Mother of Demons

  She straightened her slender shoulders.

  But we can try. And, in failing, shorten the road to the future. And its pain.

  And stop day-dreaming about the future! There's enough agony on today's road.

  She forced her eyes back to the plain. The human platoons were continuing their butchery, like a well-oiled machine of destruction.

  God, these kids are good. It's amazing how well they're carrying out my proposal—which they only heard two days ago.

  The night she made her decision to throw their strength to the aid of the Kiktu, Indira had spoken to the little army of human warriors. She had told them the story of the battle of Liegnitz, in a place called Poland. There, Subedei's Mongols had met the forces of European chivalry under the command of Duke Henry of Silesia. Those forces included knights from all the major militant orders as well as Henry's own troops—Knights Templar, Teutonic Knights, Knights Hospitaler.

  She had described the European knights. Heavily armored, dangerous at close quarters. And—very slow; easily confused by any tactics beyond a simple, direct charge.

  She had described Subedei's Mongols. Lightly armored; extremely fast; extremely disciplined; shrewd and cunning; well coordinated in battle.

  Then she described the battle itself. And told them how the Mongols had cut to pieces the flower of chivalry.

  Joseph and his lieutenants had taken over from there. The new tactics which they had been developing recently, with Nukurren's advice, fit perfectly into the plan which they developed for the coming battle. The plan which they were now implementing on the plain below—with, it was obvious to Indira as she watched, the same result that had ensued centuries before, on a planet light years away.

  After another minute, Indira looked away. Even from the distance, it was impossible not to hear the hoots and whistles of the Utuku being butchered.

  Not a trace of what she was feeling showed on her face.

  And what am I feeling, anyway? Joseph and his lieutenants would have arrived at the same plan on their own. With Nukurren's help, they were already almost there. My lecture on Mongol cavalry tactics only added some polish.

  No, that's a lie. Don't hide from it, woman. They're not superhuman. Only the Mother of Demons could have given them the confidence they needed, in their first real battle.

  She took a deep breath.

  So be it. There will also be hospitals. And medical academies. And trade. And religious toleration, enforced by the demons. All that the Mongols gave—and more. We are not, after all, Neolithic barbarians. Whose cruelty derived, in part, from their naive understanding of the world.

  When she now spoke her voice, for the first time that day, had a trace of its usual softness.

  "Julius—make a note. We must found a university. At once—regardless of other things."

  He smiled. "Yes, Indira. Does that mean I get to go back to research?"

  Indira looked at him; and reached out and stroked his cheek. But she did not smile in return.

  "Yes, love. But the first thing you must study is the problem of making puke jerky."

  She looked away. "And the problem of poison darts. Abomination or not, they will be used soon enough. We must try to find an antidote, if possible. If not—"

  Her voice was like iron.

  "—we will develop our own poisons. Remember the gukuy who killed Adams—and then died herself? As you said at the time: it cuts both ways, asshole."

  She heard Julius sigh, and mutter something. She was not sure, but she thought she heard the words correctly. She suppressed a laugh.

  "Like Damascus steel," he had mumbled. "No, worse—like a damned blade of Toledo."

  Indira turned her eyes to the west. That part of the battle which the humans were waging was progressing well. She now had time to study the methods of their new—allies? She was not sure of their status, for there had been no opportunity to establish communication with the Kiktu. By the time the human platoons had reached the plain, the battle had already started.

  Crude and primitive, was her first thought. The battle on the Utuku left seemed nothing but a swirl of confusion, so unlike the precision she had watched on the human side.

  Her eyes were almost immediately drawn to the huge figure at the center of the Kiktu lines.

  "Ghodha—a question." Indira pointed. "Is that a battlemother?"

  "Yes, Inudira. There is another, as well. Further along the Utuku lines."

  Indira followed Ghodha's gesture.

  "Yes, I see her now." A moment later: "But—she seems different from the other one. The one in the center."

  Ghodha's whistle combined, somehow, humor and awe.

  "All battlemothers in the world are different from the one in the center, Inudira. The one in the center is a—what is the word, Rottu? The one the Kiktu use?"

