Wielding a Red Sword (11 page)

“They’re better than eunuchs,” Mym sang agreement.

The airplane angled up, up, far into the sky, above the clouds. “But why doesn’t the air get thin?” Rapture inquired, worried. “I never was able to take a carpet this high without suffocating, and it got cold, too.”

“Pressured cabin,” he advised her.

“Isn’t science wonderful!”

In due course they reached the fabulous West. Their plane landed at Washington, and they were met by a highlevel functionary with a limousine. They were set up in a fine hotel, where every room had scientifically heated water, electrical lights, and color television sets. Rapture just shook her head in wonder. She knew what these things were, of course, for her kingdom was not entirely backward, but had never seen them so freely bestowed on the populace.

They met the President of Uncle-Sugar-land and made their presentation. After he and his Cabinet Ministers had gazed at Rapture, they agreed that this was the diplomatic thing to do; they really needed that base, and it was only neighborly to make the loan. Of course they preferred that the loan be spent on goods produced by the loaning nation …

Rapture agreed, turning on one of her winter-banishing smiles. Of course there were complications to be handled, but the understanding had been reached. Mym placed orders for modern scientific fertilizer, harvesting machinery, and trucks to haul the produce to market; and the industrialists of the West were pleased. The modernization of Gujarat was proceeding.

Meanwhile, the complex negotiations for Rapture’s dowry were nearing completion, and the royal marriage was almost ready to be scheduled, two years after the month in Honeymoon Castle. “Soon you will be mine!” Mym sang.

“I have always been yours,” she replied. “Soon we can conceive the Heir.”

But the ways of fate and politics were treacherous. The world nearly always had war somewhere, ranging from
global conflicts that spread across entire continents to tiny brushfires in isolated spots. At the moment everything was quiet except for Gujarat’s smoldering border war with the eastern neighbor, Rajasthan. This expended resources that Mym preferred to use for agriculture, so that he could see to the abolition of starvation in his Kingdom, so he turned his attention to it. He took Rapture to Delhi and met with the high Ministers of Rajasthan.

The negotiation proved effective, for Mym and Rapture were by now a highly polished team. Indeed, the Ministers seemed hardly to realize that Mym was not the one speaking, so effectively did Rapture translate for him. They arranged to establish a demilitarized zone and to allow unarmed peasants to cross the border freely for purposes of trade and fraternization. Many of the peasants of that region were of the same ethnic tribe, and the war had been a special hardship to them; they would be glad to cooperate. The two Kingdoms exchanged lavish gifts, and peace was declared.

Thanks to Mym’s effort, the last festering spot of war in the world had been extinguished. There was a great celebration, and a special holiday was declared. But in this, ironically, was the seed of Mym’s destruction.

The Rajah of Rajasthan was so impressed with Mym’s demeanor and skill as a negotiator that he decided to cement the new order with a marriage alliance. This was to be expected; and, indeed, the Rajah had a serviceable son, and Mym’s sister was of nuptial age now and would make a suitable wife, provided the nuisance of a proper dowry could be negotiated.

But the Rajah did not want just a royal marriage; he wanted Mym himself. “My son, while adequate in all necessary matters, lacks the particular genius you possess,” he explained. “I want
you
in charge when I assume another incarnation.” For of course people did not really die in India; they merely cast off worn bodies and reincarnated in new ones, better or worse as their prior lives justified.

Mym, appalled, could not even stutter. “But Prince Pride is betrothed to me!” Rapture protested.

“Set it aside,” the Rajah declared. “My son will marry you. But my daughter must wed Prince Pride of Gujarat.”

Mym opened his mouth. “We shall consider your generous offer,” Rapture said quickly, and urged him out of the hall.

In private, Mym was shaking. “I can’t marry her!” he sang in agitation. “I love you!”

“And I love you,” she returned. “But we can not throw the Rajah’s offer in his face. Rajasthan is a good, strong Kingdom; we dare not aggravate it so soon after making peace. We must return to our Kingdoms and consider how to turn this down without bad feeling.”

She was right, of course. They returned to Ahmadabad and presented the situation to the Rajah of Gujarat.

“An alliance with Rajasthan?” he asked. “Wonderful! It shall be arranged forthwith!”

“But I am to marry Rapture!” Mym protested in singsong.

“Do not be concerned. I hereby null the betrothal; she shall be free for Rajasthan’s prince.”

“But I
want
to marry her!” Mym sang.

The Rajah squinted at him. “Since when did your desire have anything to do with it?” he inquired.

“But when I resisted Rapture, you sent me to the Honeymoon Castle with her!”

“You shall go again with the Princess of Rajasthan. This is a better alliance than the one with Maharastra.”

Mym realized that it was useless to argue; his father’s decision had been made. Almost steaming with chagrin and fury, he retreated.

They sent a message to Rapture’s father. His reaction was opposite to that of Mym’s father. “We have negotiated the dowry! It is too late to null the betrothal! It must be consummated!”

But Mym’s father was adamant. The new betrothal would stand. Mym was abruptly confined to his palace, and Rapture was shipped back to Maharastra.

The Rajah of Maharastra, furious at this open snub, declared war on Gujarat.

