Read Lords of the Seventh Swarm Online
Authors: David Farland
“The rain was dear to me—the smell of it. Not the tang of a thunderstorm on the horizon, but the smell afterward, when the air is all washed-out, and it’s only pine trees you’re smelling.
“And the colors: in spring, the rain cleans the trees and fields and makes the whole world a brighter green—or at least that’s how me ma told me. She didn’t have a true notion why grass gets greener after a rain, or why crocuses looked brighter. She’d never heard of nitrogen in the air, and how rainwater fertilizes the ground. She just knew it happened, so she said the rain `washed’ things.
“That was the way of folks on Tihrglas. We found easy answers to questions, and we were happy with them.
“After a rain, Ma, she would flutter about the house, her hands busy stitching clothes or setting a new fire or kneading bread or washing a dress, and she’d sing, happy as a sot with a new bottle. I’d ask her why she sang, and she’d say, `Frogs sing after the rain. Birds sing. So should we.’
Then she’d dance round the house.” Maggie smiled.
“It sounds a happy place,” Zeus said.
It had been, it had been, Maggie realized, before everything went wrong, before her parents died. Tihrglas was a good world. It had just gone bad for her. Maybe that’s the way of it, she told herself. Maybe most worlds are fine, till the weight of misfortune crashes down on us. She looked up at Zeus, who stood dark against the stars, staring over the countryside, and offered, “I’ll help you get away.”
He shook his head thoughtfully. “I don’t know, Maggie. I’ve been thinking. Even if I can get away, should I?”
Maggie did not follow his logic. After a moment, he explained, “Consider this. Imagine I escape, with your help, and Father decides to build another like me. What would be my point? I’d have my freedom, but my clone wouldn’t have his. Father would only tighten his grip, hold this one more fiercely. He’d never let it go.
“I … don’t know if I could live with the guilt of knowing I had purchased my freedom at the price of another’s. Hera and Arachne are on Felph’s side, yet I’m afraid if I leave, he will treat them harsher for it. I can’t tolerate the thought of leaving them behind “
Maggie frankly felt surprised by the nobility inherent in Zeus’s convictions.
“What other choices do I have?” Zeus agonized.
“Perhaps you should stop Felph,” Maggie said.
“Stop him, yes, but how? Nothing short of murder would stop him—and even then, assuming that I could be rid of the man, how free could I be with such a thing on my conscience?”
So, he spoke of killing. Maggie suspected it might be necessary. Usurpers were the same across worlds, whether human or dronon. Good men like Zeus could not tolerate their deeds, yet found the idea of eliminating such men repugnant.
“There are laws to protect you,” Maggie said.
“On other worlds, not on this.”
“You could fight to change those laws. A world cannot subsist under tyranny unless its people capitulate.”
“What could we do? Father needs nothing. We have no economic clout to force him into submission—his workers are nearly all droids, under his control. Nor do we have any military might. He controls the arsenals.
“Even if we could rouse a dozen people, marshal them against Felph, he could buy the sympathies of the majority. He treats them well enough now. What do they care if he is a tyrant only within the walls of his own palace?”
Of course, Zeus was right. Felph was, for all practical purposes, unassailable.
“I’ve pondered how to win my freedom for years, and I can see no way, though Felph has loosed my bonds,” Zeus said. His voice sounded strained; Maggie yearned to comfort him. He turned away. Maggie reached to massage the tension from his back. His muscles felt astonishingly tight. She had not guessed at the strength under his silk shirt.
Maggie recalled her own imprisonment at the hands of Lord Karthenor. Of all the ugly and wretched incidents in her short, dark life—of all the abuses she had suffer—that outweighed them all. She’d watched her mother die, had felt the weight of grief when a father and three brothers drowned. She’d watched Veriasse die in single combat, his face burned with dronon stomach acids, his bones shattered. She’d seen Orick nearly sliced in two, and recalled the look in Gallen’s eye when the Inhuman’s agent burrowed into his brain. Yet when Karthenor had imprisoned Maggie, the agony felt greater than the sum of all her other torments. She’d nearly perished. To salvage her, Karthenor had forced her Guide to suffuse her with endorphins. Even that would not have kept her alive. She’d have perished at Karthenor’s hands, had Gallen not rescued her.