  "Kuoptu."

  Indira was not familiar with the term. Rottu explained.

  She looked back. And felt a certain awe herself. She had seen gukuy mothers before. There were several of them among the Pilgrims. Huge beings, as big as elephants. Immensely strong, she imagined. But extremely slow-moving and awkward.

  The battlemother on the plain below bore a certain generic resemblance. Huge—bigger than any gukuy mother Indira had yet seen. Almost as big as an owoc mother. And, compared to the warriors around her, slow and awkward.

  There the comparison ended. If a normal mother could be likened to a gigantic St. Bernard, the battlemother on the plain below was like the Fenris wolf of Nordic mythology. Indira winced, watching an Utuku warrior smashed into jelly beneath the battlemother's club. And another. And another.

  "She fights with two clubs, I notice. But the other battlemother only with one."

  "Yes, Inudira. The other battlemother is fighting in the usual manner, with mace and shield. Battlemothers need shields to protect them from darts. They are always the main target of pipers. The one in the center is taking a great risk. She seems to be relying on her visor alone—and that odd shield on her cowl."

  Indira looked for the Utuku pipers. She spotted one almost immediately. Sure enough, the piper was taking aim at the battlemother. Indira held her breath. Suddenly, however, the piper reared back, clawing at her eyes.

  At her side, Indira heard Ghodha's hoot of surprise.

  "Look! I did not see them earlier! There are males on the battlemother's cowl—with pipes! Behind that strange shield. They are protecting her from the pipers."

  Indira looked back. A moment later she saw another Utuku piper reel back.

  "Is that common?"

  "It is unheard of! True, the Kiktu have the custom that a mother's consorts are her personal guard of pipers. But it is not taken seriously, even by the Kiktu. Not even the barbarians, for all their loose habits regarding males, allow the silly things to participate in battle. Males are too emotional for battle. They would lose their heads."

  Indira watched another piper blinded. When she spoke, her voice was harsh.

  "Welcome to the new world, Ghodha. Where Answers are falling, and Questions are being asked."

  From the corner of her eye, Indira saw Ghodha's mantle ripple ochre and pink.

  Between Ushulubang and myself, she thought fiercely, I intend to see a lot of those colors in the future.

  A moment later, she relented.

  Ghodha is not, after all, one of Ushulubang's close apashoc. A new Pilgrim, hoping that there may be an end to evil, somewhere. Selected for her new post not for her profound grasp of the Way, but simply because she is the most experienced war leader among the Pilgrims.

  Do not sneer at such people, Professor Toledo. However often they fumble the task, they are the creators of the future.

  "Explain to me what you are seeing, Ghodha. You are more experienced in such things than I."

  The warrior's scarred mantle became tinged with faint green. She began pointing with her palps.

  "The Kiktu are fighting better than I have ever seen barbarians fight before. Not as w
ell as the Anshac legions, of course. But better."

  The gesture of grudging admission.

  "Much better, in fact. You see how they are not simply swarming mindlessly, as usual?"

  Indira looked again. After a moment, she saw what Ghodha was pointing to. Order began to appear out of chaos.

  "They are fighting in organized groups. I can see it now. Sloppy, I think, but—organized."

  "Yes. They are very sloppy." A whistle of derision. "You should see the Anshac legions!"

  Again, pink and ochre rippled.

  "What am I saying? Even the Anshac are nothing, compared to your own ummun apalatunush."

  Ghodha turned and looked to the south. Indira's eyes followed. Ludmilla and Takashi's warriors were racing back and forth, slicing the Utuku flank to ribbons. The platoons had broken into squads, now, each of which operated independently—but still within the organized control of their leaders.

  Indira turned and pointed back to the west.

  "Explain further."

  Ghodha looked away, slowly. Indira was amused at the veteran warrior's obvious reluctance to forego the pleasure of watching master craftsmanship in her trade.

  A moment later, Ghodha continued.