Mym, alone except for the guards and servants and concubines, strode wrathfully around the palace. His impotent rage floated about him like a foul cloud. He absolutely refused to be cheated of Rapture–but he knew of no way
to avoid it. His father might be dying and getting senile, but while he lived, he ruled, and Mym was subject to his will. He would shortly find himself back at Honeymoon Castle, with a new princess, and if he did not come to love her, he would be forced to marry her anyway.

He faced the great front window overlooking the entrance. Guards marched there, ensuring that no one passed by without authorization. Mym bit his tongue.

His body made a slight anticipatory shiver as he tasted the blood. He would not be confined here much longer!

But as his berserker rage developed, something strange happened. Outside, in the night sky above the lighted court, a glowing object approached.

Mym stared at it. It was a great red sword, angled up at a forty-five degree angle, floating unsupported. The blade was shining steel, and Mym somehow knew that nothing that sharp edge touched could remain whole. This was a magic instrument.

Still his rage governed him. Refusing to be distracted longer by the manifestation, he got ready to move.

The red sword swung in toward him. It passed through the glass of the window without breaking it.

Mym swung to face it, ready to destroy whatever came against him, whether natural or supernatural. Red froth bubbled between his lips.

The sword came to a halt immediately before him. Its glow increased. It was challenging him!

“Then damned be you!” he cried, spewing bloody spittle, his stutter absent in his rage. He reached out and grasped the hilt of the sword.

The glow of the sword magnified. Now it surrounded Mym, lighting the room. But greater than the physical glow was the emotional glow, for suddenly his awareness of himself was far more intense than he had ever before experienced. He felt strong, invulnerable, omnipotent. Strange power surged through him. His berserker rage was suspended by the wonder of this new power. What was happening?

There was the suggestion of a whisper of a sound. Mym turned, and saw a thin mist forming. It coalesced into a cloud, from which the figure of a mature woman shaped.
Her eyes were as blue as the summer sky, and her hair was vaguely green.

“Gaea!” he exclaimed, recognizing the manner of the Incarnation of Nature.

“You have now assumed the office of the Incarnation of War, known as Mars, Aries, or whatever you prefer, as Chronos advised,” she said, coming clear. “I thought it best to be on hand, in case you had a question.”

Now he remembered. Chronos, living backwards, had indeed said it; Mym had somehow let his awareness slide.

“B-b-but—” he started, then shifted to singsong: “But I don’t want to be the Incarnation of War! I only want to marry Rapture!”

“Of course,” she agreed noncommittally. “But you stand in need of information. You don’t have to accept the office; if you simply renounce the Red Sword and turn it loose, it will seek the second most qualified applicant, and you will remain mortal. I am here to help you decide.”

Mym remembered how she had brought the manna for his starving people. Gaea had extraordinary power. “I am grateful for that.”

“You see, the Incarnation of War exists only as long as war exists,” she said. “Wherever war is being fought, there Mars goes to supervise. There must be some order in the world, after all. On those rare occasions when there is no war. Mars dissipates, and his soul travels to Heaven or Hell, as the case may be, according to its balance of good or evil. Recently war ended, and so your predecessor vacated the office and the Red Sword was retired. But now war is resuming, so the need for the office has been restored, and the Sword is seeking the appropriate officer. It can not be just any person; only one who is proficient in weapons and martial arts and in the strategies and management of war is eligible. In addition, he must desire the position; that is, he must be the most warlike of all those eligible in the region of the resumed war.”

“But I do not desire—”

“The desire for war is defined by the emotion of the candidate,” she explained. “The one with the most pervasive anger. That anger attracts the Red Sword as a magnet attracts iron. The Sword can not be in error about that.”

No, it had not been in error. There was no rage like that of a berserker, even a controlled one like Mym. So the Red Sword of War had sought him out.

“But you say I can decline,” he sang. “So I can remain mortal and marry Rapture.”

“You may decline,” she agreed. “But if you remain mortal, I doubt that you will wed Rapture. You will be subject to the conditions of your situation and will be required to marry the Princess of Rajasthan unless you suicide first. On the other hand, if you accept the office, you will wield considerable power. You will be in a position to take Rapture, if that is your desire.”

“But she will remain mortal!”

“True. But she may join you, and her life will not be shortened. She would have to leave her kingdom, but if she chose to join you—”

“She would choose to,” he sang with certainty.

“Then it seems you have nothing to lose by accepting the proffered office,” she said. “However, I am obliged to warn you of one significant contraindication.”

“The catch,” he sang.

“The catch,” she agreed. “It seems that Satan has his evil hand in this. He had a grudge against the former Mars and wanted him to be replaced. Thus Satan worked assiduously in what was, for him, an unusual cause—that of peace on Earth. He succeeded, for a moment—and that retired Mars. Now Satan surely believes that the new Incarnation will be easier to manage, because of his lack of experience.”

“I have no truck with Satan!” Mym sang. “I hardly believe in him! I am Hindu!”

“Nominally,” she said. “As a prince, you are naturally skeptical about religion.”

To that he had to agree. In his private heart, he subscribed to no religion. Thus it seemed that his rage had been the determining factor, not his belief in any particular supernatural framework.

“Now, with that warning, you may decide,” Gaea said. “If you fear the mischief of Satan—”

“Fornicate Satan!” he sang. “If I can have Rapture by
assuming the office of the Incarnation of War, then I shall assume it!”

“It had occurred to me that you might feel that way,” Gaea said. “Welcome, then, to our number, Mars.”

And he knew that his commitment had been made.

 
6
 
MARS