“I’ll help you get free,” Maggie said vehemently. She knew it was insane. She’d planned to be more careful. “I can get you free.” Immediately she regretted the words. She might have to eliminate Lord Felph. Maggie could not easily stomach the idea of murder. Yet Felph’s actions will bring ruin on his own head, Maggie justified her thoughts. If he dies, it will be a deserving death.
Zeus turned, his face now in shadow. Maggie could see only a gleam of his eye. “You would do that for me?”
“Not just for you,” Maggie said. “For Hera and Herm, Arachne and Athena. All of you, whether your brother and sisters value their freedom or not.”
“Thank you,” he choked, awe in his voice.
Zeus reached up his right hand, stroked her jaw. Maggie felt surprised. One did not notice it until standing next to Zeus, but he was huge. Muscular. Maggie had thought him rugged before, but somehow the starlight softened his features. Perhaps it was because she knew him better, felt his suffering, but she found him attractive.
Perhaps that is why when he leaned down to kiss her forehead, she did not startle backward.
When he kissed her lips, she did not retreat.
What am I doing?
she wondered.
This isn’t like me. This is innocent, she told herself. This is innocent. This is only a kiss of gratitude.
Zeus wrapped his left arm around her shoulder, held her head. His lips tasted so sweet. Maggie knew this was wrong. She wanted to back away, yet she felt curious and surprised at this turn of events. Zeus was handsome. She felt flattered he found her attractive.
His kisses tasted so sweet. She felt so drawn to him. It must be the wine, she thought. It’s clouding my judgment. Zeus held her tighter, and Maggie tasted those lips, and remembered … two thousand years back, in a lifetime she remembered from Tremonthin, she’d been Kweetsah, a slave girl to a race called the Yamak’hai. On her first night as a slave, her masters had dressed her in red linen and placed bells on her wrists, then escorted her to Overseer T’nok, a huge man with long arms, covered in red hair.
T’nok was not of the Yamak’hai. His subspecies was unknown. Yet his masters valued T’nok, for his kisses drove women mad with lust.
So the overseer kissed Kweetsah for a long sweet hour, fondled her until she felt giddy and overcome with desire. Then T’nok delivered her to her new husband, an old man who was quite plain. Yet she felt so overcome by lust, felt such a need for lechery, she’d slept with the new husband willingly. T’nok’s kisses could do that to any woman.
Pheromones, Maggie realized, heart pounding. Zeus’s kisses were laced with the same pheromones T’nok’s had been. She stepped back from Zeus, dizzy. She was quivering with anticipation, almost blind with desire. It took all her strength to back away.
Zeus stepped forward, kissed her once more, and stroked her left breast with his free hand. She nearly melted into his arms.
Maggie knew that if she did not leave now, she would not be able to. She shoved Zeus in the chest. He backed off.
“Forgive me!” he cried. “Oh, Maggie, forgive me!”
“No, it’s all right,” Maggie shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. He’s nothing but an innocent child, she thought, still dazed. He feels gratitude for his freedom and confuses it with something more. I should know better. I must be drunk.
“I did not mean to take advantage,” Zeus whispered hurriedly. “It’s just that … I think I love you.”
“What?” Maggie said, still shaking her head. Zeus’s kisses had done something to her, nearly blinded her. She tried to make out his form, but little flashes of light seemed to baffle her vision.
“I know it sounds crazy … premature,” Zeus hurried, “It even sounds strange to me. You’re one of the few women I’ve ever met, aside from my sisters. At first I thought it was only the, because you are so exotic and beautiful that I felt this way.
“Yet, when I look in your eyes, I can see goodness in you. When I smell your hair, I smell your strength. How can I deny what I feel now? You’ve made me crazy!”
“Stop!” Maggie shouted. She knew she should not have got herself get into this predicament, yet she wanted this man now in a way she’d seldom wanted Gallen. “I’m married.”
This was all happening too fast. She’d planned to be more careful, to weigh Zeus, evaluate him over days. Yet in only a couple of hours, she’d found herself bending to his every whim. She’d promised to free him. She’d even thought of killing his father. She’d nearly bedded him.
