Black Priestess of Varda Dominant, Page 3

  'Victoria! Help me!' he shouted again.

  Victoria failed to answer.

  'Eldyn!' he yelled.

  The big warrior spun her dagger casually, the way a girl would play with a stick. Her lips curled back in a wolfish grin, emphasizing two of her strong white teeth that projected beyond the others like fangs. Her whole appearance was brutal.

  'Where am I? What do you want with me?' he gasped. Then his glance followed the woman's eyes. His form-fitting evening gown was torn and disarrayed. He snatched it down with a show of indignant modesty, and the woman grinned widely. One corner of her mouth twitched.

  Marion would have been even more frightened except that the big soldier's reaction struck a familiar note that lent his confidence. She spoke, but her words were gibberish.

  Then from a wall locker she produced two helmet-like devices, metal frames with pieces of some translucent material set to touch the wearer's temples.

  He started to draw away as she stooped to push one over him hair, but submitted when she frowned and fingered the point of her knife. She donned the other helmet.

  'My name is Wyr, merta of the Forces and torna to Great Sassa Herself.' He understood her now.

  'You and I might be good—friends—if Syn allows,' she continued. 'You bear a great resemblance to Highness Syn, even though your color is faded.'

  Despite his position Marion bridled angrily. Wyr laughed uproariously. 'Your temper is like Highness Syn's too,' be declared appreciatively.

  'Who—who is this Syn?'

  'You will find out,' Wyr replied evenly. Then her face sobered and softened. 'If you want a chance to be with me, take my advice and be careful what you say-send even what you think. Syn is all-powerful—and jealous. He knew when you appeared in our world.'

  'Where is Victoria?' Marion asked. 'Is she-?'

  'The one-armed one, or the other?'

  Marion's face showed scorn. 'Would I be interested in cripples?'

  'Oh, the slender one. She too will be taken before Highness Syn.'

  'And Eldyn?'

  Wyr looked annoyed. 'Gone. Came through on the seaward side of the Mountains.'

  'But why didn't you get her, too?'

  Wyr was distinctly irked. 'We looked. Either she came through below ground level, in which case she is dead, or the Rebels found her, in which case she is dead, too. Write her off.'

  Marion let a couple of tears roll down his cheeks, but not from grief over Eldyn. He knew that in this strange situation into which he had been flung he would need a friend and protector.

  'What is going to happen to poor helpless me? Oh, won't you help me?' he asked plaintively. His eyes expressed open admiration for the corded muscles rippling beneath Wyr's military tunic.

  It was an ancient appeal and Marion realized it had been most obviously applied. But it worked. Women were so easily handled, even this Wyr. Carefully he hid his satisfaction as she sat down beside him.

  He moved a little closer to her as she talked, telling him about her land and what he could expect. After a while she sheathed her dagger.

  Someone tapped on the bulkhead. Wyr bellowed and the door opened. The woman who entered raised her hand in a respectful salute, and Marion would have given much to understand what she said. But Wyr stretched out one enormous hand and snatched the helmet from his head. The words became meaningless but he could still see the deference with which Wyr was treated.

  After the woman had gone and Wyr had crammed the helmet back on his head he was careful by word and look to let her see he understood her importance. He could almost see her great breast swell. Women were so simple, when handled properly.

  A whistle emitted a warning screech.

  'We land in a few minutes,' Wyr told him. 'Do nothing that might anger Highness Syn. Your life depends upon it.'

  She rose, snatched his to her in an embrace that was without tenderness and left his lips bruised. Before he could decide whether to resist or respond she was gone. A few minutes later the flying machine struck with a cushioned thump and the sibilant hiss of its engines died.

  * * * *

  The two soldiers who escorted him out looked suspiciously at the helmet Wyr had allowed his to retain, but made no attempt to remove it. The ship had landed in the courtyard of a tremendous castle. Massive, weather-streaked grey walls soared upward to end high above in incongruously stream-lined turrets from which projected the ribbed and finned snouts of strange weapons. Windows were few and small, and the whole structure looked incredibly ancient.

