Survivors: Drake Douay (aka Arabin lol Arabin), Sully Yot (the Favoured Disciple), Jon Arabin (the Warwolf), Slagger Mulps (the Walrus), Rolf Thelemite (oathbreaker accursed of Rovac), Jon Disaster (slayer of monsters), Whale Mike (by common agreement, an imbecile just smart enough to put one foot in front of another), Bucks Cat (a husky Talsh-born maroon with a grinning throat-scar speaking his luck), Simp Fiche (a degenerate pervert even by Orfus standards), Ika Thole (harpoon man from the Ebrells), Ish Ulpin (slim, grim gladiator from Chi'ash-lan), Prince Oronoko (who converted to the Flame after travelling with Zanya Kliedervaust to Stokos), Zanya Kliedervaust (who, having survived the journey from Burntos to Drangsturm to the Ebrells to Parengarenga, was martyred in the Great Arena of Dalar ken Halvar in company with Oronoko – fortunately being rescued by Drake Douay before her martyrdom could proceed to its proper conclusion).
Missing in Action: Guest Gulkan (Pretender to the throne of Tameran, enemy of the Witchlord Onosh Gulkan, past companion of Rolf Thelemite).
A day's march. South. Downriver. Grey skies. The threat of further snow – withheld for the moment. Stumbling water. The forests forever. Each survivor nursing aches, bruises, nightmares.
Near day's end, they killed another of the dog-like creatures.
'One of your relatives, Mulps me beauty,' said Jon Arabin, pointing to the creature's startling green eyes.
Drake again remembered the wizard Miphon, who had had eyes of a similar green. The wizard had given advice about love. Yes. Flowers. Poetry. Persistence. Pretty speaking. Daily visits. Sincerity. A diligent wooing. He'd thought it nonsense at the time. But, if he'd followed the pox doctor's advice, maybe he would have had Zanya years ago . . .Evening.Firelight.'Drake,' she said.'That's my name,' he answered.
'Can you explain it?' she said. 'Who are you? Arabin lol Arabin, priest of the Flame, son of Jon Arabin? Or Drake Douay, swordsmith of Stokos?'
'Both,' said Drake, who had talked things over with his putative father during the march, synchronizing a whole raft of mutually supporting lies.'How so?' said Zanya.
'I was,' said Drake, hoping he had the story right. 'I was, you see, born in Ling, on the terror-coast of the Deep South. There my gold-skinned mother bore me to my coal-black father. But, when I were but a boy, an evil slaver by name of Atsimo Andranovory stole me from the cradle. It were on Stokos I ended up. There a family by name of Douay bought me at market, not for profit but from pity. Thus I came to be Douay. Drake they call me, which is a word in Ligin meaning strilk.''Strilk?' said Zanya.
'Aye. Well. You know not that word? Strilk is something you eat, it's a cholo of sorts.' 'A cholo?' said Zanya.
'Well, yes,' said Drake, not knowing how else to render the word 'gourd' in Galish. 'Anyway, it's a fat thing you eat, okay? And a common name on Stokos. Where there's lots of Douays, aye, the place is crawling with them. Many of them Drakes, too, when it comes to that. And a fair few known as Dreldragon Drakedon Douay.'
'How come so many people with the same name?' said Zanya, unable to quell her last suspicion.
'Well, it's to do with taxes, you see,' said Drake. 'They're pretty harsh, as you may have heard when you were living in Cam. That was because King Tor always wanted to build roads and such rubbish, which meant the taxes were always on the upper. Anyway. With a name the same as everyone else, it's easy to escape the taxman. Hence the name.'
'Oh,' said Zanya. 'Then how . . . how are we, as worshippers of the Flame, to know the son of the Demon Hagon when we meet with him?'
'Evil cannot hide from the righteous,' said Drake sententiously. 'Evil speaks loud to the pure. We'll know the Demon-son all right, once we get him in a strangle. But don't expect to find him running around the world under his own true name! Oh no! He'll be far more cunning than that.'
'Yes,' said Zanya. 'Yes, yes, I suppose he will be. So . . .'
'So any person we come across called Dreldragon Drakedon Douay,' said Drake, 'that person, clearly, from the simple process of logic, cannot be the Demon-son. For the Evil One would hide his name far better.''Yes,' said Zanya, with relief.
It all fitted. If her lover had been the Evil One, he would have led his friends in gang rape already. He would not be talking so sweet and soft. And he would have hidden his name far better.
'I'd … I'd like to say thank you for saving my life,' said Zanya, regretting her earlier discourtesies.'My pleasure,' said Drake.