This was all happening too fast. The pheromones had undone her.
“But—what does your marriage have to do with anything?” Zeus asked. “You could love two dogs, and no one would think ill of you. You could love two flowers or two colors. Just because you love Gallen, does not mean you can’t love me, too, the way that I love you.”
Zeus gazed at her imploringly. Maggie wanted to go to him, but she remembered how Gallen had hurt her, on a night much like this, with a woman as beautiful in her way as Zeus appeared now, a woman whose kisses had also been laced with pheromones. Maggie could not betray a trust so deep.
“No,” Maggie said as Zeus advanced, reaching for her. “No!”
“Maggie—” he began to say, and suddenly a change seemed to come over him. He seemed angry with her. He straightened his back, clenched his jaw. He towered menacingly, and Maggie feared he would strike. He stopped, hands shaking.
“Zeus? Maggie? Is that you?” a woman’s voice came from uphill. A woman rounded a corner of the road between two towering walls of roses. She bore a candle in her hand.
“Ah, it is you,” Hera called. “In the garden I found your candle burning. I hoped you wouldn’t be far.”
“You were walking?” Zeus asked, incredulous. “Here in the North Garden?”
“As I’ve often wanted to at night,” Hera said with a slight nod, “before our lord freed us.”
Zeus held his tongue, subdued for the moment. Maggie felt sure Hera had followed them, had perhaps been watching them all along.
“Oh,” Hera said in surprise, looking at their faces, at the way they stood too near one another. “I’m not disturbing anything?”
Zeus touched Maggie’s elbow from behind, a gentle warning, though she needed none. “No,” Maggie said. “We were just about to come in.”
“Indeed, my pet,” Zeus told Hera, “I’m glad you found us. I’d enjoy your company on the walk home. I fear it is getting cold out here.”
“Cold? I don’t think so,” Hera said.
“Believe me, it has been cooler than I like,” Zeus answered, gently putting his hand on Maggie’s shoulder. He squeezed it as if to say, “We’ll talk tomorrow.”
As Zeus left with Hera, Maggie nearly collapsed. A sudden release of adrenaline accompanied Zeus’s departure. Maggie’s hands and legs shook so badly she could hardly walk:
She dropped to the grass and sat, taking great wracking breaths, almost sobbing.
Gallen, Gallen forgive me for what I almost did,
she told herself. On Cyannesse Gallen had made love to a Tharrin, had given himself to a child who was forced too soon to become a woman. He’d done it because the girl was sweet, because she needed comfort. Mostly, Maggie now realized, he’d done it because of pheromones. If the Tharrin’s release of amorous chemicals had been anything like Zeus’s, it would have required the steadfastness of a saint to walk away.
Gallen was no saint. Neither am I
, Maggie realized.
Tomorrow. Zeus wanted to meet her tomorrow. Maggie felt dizzy with desire. It so frightened her, she ran back to her room, leaving her shoes in the garden.
As Zeus went to Hera, he took her arm in his, and decided to leave his dirty plates and picnic basket by the fountains till morning. They strolled along up through the flowers, until they’d left Maggie far behind, and Hera said, “I hope I spoiled your evening.”
“Never fear, my dove,” Zeus answered. “I had the quarry cornered, but was about to let her go anyway. Some women appreciate a man who struggles for self-control in the face of her overwhelming charms. I want her to think well of me.”
Hera laughed lightly. “I rather doubt she’ll think of anything but you, tonight.”
Zeus chuckled. He’d halfway-seduced Maggie. He imagined she would sleep uneasy; fantasizing about him. Let her suffer the night, and let Hera think she’s scored some minor victory. The night had turned out better than Zeus had hoped. Even if he did not get Maggie to lift her skirt, he suspected he had gone his siblings one better.
He hoped he could trick Maggie into helping him murder Lord Felph.
Chapter 17
Orick sniffed as he stepped from the ship. The ground under him felt spongy. His paw sank deep on the first step. Though they’d waited hours before disembarking, the air was still filled with pulverized limbs and leaves, detritus pounded into atoms by the shuttle’s phased gravity waves.