  "The Kiktu possess three strengths in the art of battle. As individuals, their warriors are excellent. It cannot be denied. There are none on the Meat of the Clam who surpass them in the use of fork-and-flail, and few who can claim to be their equal. Look there! You will see what I mean."

  Indira followed Ghodha's pointing palp. She saw, at the edge of the battle, that a Kiktu had somehow managed to lure a single Utuku away from the lines. The single combat which followed was horrifyingly brutal, but illuminating. The Kiktu warrior picked apart the Utuku's clumsy defenses. Within seconds, the Utuku shield was stripped away by a flail-blow that was almost too fast for Indira to follow. Seconds later, the Utuku's right ped was a bloody mass of shredded flesh, and the Utuku slumped. A split-second later, the Kiktu's fork slammed into the left side of her opponent's mantle. The Kiktu threw herself to the side, levering the Utuku onto her back. The four flail-strokes which followed completely disemboweled the doomed warrior.

  More than disemboweled, thought Indira, repressing a sudden taste of vomit. All the vital organs of a gukuy, except the brain, are located right under the belly, with no cartilage or shell or thick integument to protect them. That's not just guts being strewn all over the plain. That's her heart, her liver, her inner lungs—everything.

  Somewhat shakily, she asked Julius: "This is what you were telling me, isn't it?"

  Julius' face was pale, but his gaze was steady.

  "Yes, love. Although—I won't be so smug about it, anymore. Not after seeing that."

  He took a deep breath.

  "The gukuy pay a price for the way their bodies evolved. In their manipulatory limbs as well as their peds. For reasons I can only guess at, gukuy evolution put almost all their fine control into their arms. Wonderfully precise and delicate organs, those are. Maria told me she's planning to train gukuy surgeons. She thinks they'll make better surgeons than humans, once they learn the skill.

  "But their tentacles lost something in the bargain. They're very strong, and fast. But they don't begin to have the fine coordination of human arms and hands. That's why the gukuy can't really use weapons like spears. Or swords. With spears, they'd miss their targets. And with swords, they'd be more likely to hit with the flat of the blade rather than the edge. What results is—"

  He pointed to the battlefield. Then, suddenly, turned away. Indira could see him struggling with his own stomach.

  When Julius turned back, his face was even paler.

  "But, like I said, I won't be so smug about it any more. Never having seen a gukuy battle, I expected something much more clumsy. I never dreamed that you could do so much damage with a flail."

  Indira turned back to Ghodha.

  "Continue, please."

  "Their second strength is their speed."

  Somehow, watching the battle, Indira no longer found the term "gukuy speed" an oxymoron.

  "The Kiktu are very swift and agile. Nothing, of course, compared to"—a quick, admiring glance to the south— "ummun, but for gukuy—very fast. Very fast. You see how they lure Utuku after them into little traps?"

  Indira watched for a minute or so, and nodded.

  Ghodha made the gesture of admiration.

  "The Kiktu excel in the art of ambush. Many foolish and arrogant Anshac legion commanders have led their warriors to disaster, from underestimating the cleverness of the barbarians."

  Ghodha now pointed to the center of the Kiktu lines.

  "Finally, they have the battlemothers." Faint ripples of blue and yellow appeared on the warrior's mantle.

  "It is a barbarous custom. But—"

  The blue and yellow vanished.

  "—I admit, it is terrible to face a Kiktu battlemother in battle. Especially one with good flankers."

  Ghodha paused, examining the battle.

  "The flankers of this battlemother are excellent. You see how they force the enemy to face their battlemother's maces? Leaving them nowhere to dodge aside?"

  Indira nodded.

  "Nothing can withstand the strength of a battlemother. The strongest armor is like paper beneath the blows of her mace."

  Indira winced. Just that moment, an Utuku warrior burst—like a ripe tomato—under the mace of the battlemother.

  "Faced with a battlemother, a warrior can only rely on speed and agility. That is the purpose of the flankers—to nullify the enemy's maneuvering room."

  The sound of Joseph's bellow drew her eyes back to the center. He had decided, Indira saw, that the climatic moment of the battle was upon them. Quickly scanning the field, Indira thought his judgement was correct. The Utuku right had been shredded by the platoons; the left, forced to fight the Kiktu alone, were on the verge of collapse; there remained only the huddled center to be—smashed.

