The Coming of the Horseclans

22

When it was finally over, Aldora looked at them wonderingly. “There is much that puzzles me. This man or being, this Titus Backstrom, he thinks in Ehleenokos, but he thinks of strange places and unbelievable things and he is surely no Ehleen. And, too, he thinks, sometimes, words and phrases and names that are framed hi a language of utter strangeness. It is like to our tongue—of the Horsepeople, I mean—but oddly different. It… it must be terrible to be as he is …”

“What do you mean, dear?” prompted Mara. “Being someone that you are not for so many years, inhabiting another’s body and … and now … not even fully inhabiting that. He … he can only withdraw from this body,” she indicated the inert form of Lord Alexandras, “if it is conscious, you see. He expected it to be killed, knew that that would be dangerous to him, but he had done such things before and had planned to withdraw whilst it was dying, but still conscious. As it happened, he was only able to retrieve but little of his mind, before it became senseless and the way was closed. Now, he is terribly frightened that you will slay the body, without allowing it to regain consciousness, in which case, his mind can never re-enter the body—which, while not his own, he has become accustomed to. And if he cannot return in the body he has been using, to the place where is his own real body, he cannot return to it, when his work is done …” Aldora trailed off, seeming to but half-understand what she had said.

“Hari,” asked Milo urgently, “is there no way that I can project through her?”

Blind Hari shook his head. “No. Not even I can. There are many differences between her mind and ours.”

Milo turned back to Aldora. “Child, is it possible for you to ascertain where the controller’s body—the one he left to enter this old man’s, I mean—is located now?”

After a moment, she said, “In the camp of the Iron-shirts, War Chief Milo.”

Rapidly, Milo gave Mara and Hari instructions on how to keep Lord Alexandras unconscious, without either killing or waking him, then helped them to move the old man into the rear of the lodge, onto a sleeping pallet. Striding back to the lodge entrance, he stuck out his head and called for Hwil Kuk and the commander-of-hundred, who had accompanied Lord Alexandras’ escort. Shortly, the escort-commander hurried out, mounted, and spurred toward the outskirts of the camp, escorted for his mission by Horsekiller.

When Milo had finished speaking, Djeen Mai slammed his big right fist into his left palm, then nodded slowly. “Witchcraft! I should’ve known. My lord has been strangely unlike himself these past few days, but I thought it was something else.”

“What?” demanded Milo. “What untoward has happened?”

Mai looked around self-consciously. “Well,” he said hesitantly, “I promised I’d tell none other, but … Well, nearly a week ago, just before we left Theesispolis, a man who had once, briefly, served my lord drifted into camp. He brought word that Lord Sergjos, my Lord’s only living son, is a gravely wounded captive of the infamous pirate, Pardos, Lord of the Sea Islands. My lord told me this in confidence, ere he went back lo his tent to talk further with the man, Titos. What he was told then must have been ill indeed—or so I thought—for he has behaved oddly since.”

Milo’s eyes narrowed. “Where is this man, this Titos, now?”

“He is in our camp,” replied Mai. Then, his brow furrowing, he added, “And that, too, is odd, devilish odd. He took sick on the same night he spoke with my Lord. He has remained in a swoon since then. I was for leaving him behind, but my Lord insisted he be brought with us. He lies, now, in that wagon which carries him on the march.”

Titos was lifted from the wagon, tightly bound and placed in a horse-litter, then conveyed back to the War Chiefs lodge. Inside the front section of the lodge, he and Lord Alexandras, also bound, were placed side-by-side on the carpet. Then the group—Milo, Mara, Kuk, Hari, Mai, Sam Tchahrtuhz, Aldora, and the two cats—waited for one or both to regain consciousness.

Milo was well into his second cup of wine before he noticed that the muscles of Titos’ bare arms were straining against the bonds; all at once, they relaxed completely; and, shortly after that, Lord Alexandras opened his eyes.

“Hari, Aldora,” Milo mindspoke hurriedly. “Is there any way to force Titos back to his own body?”