Upon entering the tangle, the ship had burrowed a thousand meters, until the atomized foliage and hapless animals beneath the ship got so deep that the ship could burrow no farther.
Orick looked up. The sky above was perfectly black, as if in a mine shaft. No light could reach him, the sky was up so far, the clouds had been so thick.
“I smell smoke,” Tallea said. It came faintly, masked by the moist scent of alien trees.
“It’s nothing to worry about,” Felph said. “The gravity waves we used to pulverize the trees create some heat. The powder beneath our feet will stay hot for weeks, but won’t catch fire. There isn’t enough oxygen in the mix.”
“Shhh …” Athena warned. She held a brilliant glow globe in one hand, a pistol in the other. “Follow me.”
The young woman walked down a mild slope, bouncing with each step. The powder at her feet drifted up like blowing smoke. Orick followed at Athena’s heel.
Drops of water splashed down from time to time, and the going was slow. Massive tree trunks, wide enough so a house could fit inside, thrust everywhere through the tangle. Fallen trees provided roofs and pathways, and detritus had collected in crooks of branches or on ribbon trees, creating something of a false floor, paths for them to tread.
Along many trunks were ledges—outcroppings, formed by enormous growths, like giant colonies of mold. Epiphytes and parasitic plants had lived here but then rotted away as the canopy of the tangle climbed higher, robbing the plants of light, so that even though the area showed signs of plant life everywhere—hanging vines and rotted trees—little survived. Only dew trees, massive as houses, still lived.
Everything seemed familiar, nothing was familiar. Giant worm vines twisted in broad ribbons, forming roads that Athena eagerly sought. Yet the branches and deadfalls combined to form strange caverns. In places, the immense weight of the foliage above caused plants to collapse, so that frequently the trail led down at a precarious angle.
Though the air was humid, Orick felt surprised at how little water seeped in from the canopy above. Often, water ran down a winding tree trunk in rivulets, but surprisingly, just as often Orick was able to find dry footing.
Still, the journey became treacherous.
Little lived here. The tangle was strangely silent, save for an occasional creaking of limbs, the thud of heavy branches snapping far above.
Yet Orick felt as if the tangle were alive in spite of its silence. Watching, writhing. Everywhere was movement, distant creakings, water cascading, soggy footfalls.
A march of several hours along various fallen limbs brought them far enough down and away from the havoc wrought by their ship that Orick could finally breathe easier, and they dropped to a false floor, with real dirt.
Here was life in abundance. Huge pale worms, perhaps five meters in length, each as thick around as a good-sized rattlesnake, fed among the humus, while small armadillo like creatures scampered about, growling when one of the party approached. Here were sounds hard to identify buzzing insects, strange hooting. As they moved into this region, Orick felt frightened.
Athena dimmed her light. To Orick’s surprise, along the ground were huge clods he’d thought were turds, but these glowed pink, with their own dim light. Athena kicked one over. Orick saw that it had a dozen small legs at its base, so thin they could hardly move such a. massive body.
Athena grabbed several of them, placed them in a net at her hip. She gave one to Gallen. “Darkfriends,” she explained. “They give light to attract mates, but they are very much in tune with other creatures of the tangle. They dim if they smell enemies.”
“So if the lights go out, we’ll know that something wants to eat us?” Orick asked.
“It’s better than no warning at all,” Athena admitted. “I’ll flip on my torch, if that should happen. But beware. We’re down at least fifteen hundred meters. Here, we are not far above the first lairs of the sfuz. If we find a good path, the sfuz will know of it. Watch for traps.”
Orick wondered, “What kind of traps?”
“Snares and webs. The webs of sfuz glisten like water. It takes a keen eye to tell the difference.” Athena stopped a moment. “If the sfuz attack, they usually drop from above. Watch for them.”
Athena took the lead, followed by Gallen, who kept his vibro-blade in one hand. His mantle of black rings jangled on his head; Gallen seemed little more than a shadow, sometimes tinkling as he walked. Behind Gallen, Felph sauntered along easily, carrying only a walking stick. He wore an amused expression. Orick wondered at his aloofness, until he realized that Felph did not care if he lived or died down here. If he died beneath the tangle, he would be reborn.