  Joseph was already racing off the knoll, straight toward the Utuku center. Jens and his squad kept pace with him. A moment later the human warriors drew even with the Pilgrim line. The Pilgrims immediately followed the charge.

  The drums of the Utuku center began beating frantically.

  Ordering what, I wonder? What orders do you give your butchers—when the demons come?

  Of the human warriors plunging toward the Utuku center, only Joseph held a javelin. At the last moment before reaching the enemy line, he cast his weapon.

  Indira watched—first with surprise, and then with awe—as Joseph's javelin rose higher and higher into the sky. Higher and higher. Beyond its flight, far back, stood the figure of the ogghoxt commander.

  I don't believe it.

  "I don't believe it," whispered Julius. "That's a gold medal in the Olympics."

  The javelin reached the top of its arc and began sailing down.

  "No, Julius," she said.

  Straight toward the ogghoxt commander.

  I don't think she even sees it coming.

  The javelin struck right between the commander's eyes, and sank at least two feet into her head. She fell like a stone.

  "That spear cast belongs to an earlier time. Only Homer could have done it justice."

  Joseph and Jens, side by side, smashed into the Utuku. The other members of the shock squad formed a wedge behind them. As the ferocity of their attack split open the Utuku center, the Pilgrims poured in behind, widening the breach.

  On the left, Ludmilla and Takashi now ordered a change in tactics. The platoons abandoned all subtlety and fell onto the Utuku, assegais flashing. The Utuku right flank, already demoralized, began to give way completely.

  On the right, Indira heard a sudden burst of gukuy voices, speaking in a tongue she did not know.

  Kiktu battle language, she realized. Far back, perched upon a battlemother who had remained out of the fray, she spotted the figure of a gukuy. The new commands were issuing from her, and being passed forward. S
uddenly, the Kiktu warriors abandoned their fluid maneuvers and smashed directly into the Utuku.

  That must be Kopporu. She, too, realizes that the decisive moment is here.

  The Utuku left began to collapse.

  "Oh, shit," she heard Julius whisper.

  She looked to the center, and held her breath. Joseph, Jens, and their small squad of shock troops had become isolated. Inexperienced in a large battle, using combined forces, they had overestimated the ability of the Pilgrims to keep pace with them. They were surrounded now by Utuku warriors. Here, in the relatively unblooded center, the Utuku battle commanders had been able to maintain a semblance of discipline and control. Now, seeing the demons finally immobilized, the Utuku took courage and began a frenzied assault.

  The Mother of Demons watched her children begin to die. The combat was furious, the carnage incredible; and for every human boy who fell, a dozen Utuku were slain. Some strange, new, cold part of her mind took satisfaction in the fact. But—

  Indira watched the blood gush from Harry Jackson's neck, half severed by a flail blow, and knew he would be dead within seconds; and remembered the time she had held him in her arms, trying to console a sobbing eight-year-old boy desolated by the death of the little owoc spawn he had tried to shelter. She watched an Utuku warrior, with her dying effort, wrestle Esteban Sanchez to the ground. Watched as the flails of other Utuku rained down upon him. Watched Jens try to save him, be driven back, then rally. Watched the methodical fury with which he butchered the Utuku assailing his comrade. Watched his heroic effort fail of its purpose. For even at that distance Indira could read the lifelessness in Esteban's body, when Jens finally reached him. Watched a cluster of Utuku surge over Ahmed Khoury and Ed Kincaid, stripping flesh from bones. And saw them recoil, their murderous work done, from Joseph's terrible vengeance.

  The Pilgrims pushed forward, trying to break through to the isolated humans. The shield wall held them back. The Utuku warriors in the center were regaining courage, seeing the demons finally die. The Utuku flanks were now caving in completely, and Indira thought the battle would be won. But not in time to save the handful of boys trapped in the center pocket.

  And now we're learning the oldest secret of war, she thought bitterly. No battle plan survives contact with the enemy.