'We've settled who you are,' said Zanya. 'You're the son of Jon Arabin, yet a swordsmith of Stokos also. And a priest of the Flame on occasion. But – do you … do you truly believe in the Flame?''I'm not sure,' said he, giving an honest answer.'But you've been preaching the doctrines of the Flame.'
'I have,' he said. 'But living amongst pirates has. . . it's been fearful hard on occasion. To keep faith, I mean.'
'I understand,' said Zanya softly. 'I've had hard times myself, on the road between Burntos and Dalar ken Halvar. There have been times, indeed, when I thought of Gouda Muck and felt. . . but no, I'll not talk of that.''Please do!' said Drake. 'Feel free!'
So she told him how her own faith had suffered since he saw her last.
'The worst time was after my arrest in Dalar ken Halvar,' said Zanya. 'I was sentenced to death in the arena. I prayed to the Flame – but no help came.'T came!' objected Drake. 'Aye, and fought monsters!'
'Yes,' said Zanya. 'But, somehow . . . somehow you don't seem very holy. Even if you Believe, I. . . somehow I can't credit you as an instrument of the Flame . . .'
They then talked theology for some time.
Later, when Drake went for a piss, Sully Yot came sidling up to him.
'Remember,' said Yot, sotto voce, 'Gouda Muck would have us be pure.'
'Man,' said Drake, 'I'm in no shape to be thinking of fornicating. So don't worry about my purity.'
'You don't fool me!' said Yot. 'I know you've been whispering sweet nothings into that woman's ear!'
'I've been doing no such thing,' said Drake. 'We've been talking about metaphysics, aye, and the Theory of Knowledge, the problem of pain, the nature of free will and the possibility of salvation for those who pray to false gods.'
He spoke the truth. But the truth was so improbable that Yot thought him the veriest liar.
'I know you!' he said. 'You've been talking to her about sex, that's what. Sex all dressed up fancy, probably. Long discussions about the spiritual aspects of physical union.'
Once heard, this could not be forgotten. So when Drake went back to Zanya, he gently steered the conversation around to a discussion of precisely that: the spiritual aspects of physical union. He did it carefully, for he had learnt a few lessons by now.
Later still, when Drake left Zanya's side a second time, Jon Arabin followed him into the undergrowth.'Drake.''Aye?''Did she take our story all right?'
'She swallowed it solid, man,' said Drake. 'She believes I'm your son and a Stokos swordsmith both.'
'Good,' said Arabin. 'That girl's worth having. And she's hot for you. Play it for the thrust, man. You can get there tomorrow, if not tonight.''What the hell do you care either way?' asked Drake.
'I just don't want to see good meat going to waste,' said Arabin. 'And . . . Drake, there's something we have to talk about.''What?'
'Drake, I've never talked religion to you. But now's the time. I know gods, Drake, powerful gods. Aye. They've taken me through to pirate captain though all the world was against me. They're-'
'Demon's balls!' said Drake. 'Can't a man go into the bushes for a quiet shit without half the world's religions chasing after him?'
T won't take much of your time,' said Arabin. 'All I want is a little talk.'
'You're competing with diarrhoea,' said Drake, pulling down his pants. 'And you're losing!'
At that Jon Arabin retired. He would have plenty of chances in the future to convert Drake to the Creed of Anthus. There was, surely, no need to hurry.
That night, it was cold. That night, Zanya and Drake held each other close. For warmth. And, as far as Zanya was concerned, for safety. She mistrusted Drake's evil companions – Bucks Cat and Ish Ulpin in particular. She would have been terrified sleeping alone, without the protection of a fellow worshipper of the Flame.
Both woke in the deep dark, long after midnight. What had woken them? Mutual dreams of lust. Silently, they kissed. They kissed, and fingered. Then slept. And dreamt of taking their lust to its logical conclusion.
Come morning, Drake found both Yot and Arabin were onto him. Yot with lectures about purity, self-control, virtue, the teachings of Gouda Muck and the demands of the Flame. Arabin with a different message altogether, and news of the gods of the Creed of Anthus.
'Our religion teaches that we must father a man for each we kill,' said Arabin. 'Drake, my boy, you've got a lot of breeding to do. This woman is ideal!'
These intellectual assaults multiplied Drake's religious confusion.
Yot, by the very intensity of his belief, annoyed Drake beyond measure; the more Yot insisted on purity, the more Drake regretted ever having made any concessions in that direction. And Arabin, while he did not convert Drake to the Creed of Anthus, certainly managed to weaken Drake's uncertain belief in the Flame.
Zanya's own uncertainties about her faith did nothing whatsoever to bolster Drake's confidence in the Flame. Finally, he decided to reserve judgment on all religions for the time being. What was important at the moment was Zanya. And Zanya's love.