Behind Felph came Orrick, followed by Tallea, who remained watchful, sniffing at the ground as she prowled.
Orick breathed deeply, testing musty air. The pungent odor of dew trees, like rotting oranges, somehow made him hungry. The worm vines smelled rich with turpines, like cut and polished ash. The air was thick with their scent, so heavy Orick felt almost as if he were traveling through liquid. Beneath these aromas lay the heavier odor of molding detritus. All sound was muffled, deadened. Orick had never experienced such total quietness outside a cave.
Some huge insects fluttered up, seeking escape. Others skittered away to the far side of a tree, defying gravity. Twice the group slowed and climbed down holes, dropping to some deeper level beneath this wretched tangle.
The dullness of sound, closeness of vegetation, the smell of decay—all became suffocating, till Orick wanted to run. Their scent could lead him back to the shuttle. Orick knew he only had to follow it. Yet he suspected that even in the shuttle, he would feel closed in, trapped. He kept his nose down, followed Gallen.
After many hours, Athena located a wide branch in the crook of a tree, then called a halt. “It’s dark out,” she whispered. “I think the sun set an hour ago.”
“That doesn’t matter,” Felph whispered. “Let us all press on.”
“It matters,” Athena warned. “We’re getting tired. The farther we march, the more certain it becomes that the sfuz will cross our trail. If we are tired when they find us, we will be less alert, less able to fight them.”
Felph grunted in disgust. “Fine then, sleep if you must!”
He squatted against the tree, leaning back, and Orick saw it—a misty white vine hanging behind Felph, so thin and watery, it seemed almost invisible.
“Stop!” he shouted. Felph stood bolt upright.
Orick ran to the vine, sniffed it. It had an odd odor, somewhat like shellac, or some material he’d once smelled boatmen use as glue. The vine came to rest a handspan from Felph’s back, where it ended in a glob of goo that was hidden with crushed dust. The line was tight as a lute string.
“Good eyes,” Athena praised Orick, patted his head.
She scrounged till she found a long limb, then touched the gooey end of the web. It snapped, ripping the limb from her hand, pulling it up far into the darkness above. “Had one of us touched the trigger, we’d have been carried as easily as that stick,” Athena warned. “The pull is enough to snap your neck. Let this be a warning. There is no rescue from the snare of a sfuz. We might manage to retrieve your corpse.”
She gave Lord Felph a hard look, as if ordering him to thank Orick for his very life. Felph merely grunted, leaned back where the snare had been.
“Not here,” Athena hissed. “We can’t rest here. The sfuz will check its snare. We don’t want it to find us.”
“Of course we do,” Felph replied, “I brought Gallen here to become acquainted with the vermin. What better way than to rest here, till the maker of the that trap comes?”
Athena looked in Gallen’s eyes. He merely shrugged.
“I’ll keep first watch,” Athena whispered.
They set a glum camp. Gallen unpacked a bit of cold food, some fine ham from Felph’s larder, along with fresh fruits and bread. The food lightened Orick’s mood, made the darkness seem more bearable.
Gallen took a canister of explosive foam, sprayed it on the trail behind them, then set wards that would light up and emit sound if something large approached.
Felph lay on a thermal blanket.
And Gallen stood, ready. “I will keep vigil with you,” he told Athena.
“Get some sleep,” she said. “The sfuz live far below us by day, but in an hour, they’ll make their journey up for their nightly hunt in the canopy of the tangle. We shouldn’t have any problems until then.”
“My mantle can watch with you,” Gallen said. “It can waken me at the first sign of trouble.”
Athena shook her head. “The sfuz don’t give warning.” She stood, went around camp, setting out darkfriends at equal distances, as if Gallen’s wards and precautions were worthless. When the darkfriends were separated by a few yards, they began glowing fiercely, then ponderously began making an hours-long journey back to one another. The night glowed around them as they struggled in the dirt. Almost, Orick could imagine he was in a deep forest back on Tihrglas, with merry campfires guttering about. But light of these creatures was too dim, and the trees beside them too desiccated, too twisted and alien to remind him of home.
