Eric Flint - Mother of Demons

"No," she said. "It was a place of glory, and beauty."

"Did the glory last? And the beauty?"

She thought of Stalin's purges. Of the Gulag.

"No. But-"

"It was a place when the road forked. And the right fork was taken. Horrors along that road, as well. But not so many as along the other."

"Yes. Yes, but-"

Ushulubang made the gesture of understanding. "You are terrified, not by the agony alone, but by its inevitability. Not by the decision which fork of the road to take, but by knowledge that all roads must lead through horror. And that by choosing one fork it will be you yourself who creates the horror of that road."

She nodded.

"Just so. Do you remember when I smashed the idol at Fagoshau?"

Again, she nodded.

Ushulubang whistled derision. "Did you think I was so foolish as to believe I could smash idolatry? Did you think I failed to understand that, after my death, new idols of Goloku would be erected?" Another whistle of derision. "And of me as well, I expect."

Indira stared at the sage. "I did not… I don't know."

"Just so. Many years ago, Inudira, I found myself at a fork in the road. Much like the one which you face here. I saw the fork coming, long before I reached it. In my confusion and fear, I went to Goloku.

"I told her that the day would come, after her death, when the apashoc would be savagely persecuted. I thought that because of my position in the Ansha that I might be able to survive. I alone, perhaps, among my sisters. If I debased myself, and groveled, and wriggled through the anger of the clan leaders like a slug.

"The idea was-loathsome. But, I thought, perhaps it would be my duty. So I went to Goloku."

"And what did she say?"

"She told me I had understood nothing of what she had ever said. She flailed me mercilessly, with words like stone."

Ushulubang's huge eyes were pitiless. Her mantle flashed black as night. Implacable.

"I shall now flail you with the same words. There is no Answer, fool. There is only the Question."

Suddenly, Julius spoke.

"Do you remember the first time we met?" he asked Indira.

The question took her completely by surprise.

"What?"

"The first time we met. We had an argument. Do you remember what you said to me?"

Her mind was like a field of snow. Empty.

"I don't-remember. Why?"

His rubbery face twisted into a grin. "How strange. I have never forgotten it."

She shook her head, clearing away the confusion caused by Julius' odd question. Then, suddenly, remembered.

If there is one thing that historians know, it's that nothing great was ever achieved except by those who were filled with passion. Their passion may have been illogical, even bizarre to modern people. Their understanding of the world and what they were doing may have been false. It usually was. But they were not afraid to act, guided by whatever ideas they had in their possession. Do not sneer at such people. You would not be here without them.

Moments later, Indira left the hut and walked into the center of the village. Joseph was waiting. He stood alone, apart from the others of the council. Whatever decision Indira had made would now fall upon his shoulders.

Before speaking, Indira looked around. The village was packed with people-gukuy and ummun alike. Even some of the owoc had come, understanding, somehow, that a great turn had come in the Coil of Beauty.

She looked up at the sky. The same sky, years before, had been colored with a huge red mark. All that was left of a man who had tried the impossible. Tried, and failed. But not before giving the future to his children.

She looked down at her boy, and spoke.

The story would be told for generations after, by chantresses across a continent. Of the day when the Mother of Demons matched flails with her soul.

So terrible was that soul!

So great a struggle!

Even the Mother of Demons would not have conquered it

Without the sage Ushulubang.

So terrible was that soul!

Its cry of defeat shook the world!

You did not hear?

Listen.

Listen.

It echoes still.

The sound of that cry will never end.

Indira watched the battle from the southern slope, standing on a rocky outcropping which overlooked the plain. Four beings stood there with her: Julius, Andrew MacPherson, Rottu and Ghodha.

They were the nucleus of what Indira had told them was one of the secrets of war.

Create a general staff.

She would have preferred to have Joseph himself alongside her. But, reluctantly, she had agreed with Joseph's argument that his personal command was necessary in the colony's first full-scale battle. Of the three lieutenants, Andrew had been selected as the future Chief of Staff. It was a good choice, thought Indira. Andrew was a quiet and thoughtful young man. Not flamboyant, but very hard-working. And, while he had done the job capably, he did not have either Ludmilla or Takashi's flair as a platoon leader.

Indira watched Ludmilla's platoon racing in a loop around the right flank of the Utuku army. Ludmilla herself was leading the platoon, and setting a brutal pace. The ranks of the Utuku were already becoming ragged, as they tried to reform in the face of this new and utterly bizarre foe. Their attempts were hopeless, of course. Gukuy were faster than owoc, but they were still much slower afoot than humans. Any humans, much less the young warriors trained under Joseph's brutal regimen.

Not brutal enough.

"Andrew-make a note. We must emphasize long distance endurance as well as wind sprints. The Apaches could run a hundred miles a day. Faster, over long distances, than the cavalry of the US Army."

"Yes, Indira." He jotted in his notebook.

Still, there's a problem. Food. What good will it do for our warriors to be able to run a hundred miles a day-if they starve at the end of it? Our army cannot remain tied to the slow owoc.

"Julius-make a note. Resume the experiments with puke jerky."

"But-ah, yes, Indira." He jotted in his notebook. Muttering, under his breath. He was not altogether sure what to make of this new Indira. He had always adored her thin-featured face. Why did that face now remind him of a sword?

As Indira watched, Ludmilla's platoon suddenly wheeled and raced directly toward the Utuku right. Even from the distance, she could hear the drums, transmitting orders from the battle leaders. Raggedly, she thought. And it was obvious that the Utuku ranks were beginning to unravel.

Now.

But she had misjudged. Ludmilla had a better grasp of the immediate tactics. She held the charge for another few seconds, before she suddenly halted and cast her javelin. A split second later, the rest of the platoon followed.

The volley sailed over the front rank of the Utuku and fell among the battle leaders beyond. Like so many lightning bolts. Utuku shieldwork was designed to protect against looping flail-blows, not spears. And the wicker-like visors protecting the battle leaders' heads were like matchsticks when struck by heavy spears instead of blowpipe darts.

"Andrew-make a note for general consideration. Most of the great armies of human history placed a premium on low-echelon initiative and tactical flexibility."

"Yes, Indira."

Ludmilla's platoon was now racing away from the Utuku. Their assegais were strapped to their backs. In their hands they carried javelins. Each warrior in Ludmilla and Takashi's platoons had been given four at the beginning of the battle.

The javelins had been invented by Joseph, in the course of the new training which he had developed in consultation with Nukurren and Jens Knudsen. They were better designed for casting than the heavy-bladed assegai. And the blades were made of bronze obtained from the Pilgrims at Fagoshau. The irreplaceable steel-bladed assegai were saved for close-in work.