Eric Flint - Mother of Demons

They fell asleep sometime later, their arms intertwined. Aktako's last words were:

"You know what the biggest problem's going to be, don't you? How to keep Guo alive during the battle."

"I'm not worried about that. Guo's going to be a battlemother out of legend. The real problem will be to keep her from trying to rescue the Great Mother after the battle's lost."

"How will you do that?"

"I don't know, Aktako. I don't know."

Kopporu may not have been worried about Guo surviving the battle, but the infanta herself was sleepless that night.

Not worried about her survival, however, but about her conduct during the battle. She suspected, in the half-cocksure/half-uncertain manner of youth, that she was probably the greatest battlemother produced by the Kiktu in generations. But what she knew, on that eve before the clash, was that she had never been in a real battle before. Her experience was limited to the practice field, and a few minor skirmishes with other tribes. But those skirmishes were meaningless-not least because the opponents had fled instantly upon seeing a battlemother.

The Utuku would not flee. It was not the least of their unspeakable savagery-the contempt in which they held all mothers. Guo knew that the Utuku did not even use the word "mother" in their own language. They simply called them "breeders." Utuku mothers were maimed at birth: the tendons in their peds slashed, so that the pitiful creatures could not even walk. Mothers captured from other tribes were treated likewise. And then condemned to a life of forced breeding.

I shall not be treated so, vowed Guo silently. They will only take my dead body for meat.

She picked up her mace and hefted it. A club, essentially, with six long blades protruding from all sides-edges out, not points out. It was a clumsy weapon, for a clumsy mother. But what it lacked in finesse, it made up for in size and weight. The weapon was huge. A gukuy warrior could barely lift the mace, much less wield it in combat. The mace was a weapon for battlemothers-designed to compensate for their awkwardness by using their enormous strength.

Staring at the mace, Guo's mantle turned suddenly yellow. Contempt-for the weapon and herself.

I wanted to use a flail-from the time I first began my training. Like a real warrior, instead of a giant slug.

She winced mentally, remembering the hard lesson Kopporu had given her. Guo had thought she could use a flail, at first. Was she not quicker and more nimble than any infanta in memory? She was, in fact. But all things are relative. A quick and nimble battlemother is still far too clumsy to properly wield a flail. Guo had not believed it until Kopporu matched her against Aktako with practice flails and forks. The experience had been utterly humiliating.

That same night Kopporu had come into Guo's yurt. The infanta had attempted to fade the brown misery in her mantle, with no success. Like all mothers-and she hated herself for it-she was all but incapable of controlling her color.

Kopporu no sooner saw the brown than she whistled derision.

"Do you wallow in misery because you can't float on the breeze like a puopoa? Or breathe water like a dikplo?"

Guo was silent.

"Foolish child! You are a mother, Guo."

"I want to be a warrior! " exclaimed the infanta.

"And what is that?"

Guo was silent.

"You think a warrior is grace-and speed?"

Another whistle of derision.

"I will tell you what a warrior is, stupid one. A warrior is not agility and reflexes. Mindless. A warrior is brain, and heart-at the service of the tribe. A warrior faces the truth unflinchingly. Do you understand?"

After a moment, miserably: "No."

"Still have the brains of a spawn! Listen to me, Guo. Learn to face the truth, peeled of its shell. The truth is that you are not and cannot be a warrior. If you still don't believe that, then tomorrow I'll put you back on the field and let Aktako make a fool out of you again."

Kopporu had let that sink in before continuing.

"If you can learn to face that truth, then perhaps you can learn to face another truth."

Unwillingly: "And what is that?"

"It is that if you abandon these foolish fantasies of becoming a warrior, and apply yourself, you can become the greatest battlemother in the history of the Kiktu since Dodotpi. Maybe even greater than she."

Orange astonishment flooded Guo's mantle.

"Really?"

A tinge of green entered Kopporu's mantle. The battle leader stretched out her palp and gently stroked the brow of the infanta.

"Yes, Guo. Really. You are very fast and nimble, for a mother. And you are incredibly strong. Aktako told me she could feel the earth shake every time you smote the ground with your flail."

A humorous whistle.

"Fortunately, she was far away by the time the blow landed."

"She would have been just as far away if I'd been using a mace!" protested Guo.

"True. But only a stupid infanta-or a stupid leader-thinks a battlemother can fight like a warrior. Your flankers will keep the foe from dodging your blows. Your task is to crush the enemy in front of you. And for crushing, the mace is a better weapon than a flail."

Kopporu fell silent. After a few moments, Guo had said softly:

"I will try to learn. With the mace."

" And the shield. And the visor."

Yellow contempt rippled across Guo's mantle, but she did not voice the protest. Again, Kopporu whistled amusement.

"You will learn to appreciate the lowly shield and visor, child. When you become a renowned battlemother, every piper in the enemy's army will be aiming at you. Would you rather be blind?"

Remembering that conversation, Guo's mantle was suddenly flooded a deep green. She, like the other two battlemothers and all of the warriors in the group, adored Kopporu. In part, that was because of Kopporu's brilliance as a battle leader. But her charisma had deeper roots. There was a-greatness in the battle leader's spirit. Even a young infanta like Guo could sense it.

Sadly, Guo reflected that Kopporu's potential would never be realized. Kopporu's clan was small, and Kopporu's own rank within it was insignificant. Her battle group, of course, was the biggest in the tribe. Warriors chose their own battle groups. Most chose the battle groups of their own clan. But many warriors sought acceptance into the groups of renowned battle leaders, regardless of clan affiliation. Almost three fourths of the warriors in Kopporu's group were from clans other than her own-an unprecedented figure in Kiktu history, so far as anyone knew. The clan leaders had complained, but the battle leaders had supported Kopporu. Many of the battle leaders were jealous of Kopporu's status among the warriors, but they were united in their determination to protect their traditional rights.

Guo herself was from a different clan-from the dominant clan in the tribe, in fact. It was unlikely, but not inconceivable, that she herself might someday become the Great Mother of the Kiktu.

She did not view that prospect with pleasure. She had no desire to become a mother. She wanted to remain a battlemother, surrounded by warriors.

Like all infanta, she had her moments of curiosity and interest on the subject of truemales. Strange, silly creatures. Flighty; given to emotional excess. But skilled, it was said, in the ways of pleasure.

But such moments were few and fleeting. Had life been as she would have wanted, Guo would have been born a warrior. A female. She would have taken a lover from the ranks of the veterans, who would bring her joy in the yurt and protection on the battlefield.

A sudden image came to her mind of the beautiful Kopporu reaching her arms into Guo's mantle She thrust the image away, horrified. Perversion.

She forced her thoughts to the future. She would probably not survive the morrow, in any event. The word had already spread throughout the tribe's warriors, in whispers-Kopporu was opposed to the plan of battle, although she had insisted on the command of the right flank. The deliberations of the tribe leaders were supposed to be held in confidence, but such news could not be contained. Kopporu herself had said nothing, but the word had spread regardless.