Roger Zelazny - Donnerjack

“It feels as if a current is passing through me, between your hand and the mountain,” he said after a time.

“This is indeed the case.” the other replied, “though some of it remains to enhance your personal attributes. In other words, you grow stronger by the moment.”

The aura reached a peak of brightness and Seaga held it so for several minutes more. Then he withdrew his hand suddenly and let it fall to his side.

“And so, Celerity, you are ready,” he said. “Go forth into the worlds, obtain knowledge of this matter, and bring it to me.”

Celerity raised a hand and flexed it. He stared at it. It began to glow with the golden light. He smiled. He raised his wand and saluted Seaga with it.

“At your service,” he said.

Then he sprang straight up into the air, hovered a moment, and turned. Suddenly, he was gone, a golden streak in the north. Moments later he reappeared, out of the south.

“At your service,” he repeated. Then he was gone into the east.

Sayjak wiped his machete on the pant leg of one of the bounties, then regarded the man’s web belt with the sheathed machete hung above the left hip. Stooping, he studied the manner in which it was fastened. Here, his experience with knots seemed somehow to serve him. He understood how it worked. Leaning forward, he unfastened and removed it. Raising it then, he saw that it was too short to fit about his own waist. He was about to cast it away when he realized how it might be adjusted. He expanded it to its greatest length then clasped it about himself. He withdrew the machete and looked at it. It was cleaner, newer-looking than the one he held. He replaced it in the sheath and plunged the old one into the ground beside the corpse. Then he straightened for a moment and regarded the twelve dead bounties, seated with their backs against tree trunks, their heads in their laps, hands positioned as if holding them.

“Good work,” he said to the others, who had stood watching him, “because you did what I told you.”

“Two hands, two dicks of bodies,” Staggert said. “The People never did them like that before.”

“Not done yet, either,” Sayjak said.

“We going back for the others—west, south?”

“No. Too many. There is another way.”

“What?”

“You will see. Get the rest of the clan together now. The way is open to go northwest.”

“We run away?”

“Little bit. Not for good.”

Staggert moved to one of the bodies, leaned forward, groped at its waist.

“What you doing?” Sayjak asked.

“Get a waist thing and a cutting stick like yours, to take heads with.”

Sayjak moved forward, placed a hand on his shoulder and pushed. Staggert fell sprawling.

“No!” Sayjak said. “Nobody get cutting stick but boss. Just Sayjak.”

Staggert sprang to his feet with a snarl. He began to raise his hands and Sayjak struck him a low blow. He grunted and clutched his groin.

“Only boss has cutting stick,” Sayjak said.

Staggert’s eyes narrowed. Then he looked away.

“Sure, boss. Only Sayjak,” he said then.

Sayjak turned to the others, all of whom dropped their eyes.

“ Now get the clan together,” he ordered. “We go northwest.”

They moved to comply, and that afternoon Sayjak led his people out of the trap that had been drawn about them. Then he turned to the southwest, taking them to a place known to all the People, even those who had never visited it. All afternoon they moved, pausing only once to feed.

At length, by twilight, they came to the Circle Shannibal. It was a circular clearing in the jungle, a few boulders scattered through it, a large, hard-packed mound of earth at its center. Sayjak increased his pace, heading toward the mound. With a leap, he took himself atop it, and there he paced, turning slowly in all directions.

The clan followed him into the clearing, moving to its center, gathering about the mound, murmuring softly.

“This is the Circle Shannibal,” he said. “Very important place. Long time ago Karak, founder of the clans of the People, lived here. Story is that he beat upon this mound till People in the trees come to see what the matter is. Then he stood here where I am standing and told them why being clan is better than being wild and by yourself. They thought it good idea to join him. Of course, he had to fight some of the toughest ones then who would like to be boss themselves. But that’s okay. He won. Then the clan hung around here for a long time. Place got browsed out, though, and they moved on. Later, clan got too big and they split it. More splits went on over the years. But every now and then, when some big emergency came along, old Karak would come here—back to the starting place—and call them all together. And after he was gone— every now and then, when emergencies came along—the biggest boss would come here to call everybody back to deal with it. Been a long time since Karak’s days and other emergency times. But we got one now, and I’m biggest boss and I’m gonna call ‘em all in. They all remember the stories. They’ll come to see what’s going on.” He knelt then and began striking his fists on the top of the mound. “We all gotta help. Take turns hitting it. Get big sticks if you gotta. Don’t hit each other.”

Several moved to join him as he climbed down and stood at the mound’s side. Soon their pounding grew steady, settled into a rhythm. The others began to sway, then to raise their feet and put them down again.

All through the night the drumming went on, the clan slowly working itself into a bashing, wailing, foot-stamping frenzy. The jungle continued to throb with the pounding. Soon the first strangers began to arrive.

Throughout the night more of them came to the clearing. At first, it was individuals and couples. Then larger groups appeared to join in the dancing and the drumming. Then old Dortak, who remembered the tradition, came in with the rest of his clan. The Circle began to fill and newcomers relieved tired drummers.

Finally, Otlag entered the Circle with the balance of his people. Later in the afternoon Bilgad’s clan showed up, crowding the Circle, joining in the wailing, the swaying, the great mass circling of the mound. Still Sayjak—sweating and stamping—caused the hypnotic drumming to continue. Individuals dropped out to eat and relieve themselves, returning as soon as they were done. The vibrations in the ground were felt as far as the western bounty camp, but the hunters—who had never experienced a clan summoning—thought it a geological phenomenon and continued the preparations for their project at hand.

The drumming and dancing continued till twilight. Then Sayjak signed to the drummers to stop, and when they had, he vaulted once more to the top of the mound. He turned slowly in a circle, taking in all of the clans with his gaze.

“Many bounties have come to take our heads,” he said. “Three groups of them took places about my clan. Big one to the south, smaller one over that way.” He gestured, then gestured again. “Smallest that way. Sayjak’s clan killed all of the last one, took their heads.”

A murmur ran among the visiting clans.

“That let us get past them,” he continued, “to come here, to the old place, to call in the rest of you. Sayjak’s clan is mighty, but Sayjak is not a fool. Too many bounties there for Sayjak to get them all. But Sayjak knows how to do it. Sayjak wants you to come with him. Not all of you— Sayjak only wants a few good clansmen, big, strong, fast. Come with him and his fighters to the western bounty encampment. There we will kill them all and you will see how it is done. Then we go south to the big bounty camp and everyone must help.”

There was more murmuring, then. “Sayjak,” Dortak called out, “the bounties drew their lines around your clan, came to kill your people. They did not do this to the rest of us. Why should we help you fight your battle?”