Both Drake and Zanya were well over the shocks of their recent encounters with doom, death and disaster. Their spirits were rising. Their true nature was asserting itself – and the teachings of Gouda Muck had precious little chance against that most notorious of all aphrodisiacs: prolonged propinquity.
T still don't understand,' said Zanya one evening.
'Never mind, my dear,' said Drake. 'Understanding is not essential in women.'
In answer to that she crammed a big greasy hunk of bear meat down the back of his neck, whereupon he attacked her. Once the two of them had sublimated a substantial fraction of their sexual energies by wrestling – she was a right proper handful, that one – she complained again: T still don't understand.'
Drake thought of another smart reply to that, but restrained himself. They were now several days downstream from the Old City. Hunting had been good, since Simp Fiche had shown an uncanny knack for sniffing out bears, and they had killed three already (Zanya claimed the poor creatures died of fright when they saw Whale Mike). Zanya still had plenty of bear meat on hand, and would doubtless use it unless Drake behaved himself.'What don't you understand?' said Drake.
'Why you ever use that ugly name Drake. Or Drel-dragon. Yes, I haven't forgotten – the people who adopted you on Stokos named you that. So you had no choice. But you've got a choice now. The Demon-son's name – every time I hear it, it makes me shudder.'
'It's not that bad, is it? Surely? Dreldragon Drakedon Douay. A good name, and common on Stokos – why, as common as two-headed seagulls and bird-eating rocks.''Common as what?' said Zanya.'Common as kisses,' said Drake, trying to give her one.She pushed him away.T hate the Demon-son,' she said.
'And so do I,' said Drake. 'Why, if I had him in front of me, I'd suck out his eyes then twist on his gizzard till his teeth popped out. He deserves to die. Why, just for stealing Muck's mastersword, he should die.'
'Dearest,' said Zanya, who could not follow Drake's quick-weaving pirate cant when it got into swing. 'Talk Galish slow and proper if you wish my understanding. Now – seriously. Why call yourself by that evil name when others are so much nicer? So much nicer, yet free for the taking.'
'Very well,' said Drake. 'By muckle or huckle I'll girth me loins with sunlight, eat two raw eggs then be Arabin lol Arabin forever.'
'Say what?' said Zanya, who had not understood.
So Drake said, slowly, enunciating his words carefully in his best formal Galish, the true Trading Tongue of the Salt Road instead of the pirate-garbled snatch-talk which ruled in the Greater Teeth:'E'parg Arabin lol Arabin.'
Meaning, literally, 'I bear (carry) Arabin lol Arabin' – or, in translation, 'I am called Arabin lol Arabin.'
'I will henceforth be Arabin lol Arabin single and only,' said Drake. 'I formally keelhaul the name Drake. I execute it. With Dreldragon with it. Aye. And Drake Douay. And all those other things so close to swearing.'
'P'tosh, Arabin lol Arabin,' said Zanya, greeting him with what she was happy to think of as his true and proper name, the one his father had given him at birth.
'Yes,' said Drake. 'It's only Arabin lol Arabin I'll be, from now unto death. In other words, as long as we're married for.''I never said I'd marry you!' said Zanya.'But you will, darling,' said Drake, imperiously.And that led to some more high-spirited wrestling.
Dour men watched jealously from evening shadows, and, that night, as Drake and Zanya slept (chastely enough) in each other's arms, some of those men had muttering conversations about the joy of rape.
Early the next morning, they all set off downstream again.
'Today,' said Drake to Zanya. 'You must marry me. I can't wait much longer.''You're not serious, are you?' she said. 'Of course I am.'
'But Gouda Muck wants us all to be celibate: he told me so himself.''Did he?'said Drake. 'Yes!''In his own words?' 'Of course!''Well,' said Drake. 'What difference does it make?
You've told me yourself you have strong doubts about the Flame.'
'About the Flame being the High God of All Gods, yes,' said Zanya. 'About Gouda Muck being the Flame in the flesh, yes. But not about the preachings of Gouda Muck.''How so?'
'Even if Muck isn't a god,' said Zanya, 'his doctrine still holds many truths.' 'Such as what?'
'Such as truths about physical relationships,' said Zanya.'They're evil!'
'Are they?' said Drake. 'How can we know that unless we try? It's an interesting theory, to be sure, but we have to investigate it before we can truth it.'
His inspiration for this declaration was the Inner Principles of the Old Science which he had been taught as an apprentice on Stokos. An unusual implement of seduction, to be sure – but Drake was willing to try anything.T have tried it,' said Zanya.
'What? Physical relationships? I bet there's things you haven't tried.''I bet there aren't,' she said.