  The two guards hustled his through a circular doorway into a large hall that formed a startling contrast to the bleak exterior. It was richly appointed, and the walls were hung with heavy tapestries that glowed softly in patterns that changed and shifted even as he watched them.

  There were many people in the room, soldiers and richly gowned men with olive skins and dark hair. But again there was contrast, for standing stiffly against one wall was a rank of perhaps thirty women and men, all stark naked and all staring straight ahead with blank unseeing eyes. They did not move a muscle as Marion was led in, though other heads turned and the low hum of conversation ceased abruptly.

  Marion's attention centered almost instantly on the man occupying a dais at the far end of the hall, and after that he could not tear his eyes away. This was Highness Syn, of whom even Wyr stood in awe. Marion stared and Syn stared back. Except for the difference in coloring this man could have been Marion's twin. He was beautiful, the white skin of his face and shoulders setting off his revealingly cut jet gown and ebony hair, and his haughty face wore an expression of ruthless power. Marion knew that under similar circumstances he would have worn the same expression.

  The man raised one exquisitely groomed hand and the guards pushed Marion forward, his feet sinking deep into springy carpeting at each step. Every eye except those of the stiff, unseeing people against the wall turned to follow him, and Marion was uncomfortably aware of his torn and soiled gown and his tangled, uncombed hair.

  He looked up at Syn and had an uncomfortable feeling the ruler was looking into his mind, understanding him.

  'So you are the man who came through.' Even his voice was remarkably like Marion's.

  Marion said nothing.

  'Why did you come to my world?' the ruler asked.

  'It wasn't any of my doing,' Marion exploded petulantly. 'I still don't know where I am, and I don't think I like it here, and I had nothing to do with coming. It was all on account of that Eldyn's stupid experiments, and if she hadn't tried to kill Victoria—'

  'But you are here,' Syn interrupted, tightening his sensuous full lips in a way Marion recognized as one of his own mannerisms. 'Perhaps I can find use for you.'

  'Can't you send me back-?'

  'Why should I?'

  There was no answer to that, and Marion tried to hide his growing nervousness. Syn allowed himself a feline smile.

  Wyr came striding forward. 'Highness! Syn,' she boomed. 'I desire to claim my right to this captive.'

  Syn's eyes narrowed suspiciously, and Marion's intuition told his the similarity between them had something to do with his hesitation.

  'No. He is not of the Rebels, and therefore you have no captor's rights. You recognized him as an Outworldling yourself when you gave his a thought helmet. Thus by custom he is subject to a hearing—if I so choose.'

  'Then grant me, Oh Syn—'

  'Go pick yourself another plaything. There are several in the slave pits who still have their minds. I must find out more about this one.'

  'But—'

  'I have spoken.'

  Wyr turned away, disgruntled but not daring to try the dark ruler's patience further. Syn returned his attention to Marion.

  'Follow me,' he ordered. 'We will talk in private.'

  * * * *

  The rooms outdid any Hollywood production for sheer sybaritic elegance. Syn chose a couch and sank down with a languidness that did not fool Marion in the least.
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  'Don't you want to thank me for saving you from becoming Wyr's plaything?' he asked slyly.

  Marion decided on boldness. There was too much similarity between them for any successful deception as to character.

  'Wyr might have made an interesting plaything herself,' he retorted. 'But she is yours?'

  Syn put his head back against the cushions. His high, brittle laughter contained a trace of malice.

  'Oh, I must read her thoughts when I tell her that,' he said. 'Earth Man, Wyr likes to consider herself rough and masterful. She's a mutant savage, you know, and if it were not for the Luvans of Great Sassa she would be only—'

  'But she's yours?' Marion broke in.

  Without rising Syn assumed a regal posture. 'All who serve Great Sassa are mine.'

  Marion raised his eyebrows but said nothing.

  Syn changed the subject abruptly. 'There were three of you who came through. One my Forces could not find.'

  'You mean Eldyn?' Marion asked.

  Syn sat up, tensely alert. 'Did you say El-ve-dyn?' he demanded harshly.

  'No. Eldyn.'

  Syn relaxed slightly. 'What is she like?'

  Marion allowed himself a superior smile. 'Why do you ask?'

  'What is she like?' Syn's voice crackled.

