fascination.
 
Gan felt more out of place and off balance
than he had ever been in his life.
 
He opened
his mouth to speak and found himself only able to croak, “Er…ah…” in a dismal
sound like a sick frog.
 

The old
woman relaxed suddenly, her hands dropping from their grip on the chair’s rough
wood arms, and leaned back.
 
Then her
voice became humorous.
 
Sarcastically she
mimicked him:
 
“The man says, ‘er…ah…’ If
that is not profound wisdom, indeed!
 
Can
you summon no
defense,
can you think of no good reason
why our privacy and isolation should be destroyed by you?
 
Off with you, then, while we take thought of
your fate.”
 

Then Gan
found his voice, and all of it came boiling up; the many little insults and
derogation’s these women had handed him since he set foot on Phira became a
torrent of resentment, and he let out a great bellow such as had made his crew
run rather than face him.
 

“Now
listen to me.
 
I’ve been insulted and
chivvied about and made to feel foolish ever since I first met the so-holy
priestesses of your All-Mother.
 
I took
it like a man, and was courteous and kind and tried my best to protect them
from the soldiers of Konapar, and wasn’t even thanked by one of you until I met
Aphele.
 
I saved your precious Celys from
torture the first day on this planet, and had it put off from day to day until
I contrived her escape.
 
I have been the
good friend of you high-nosed females at the risk of my own precious neck, and
now you laugh at me.
 
I am beginning to
think the men who say that woman’s place is in the hearth, kitchen and bedroom
are right.
 
It’s a new idea to me,
because I’ve always observed women’s low estate on many barbarous planets with
great pity.
 
However, perhaps it is the
nature of a woman to abuse power even more than men.
 
It seems you enjoy the idea of having the
whiphand over a male.”
 

HIS
ROARING voice, bringing with it the vast sense of space and the adventurous,
roving life he had led, huge and strong and filled with masculine power and
anger, filled with righteousness and indignation and contempt of the petty
intentions of these women to shoot their barbed arrows of scorn into him,
expressing the rage at his treatment, did far more for him than any argument
in words.
 
When his voice ceased, there
was a silence as if a god had spoken, and from each female breast there came a
sigh, of longing at last realized, a desire at last gratified—to hear a male
voice
raised
in the forest aisles of Avalaon.
 

The old
leader’s eyes glittered like diamonds in her face as she looked about at the
bemused countenances of the men-starved women about her, each rapt as if still
hearing the great male sound of Gan Alain roaring his rage.
 
Whether they were glittered with tears or
with an evil anger, Gan could not tell.
 
She said nothing in reply, but only waved a hand to Aphele, who tugged
at Gan’s sleeve of worn gold leather and led him out into the bright, clean air
where the piney scent of the forest breathed silence and peace.