So, in that competitive spirit, they had a long – very long – discussion.
Zanya remembered what Jon Arabin had told her in confidence: that Drake Douay was in truth a virgin. So she discounted his wild tales about being seduced by his sister at age thirteen, about selling his body and buying the flesh of others, about his seduction of the eldest daughter of Baron Farouk of Hexagon, and about a great many other adventures he claimed to have had. He was just a boy, a poor shy innocent boy, too timid for her to possibly be afraid of.
In reply to Drake's stories, Zanya told about her life as a priestess of the Orgy God. The details made his eyes bug.
'I've seen it all,' said Zanya. 'And I've seen the evil of it.'Then she told him about her family, destroyed by the horrors of venereal disease and alcoholism.
'Lust and drink,' said Zanya. 'That's what does the damage.'
'Well,' said Drake. 'Well . . . maybe you can have too much of a good thing.'
This concession represented, for him, a major intellectual advance.
'No,' said Zanya, 'they're not good things at all. Sex is poison. So is alcohol. I just told you I'd seen the proof of it.'
'Ah,' said Drake, 'but you're living proof that one can taste yet not necessarily be poisoned. Therefore it must be a matter of quantity. And . . . quality, perhaps.''But-'
'Nay, woman. The cities of the world are peopled with heads as numerous as seashore sands. For each of those heads, one act of fornication, minimum. There's a world of tasting there. But is the whole world poxed? No! Is the whole world poisoned? No!'
'Drake,' said Yot, coming over to them, 'can I ask you if you could-'
'You can't and I couldn't!' said Drake. 'Piss off before I knife you!' Yot vanished himself.
'Where were we?' asked Drake, his chain of thought broken.
'Oh, deep in the toils of the higher philosophy,' said Zanya. 'But you'll never persuade me that lust is good. As I'vetoldyou, I've tried everything. And what I tried I didn't like.'
Drake found that believable, since most of the things Zanya had tried as a priestess of the Orgy God seemed less than pleasant – for instance, being roughed over by twenty drunken men while wallowing in the guts of a whale.'So we must be chaste,' continued Zanya.
'Ah,' said Drake, his voice sly. 'But it would be an error to condemn your flesh to chastity before you tried just one last thing.''I tell you, I've tried everything!'
'I listened very very carefully,' said Drake, cunning as a Korugatu philosopher trying to get extended credit at his favourite wine bar. 'And I'm sure, beyond all doubts, that you've never ever tried moderation.'Zanya thought hard.
'Hmmm,' she said. 'You're right. I never have. But in any case, why would I want to practise moderation with you?''Because I love you,' said Drake simply.
'You mean, you'd rather have me than all the other women in the world put together? My charms would be sufficient for fifty lifetimes and the bright day after?'
'Well… I wouldn't go that far,' said Drake. 'I mean, not yet. After I'd tried all the women in the world once, then I'd be in a better position to decide.'She slapped him, which he deserved for being so crass.
'Hey!' he said. 'Can't you take a little joke? Of course I'd want you, just you, only you, dearest cony. I'm in love with you, yea, red skin, red hair, kisses and blisses. This is the real thing. True love!'
'You mean,' said Zanya, 'you hear music when you look at me, smell spring behind my tender ears?'Drake sniffed.
'On Investigation,' he reported, 'I smell, if anything, dead bear.'
Whereupon she slapped him a second time, for impertinence.
But he was a quick learner, and, twenty-three slaps later, was singing her praises as sweetly as any courtly swain in pursuit of a high-born damsel.
Delicately he kissed her, and lightly traced the outlines of her cheekbones, and the hand which fondled its way between her thighs was so gentle, so skilled, so courteous, that she could scarcely resist its claim on her desires.She had not had a man for three years.
Or a dog, or a woman, or a cucumber, or any other form of relief. Religion had even kept her from pleasuring her own flesh. But propinquity was steadily eroding her religious faith.However, fear still kept her chaste.For the time being.
For, if she took on Drake Douay, what then? She knew what men were like. She must stand staunch against all of them. For, if she gave in to one, the others would then be insulted by her refusal. She still had nightmares about serving lust en masse in the Ebrells. Even though that was years ago.
Therefore she – gently – removed that skilled and courteous hand from between her thighs. When it replaced itself, she – not so gently – tried to break one of its fingers. The hand got the message.
Thus Drake and Zanya, lying in each other's arms on the fur-side of a fresh-killed bearskin, practised not moderation but abstinence. And the art of the promise.
But Drake's comrades – men wise in the ways of the world – believed what it was only natural for them to suspect. And this increased the jealousy of some of them beyond all reason.