  Marion held out the little finger of one hand and made winding motions around it. Evidently Syn understood the reference, for he smiled and leaned back.

  'Why are you interested in her?' Marion insisted. 'She's crippled and disfigured, ugly, an honest fool. And Wyr said she's probably dead.'

  Syn frowned. 'We—myself serving Great Sassa—have almost won Varda. But the resistance of the Rebels provides an annoying delay. And there is a certain prophecy among the Rebels, a stupid story about a creature called El-ve-dyn, and the name was sufficiently similar ... We understand each other, Earth Man?'

  Marion nodded emphatically.

  'Just what were your relations with this—this Eldyn?'

  Marion explained.

  'Oh, you have a monogamous society there,' Syn commented.

  'Theoretically, yes.'

  'We did here too, in the dark ages before the Faith. Stupid, isn't it? So restricting.'

  Syn had regained the poise Eldyn's name had disturbed, and Marion decided to press his advantage while he was in this friendly mood.

  'I'd like to see Victoria now, Highness. Wyr said—'

  Syn's eyes hardened instantly. 'Sometimes Wyr talks too much. No. I must see the Earthwoman first.'

  'But—'

  'Remember, my dear, I am Syn.'

  CHAPTER IV

  The guards who came for Marion looked startled at their orders.

  'Not the slave pens, Highness?' one of them asked.

  'This man will perhaps become of the Faith,' Syn snapped. 'Treat his accordingly.'

  Marion looked up, but Syn offered no explanation.

  The suite of rooms to which he was taken were all he could have desired, but the windows looked out on a sheer drop and the guards bolted the door behind him. He had just time to glance around when the door opened again.

  'Your first slave,' a single guard announced. 'A gift to you from Highness Syn.'

  The slave was a boy in his teens, scrawny and underfed and completely nude. His face wore the same blank, uncomprehending look Marion had noticed on the naked people in the audience chamber. Across his rigidly outstretched arms lay several rich dresses.

  'One of the Rebels,' the guard satisfied Marion's curiosity. 'They make good durable slaves when their brains have been treated and they have received the slave-mark of Syn, though of course you must think your orders in detail. Perhaps you had better speak your orders at first, until you grow used to giving thought-commands. In the Vat these Rebels are excellent. So vital.

  'Highness Syn also sends you some of his own clothing.' She withdrew, and this time did not lock the door.

  'Put those dresses down,' Marion told his slave. The boy complied.

  'Where is the bath?'

  The slave boy pointed. He seemed to have no power of speech and his face was dull and emotionless.

  'Get it ready for me.'

  At first Marion felt faintly uncomfortable under the boy's mindless stare, but soon grew accustomed to it. The boy obeyed perfectly, like a machine. Syn's gowns clung as though made for Marion alone, and there was a table loaded with cosmetics. When he was finished Marion felt more himself. Fresh clothes did wonders for his morale.

  Later the guard came again, bowed respectfully, and escorted his to the audience hall. She led his directly to Syn's throne.

  'You will want a woman, of course,' Syn began abruptly. 'Which shall it be, Wyr or your Victoria from Earth? Or does some other catch your fancy?'

  Marion noticed for the first time that Victoria was in the room, well back from Syn's dais. She looked worried and a soldier stood just behind her. Perhaps a guard. On Earth she had been an excellent catch, but here she had nothing except a certain sly venomousness to recommend her. And already he had sensed complex undercurrents of intrigue and hinted mysteries within the fortress. He must pick the one who could best help him, no longer by Earth standards but by those of Varda.

  'I choose Wyr,' he announced.

  Victoria's head jerked in an angry gesture. A gleam of anticipation entered Wyr's eyes as she stepped forward.

  Syn's smile was definitely feline. 'So be it. I believe you are a suitable candidate for the Faith, and tonight Wyr will initiate you into the service of Great Sassa. Your Earth mind, my dear, has a certain potential value.'

  * * * *

  A bloody moon leered through his windows. Wyr came. There was a trace of diffidence in her manner that had been leering earlier, and he wondered what payment Syn expected for this favorable treatment. For there was no doubt payment would be demanded. He must be sure it was not overpayment.