Hari “conferred” briefly with the girl before he “spoke.” “Yes, Milo, I think so. If we could but put the body in sufficient peril, I think that Titos would ‘voluntarily’ return, for—as has been said—he can only return to his own, real, body—wherever it may be—from the body of Titos.”

“Why,” snapped Lord Alexandras, “am I bound? If you savage pigs mean to kill me, get it over with! And what is your purpose in dragging my poor, sick former servant here?”

On a hunch, Milo said, “Don’t try to con us, Backstrom. Don’t put us on. We’ve got your number! Furthermore, we’re gonna cool you, baby, liquidate you—both-of you—permanently!”

He had the satisfaction of seeing “Lord Alexandras” momentarily pale. Then the Strahteegohs growled, “If you must speak to me, you savage dog, bark in a dialect I can understand!”

Milo switched back to Old Merikan. “Oh, you understand me well enough, Mr. Backstrom. Also, I’m beginning to remember some things and I think I understand a bit more about you.” Then, addressing himself to all in the lodge, Milo said, “Before The Great Catastrophe—as the Ehleenoee so aptly name it—Kehnooryohs Ehlahs was but a part of one of the states of a gigantic nation which stretched for thousands of leagues—east to west and north to south.’ Though the civilization of that pre-catastrophic era was far higher than anything in existence today, those who inhabited the world then, and benefited—or suffered, as the case may be—from that civilization were not gods, or anything resembling them. They were but men as yourselves.

“The search for knowledge of the universe and everything in it—which was called ‘scientific research’—had advanced quite far in all conceivable directions. One of these was the search for immortality and, since the ‘scientists’ as they were called, had been unable to go very far along the road of true physical immortality, they had commenced a search for ways to make at least the mind immortal. One of these ways, as I remember, was a process in which the mind of an aged person could be transferred to a younger body. When knowledge of these experiments—which had been financed by the nation’s government with funds which had been taxed from all its citizens—accidentally became public knowledge, it was labeled ‘scientific vampirism’ and so heatedly did the great masses of the citizens object, that the project was, supposedly, dropped.

“This all occurred some two or three years prior to The Great Catastrophe and details of this devilish enterprise were fairly well known in some circles. That is how I came by the following facts: Although some sort of mechanical contrivance was necessary to effect the initial mind-transfer, subsequent transfers and re-transfers could be accomplished by the parasitic mind alone, under certain unalterable conditions. To transfer, the parasite’s brain must be conscious and the prospective host’s unconscious; to return or re-transfer, the parasite’s true brain must be unconscious, while the host’s parasite-occupied brain was conscious. This is why Mr. Backstrom, here, could not quit Lord Alexandras, until he had been allowed to regain his senses.

“I know my statements to be truth for this reason: When first he regained consciousness and I spoke to him, I addressed Lord Alexandras/Titus Backstrom in highly idiomatic American English and he understood! Though this tongue was the direct ancestor of Old Merikan and the other Merikan dialects, it differs markedly from any thing spoken today and too few books have survived half a millenium for any to have been able to learn, even were they, by some miracle, capable of reading them. Therefore, we can only surmise that we are dealing with a pre-Catastrophic mind.”

“Unless,” said Mara aloud, “he is like us——”

“That, Mara, is what I mean to ascertain,” Milo stated. “As all know, we Undying may suffer terrible wounds, but we never die of their effects, due to our bodies’ regenerative abilities; so, one of the surest tests for detecting one of us is to open an important artery or large vein and wait to see if the wound closes before the suspect bleeds to death. That is what I intend to do here.

“We will untie Titos/Titus’ body’s hands. After tying the body of Lord Alexandras, quite immovably, on the other side of the lodge, I shall open the other body’s left femoral artery. I shall place materials, from which tourniquet and bandages may be fabricated, near to the hands of the wounded body. Then, we shall wait. We shall just wait, Mr. Backstrom. The next move will be up to you.” “You’re all insane!” snarled Lord Alexandras, as Milo and Hwil Kuk lashed him to the wooden wall of the lodge. “If you murder my old friend, you’ll live to regret it!”

