Gene Wolfe - An Evil Guest

Then Hiapo was gone, and King Kanoa was coming toward her. “You have not been injured, I hope.” King Kanoa’s face was in shadow; his booming voice, which so often held a smile, was not smiling on this black morning. “Are you hurt?”

“Scared,” Cassie admitted. “Just scared.”

“You needn’t be. No one here intends you harm.” He took her arm. “I shall protect you. Come with me to the seat of justice.”

More steps, narrow and steep and lit from below by the flickering beams, steps she surmounted one by one on legs that already ached.

The seat of justice was of stone; when she was seated upon it — with her arms pinned to its armrests by the two women — her fingers found carvings.

“This,” King Kanoa told her, “is the ancient throne of my ancestors. It is here that our high king or high queen sits to announce to our assembled nation the justice of the Sky Gods.” His tone was conversational but not light. “At present the only god in our sky is the Storm King. He has raised this typhoon. Do you recall the village where we landed?”

Cassie managed to say yes, although it was difficult to make herself heard above the wind. “Yes, I do.”

“It is gone, every stick of it. At this point I would guess that a hundred such villages have been destroyed and two thousand or more of us drowned.”

“How terrible!”

“It is.” He had moved behind her now, but Cassie felt sure he was nodding. “You have a good, loud voice, as is to be expected of an actress. I had hoped this wouldn’t be necessary. Close your mouth, please.”

She did not, but his powerful hand closed it for her, forcing her chin up until the back of her head was firmly against the high stone back of the throne, then farther until her teeth locked. A moment later, a strip of tape covered her mouth.

“You can still breathe, I hope. I’ll take that off as soon as this is over. Or you can.”

Suddenly his voice boomed forth, speaking his own tongue. Clearly, Cassie decided, he had a microphone, and there were loudspeakers below — loudspeakers that had not lost power when the palace had, or to which power had been restored.

Minutes passed. King Kanoa finished, and was cheered wildly. Several men fired into the air.

“Let me speak English.” For the second time, his voice thundered from the speakers.

“There are those here, our high king among them, who do not understand our tongue. They, too, deserve to know.”

Cassie’s eyes searched for Reis, but did not find him.

“In righteous anger, the Storm King has raised this typhoon. We, his devout worshippers, perish. We have begged him to mitigate his displeasure, and he has answered us. If we offer our greatest sacrifice, his storm shall abate. Here we do as he asks. Our high king will die for us, his people.”

Cassie struggled, but could not free her arms from the women’s grip.

“Bring him forth! Lawe mai Mo’i !”

Below them, the crowd of huge warriors parted. Reis, a big man, looked small beside them. Very small, Cassie thought, but proud and unafraid. His hands seemed to have been tied behind his back.

The last of the warriors who accompanied him carried a painted club the size of a softball bat, with a great knob of wood at its head.

King Kanoa spoke again in his own tongue. Then: “You cannot speak as we, O King, but you may now address those who wait in English speech.”

“I don’t want to,” Reis said. “I couldn’t make myself heard anyway.” He paused. There was fear in his eyes, but something else as well. “Can you hear me, Cassie?”

She could not reply, but she nodded.

“This storm isn’t even intended for us. We’re on the fringe here. The Navy’s gone after the Storm King, and he’s hoping to sink their ships. He’s probably sunk a few already.”

“Faster,” King Kanoa told Reis. “We haven’t got a lot of time.”

“Remember what I say, Cassie. I did what I could for humanity. I wanted to be of real help, and never gave a damn for what anybody thought of me. I succeeded. I love my son Rian. Tell him if you can.”

Cassie tried to nod, but King Kanoa’s hand had closed around the back of her head, holding it immovable.

“I love you. Don’t forget that, either. I loved you in life, and I’ll love you in death.”

King Kanoa spoke, and Reis was thrown down. At once he vanished, then reappeared only to vanish again. Visible or invisible his captors held him, positioning his head on a wide, dark stone near Cassie’s feet.

The warrior with the club moved to stand beside it, his club raised.

King Kanoa spoke again, his words followed by wild cheering and more shots. The beam of every lantern found her. It was as if she sat onstage, the target of hundreds of feeble spotlights.

During those cheers, King Kanoa had switched off his microphone; when he spoke again, in English, his voice was normal and only just loud enough for her to hear him above the shrieking wind. “How must it be, O Queen? Speak now. The high priest watches. Must High King Wiliama ’Aukailani die this day to save his people?” His hand forced her head down, raised it, forced it down again, and freed it.

The club struck; the thud of the blow and the sound of breaking bone would stay with Cassie as long as she lived.

King Kanoa spoke, and the women freed her arms. His strong fingers freed her mouth of the tape with a quick pull. “You remain our high queen,” he told her. “Thinking solely of your own good, I advise you to marry someone thoroughly familiar with the local situation who can assist your rule.”

Then her gun was in her hand and King Kanoa’s broad chest stretched before its muzzle. Afterward, she could not recall how many times she fired, only that the number was greater than two and probably greater than three.

Something seized her and jerked her upward, and her gun was no longer there.

Magically, the wind vanished. Driven by it, they were scudding over a tumultuous sea, and there were wings before them, wings darker even than that dark day.

THEY landed her upon a coral beach in sunshine. “We can carry you no farther,” the tall being who had held her explained, “and could not have raised you as we did if it had not been for the wind. You may be happy here.”

Cassie could only gasp her thanks.

Then they were gone, flecks of black dwindling against a blank turquoise sky; she sat down and stared at the waves for a time, rose, found shade, and sat staring again. It was not until the sun touched the horizon that she shook herself, unstrapped the empty holster from her thigh, and threw it into the waves.

Fresh water trickling down to the sea betrayed itself by a chuckle. Cassie drank long, and slept on the beach. She slept soundly that night and spent the following day in search of food; but the next night was different.

After that, each day was like the last. She looked for food, always finding some but never finding enough. In time, it occurred to her that she should keep a tally of the days; but many had already passed, and she could not say how many. She would be here until she died, which would be soon. Wasn’t that enough? When she died, the gulls would peck her corpse. How would the number of her days on the island matter?

It was not until she caught sight of the burning mountain that she realized where she was. After that she walked in good earnest, searching for the place where they had seen the coral blocks, the place where Reis had left his shoes.

She found it at last, took off her sandals, and went barefoot thereafter.

After three days she returned to the spot, drawn by memories that were sweeter and more real there. For a time she followed a regular schedule, returning every third day to sit where they had sat together. When she closed her eyes, it seemed to her that Reis sat beside her. She could hear the soft sigh of his breath, and catch the spicy scent of his cologne.