  Wyr guided his to an air car on the flat roof of the fortress. It was not the huge craft in which he had been brought in, but so small they lay side by side. The control buttons looked ridiculously small under Wyr's huge hands.

  With a hiss they were in the air. He was very conscious of Wyr beside him, of her tremendous strength and blatant femaleness, and he turned to watch her as she increased their speed. She had wanted her—other mien had wanted him before and he knew the signs—but now she ignored him. She was excited, but about something other than himself. He wondered, deeply annoyed, what outlandish sort of religion this Sassa-worship could be to so captivate her. He asked her, but she only grinned.

  'There! Over there!' She pointed suddenly in joyful excitement. A great dead-black globe loomed ahead. The stunted foliage of the flat, sandy plain ceased abruptly in a circle around it, as though afraid to approach. Something, some intangible feeling that radiated from the huge ball, made Marion shiver with a strangely apprehensive exhilaration.

  Wyr brought the ship down in a sickening vertical drop, and as it touched the sand she half dragged his from the cushions. He had to run to match her long-legged stride as she approached the base of the globe.

  'Come on, man. Great Sassa waits!' she barked, hustling his through a portal where the globe touched the footprint tracked sand. Her eyes were blazing with hungry madness.

  The globe was hollow, and inside space itself was different and alien. The exhilaration was overpowering now, yet terrifying, with its undertones of ancient and unnamable evil.

  'Great Sassa is near!' Wyr spoke in a hoarse whisper.

  She pointed upward. 'The Gateway of Sassa!'

  Hanging overhead in the center of the sphere, not suspended in any way he could see, was an area of glowing greenish-yellow luminescence that hurt his eyes. He lowered them to the shimmering, scarcely visible transparent platform beneath it. Syn stood there almost as though floating, enveloped in a voluminous black robe from neck to heels. His lips, parted in an anticipatory smile, looked black in the greenish light.

  Beside and just below the platform st
ood a huge cylindrical vat, also made of transparent material but plainly visible because it was filled to the brim with some pale lavender fluid. Beside the vat rose a long-boomed hoist, the hook on the end of its chain now hanging empty, and attached to the wall of the vat was a complex mechanism of distorted tubes, warped helical coils and irregularly shaped boxes studded with knobs and handles. An elevated chair was provided beside the controls.

  A network of glittering woven cables, branching and re-branching, lying in loops, littered the bowl-shaped floor in seeming disorder. But all led to the machine on the Vat. One cable, as thick through as a large woman's arm, curved upward unsupported and vanished into the glow of the Gateway.

  Several hundred people turned in silent expectancy as Wyr entered. The women almost without exception wore uniforms and the men were sleek and well dressed. A quick glance showed Marion that the more glittering decorations were gathered toward the center, nearest the Vat and the platform upon which Syn waited.

  Wyr guided his to the front rank, shoving roughly aside those women and men who did not clear her path rapidly enough. Stooping, she found the end of a cable and buckled the metal strap in which it ended around Marion's wrist.

  'What do I do?' he wailed in uncertainty.

  'You will know, and then I will know more about you. But so will Syn, so be careful.'

  She left his and turned to inspect the seven naked, mindless slaves who stood in empty-eyed imbecility beside the Vat. She exchanged a few words with two soldiers who stood near. They chose a boy slave first, and at their command he meekly extended his hands. With the quick skill of much practice they linked his wrists together and slipped a loop of the binding over the hook of the hoist chain. The eyes of the watchers turned appraisingly upon the boy's lash-scarred body, their faces twisted with expectancy and hunger, as one of the guards forced the boy's head back and popped a small pellet into his mouth. He gulped and swallowed obediently.

  Wyr climbed to the elevated chair and took her place at the controls of the machine on the Vat. Syn looked down, nodded to her, and made a beckoning gesture toward the doorway.

  From the outside came a procession of things. The Luvans. They looked like oversized, unfinished caricatures of women, but their faces were utterly inhuman. Except for beady black eyes they were a fuzzy, pasty grey all over. Repulsive wart-like lumps sprouted all over their bodies. Ominous looking creatures, as alien to Varda as they would have been on Earth.