When the carpets were turned back, an oiled skin was placed over the floorboards and the Titos body was untied, unclothed, and laid upon it. Mara prepared several strips of cloth and folded a couple into thick compresses. Milo laid them, a pair of rawhide thongs and a foot-long wooden stick neatly beside the body’s right hand. Then, with the blade of his sgain dubh, he stabbed the inside of the thigh, halfway between knee and crotch. The withdrawal of the knife brought a spurt of bright red blood.

Arising, he returned to the others and, with them, sat sipping wine and studiously ignoring the virtual litany of curses, threats, orders, imprecations and, finally, pleas, from Lord Alexandras’ lips. As no one heeded any of his utterances, the Strahteegohs at last fell silent.

All at once, the naked body sat up, hurriedly tied one of the thongs between the wound and the body on the hairy thigh, inserted the stick and began to tighten it.

When the rawhide was biting deeply into the flesh and the bloodspurts had slacked to a trickle, he attempted to hold the stick and apply a compress at the same time. He failed at both. The tourniquet unwound and, when the blood recommenced to spurt, he panicked, addressing Milo in the ancient vernacular.

“Oh, God damn you, you dirty bastard! Help me, I can’t do it alone. I’m not one of your blasted mutants! This damned body’s about to bleed to death; it’s already getting weaker.”

“It must have been whilst I was out talking to Djeen that night, that the swine slipped something into my wine. For, when I wakened—if you can call it that—he was there, within and in complete control of me! Though I knew all that he had my body say and do, I was helpless. What is he? Why did he do it?” asked Lord Alexandras.

“I don’t know why yet,” replied Milo grimly. “But I will, soon! As to who he is, he is a hundreds-of-years-old mind, that remains ‘alive’ by invading and usurping the bodies of others—God alone knows how many human beings he’s victimized, since he began his noisome career. But he’ll tell us that, too, before I’m done with him!”

Milo mindspoke Chief Djeri, issuing certain instructions, then he addressed Titos/Titus.

“There are some things I’d know of you, Backstrom. If you’ll be cooperative and give me truthful answers to my questions, we can remain civilized. If not, I suppose we’ll just have to see how much punishment that body of yours can endure.”

The captive’s answer was short and couched in ancient Anglo-Saxon words.

Hwil Kuk and Mai hustled the naked man out of the lodge and held him fast until the chiefs had completed the preparations. While a half dozen of the chiefs were engaged in securing the struggling man to the heavy, wooden frame, Milo called Hwahlis of Linsee over.

“Take or send Aldora back to your lodge, Hwahlis,” he told the chief. “I’ve the feeling that this one will be long and hard. In any case, it won’t be pretty and there’s no need for the child to see it.”

Nodding in agreement, Chief Hwahlis turned his daughter over to one of the Linsee clansmen, before he rejoined the knot of chiefs near the fire.

Milo conferred, for some little time, with Lord Alexandras—who seemed still a bit dazed—and Djeen Mai, then strolled over to talk with some of the chiefs. At last, he came to stand before the spread-eagled captive.

“Backstrom,” he said slowly, “we are born of the same era. I suppose you are—or were—some variety of scientist. As such, you must realize that any human body is capable of sustaining just so much pain, then it will die; its heart will cease to function. Over the centuries, I have unfortunately found it necessary to torture a number of persons, also I have watched expert professionals perform the functions of their unpleasant trade. I don’t know whether or not you suffer with this body, but I assume that you probably do.

“Many of the people of our age were soft, Backstrom. I, too, was soft—once. But I’m not soft anymore! Furthermore, I despise you and everything for which you stand. Because of my extensive experiences, I believe myself capable of keeping this body alive for a long, long time—as long as it takes to get some answers from you at least. Because of the fact that you are a despicable creature, I shall probably enjoy what I’m going to do to you, enjoy it so much, in fact, that I may find it difficult to make myself stop, even when you start to talk.

“Therefore, I implore you—for your own sake or, at least, for the sake of this body which houses you—to reconsider your previous, somewhat temerarious, reply.”

“Up you!” Titos/Titus sneered. Then he spat at Milo.