Lord Felph lay back, resting comfortably in his little nook, watching the frightened faces of the others with amusement. Athena took watch in the deepest shadows she could find amid this pool of light. Surprisingly, though the darkfriends seemed to gleam brightly, their light didn’t shine far; the twisted branches around Athena threw enough shadows so she remained concealed. Gallen lay beside Felph and soon fell asleep.
Orick could not rest. He could see better in the darkness than a human, and decided to keep watch a bit. Meanwhile, Tallea opened Orick’s Bible and began reading from the book of Genesis, but found it rough going. She could not understand the archaic language of the book, the symbolic references, figures of speech. So Orick expounded the Bible’s teachings, beginning with the creation of the Earth, the fall of Adam, and the promises God made to Noah, Abraham, Moses, and other prophets. He told how David slew Goliath, how Elijah healed a pagan of leprosy—until he got to the life of Jesus, whose birth in Bethlehem was announced by a new star shining in heaven and by the voices of angels.
Orick felt glad of Tallea’s interest. The she-bear often asked pointed questions. And as Orick taught, he began to see patterns he had never considered. He saw how the stories he knew so well each added to a great theme which told how God spoke to man, giving him promises if he should act well, then helped man reach his highest potential. At times, Orick found himself relating ideas he had never considered. He felt sure God was inspiring him, that he was expounding beyond his natural wisdom.
Even more gratifying, he found that his words were taking root in more than one heart. As he spoke, his voice filled the little hollow. Athena had been keeping guard, but by the tilt of her head, Orick could tell she was not listening for sounds of predators, she listened to him, and after a bit she did not even keep up a pretense of disinterest, but came and crouched quietly beside Tallea, her pulp gun resting casually on one knee.
Athena watched Orick intently, absorbing each word, saying nothing. Orick was reminded of the words of Christ, “The gospel is likened unto a fisherman who cast his net into the sea, and gathered fishes of every kind.” Orick had cast his net for Tallea, and was pulling in a decidedly odd fish.
But as sure as God walked in the Garden of Eden, so did Satan, and it seemed to Orick that he was just getting to the best parts of the New Testament when Lord Felph roused from his nap and sauntered over.
Orick had been expounding upon the Beatitudes, and he quoted, “`Blessed are the poor in spirit who come unto me, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.”
Then Orick added, “This is God’s promise that He will strengthen us, regardless of our weaknesses, so that we can withstand His presence.
“‘Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.’ This is God’s promise that all things shall be given to those who submit to His teachings.
“‘Blessed are those who hunger and thirst after righteousness, for they shall be filled with the Holy Ghost.’
“This is God’s promise that He will not leave you comfortless, in moments of trial, but shall grant His spirit to meet your needs.”
Felph groused, “Speaking of tribulation, how is a man to sleep, Orick, with your incessant babbling?”
“I was just telling Tallea and Athena here about the life of Jesus,” Orick said.
Felph sat next to Orick, wrapped his arms around his legs. Felph’s eyes were a bit puffy, swollen, and his face looked drained, tired. Yet he stroked his short beard thoughtfully and studied Orick from under heavy lids. “Ah, yes, a venerable enough chap, I gather. But I find other gods more intriguing.”
“Other gods?” Tallea asked. “You mean there are stories of other gods?”
Orick got an uneasy feeling. The Bible mentioned such gods—Baalim and Asteroth, Moloch and Diana. To worship them was forbidden. On Orick’s world, nothing was known of their ways. Orick believed God wanted to keep it this way.
“I always found Asteroth fascinating,” Felph said, watching Orick’s reaction. “I loved the way her worshipers used fetishes, and all the delightful sacred orgies they threw. Devotion toward the divine mother—with all her creative forces, and her concern for hearth and home those make so much more sense to me than worship of a war god. Don’t you think, Orick?”
“God is not a god of war,” Orick said, “but of peace.”
“Yes, well, tell that to the Canaanites, and the Hittites and Jebusites, and the Perizites and the Ammonites and the Philistines. I’m sure I’m forgetting a few, but those were just some of the nations the Israelites slaughtered under inspiration of your God of Peace.”
“I’m sure He had a good reason,” Orick countered. “God could not simply allow His people to die at the hands of their enemies. He must protect them.”