Mick Farren: THEIR MASTER

It was a perfect day. If it hadn't been for the unknown terror of the Gods, it would have been a dream rather than a nightmare. The air was clear and smelled sweet and clean. There was a cool breeze blowing. They rode their flower^decked mounts at a leisurely pace across a plain that was already recovering from the ravages of the drought. A thin carpeting of green existed where previously there had been only sere brown. After the rains, the grass was already struggling back. But Harkaan couldn't shake the feeling that this recovery was only a lull in a continuing drama. At the height of the previous day's storm, he'd been certain that the Gods had arrived. Now, in this period of calm, he could imagine them in their valley, waiting.

The three had been taken from the Lodge of the Spirits and left in a smaller temporary lodge of their own In-side the pylon. Conchela the maiden had instructed them to sleep. Sleep didn't last too long, however, as the drystorm had shortly redoubled its fury. Thunder rolled, the wind shrieked, and the sky was split by bolts of red, green, purple, and orange. They huddled in the stifling lodge and wondered if the world was ending. leather drawstring bag. Grimly, she handed the bag to Harkaan.

"You will find the way to the Valley," she said.

Beside Harkaan, Valda shifted slightly.

"I have one more question."

"So ask it."

"Is there any chance that we might return from the Valley of the Gods?"

Exat-Nalan-Ra shook his head.

"No one ever returns. You belong to the Gods now."

The rain came like nothing short of a miracle. For a full day, it fell in gray, unceasing sheets. The lodges leaked and smelled of damp hides. Although they had been praying for rain, the Ashak-ai viewed its coming with a good deal of distrust. The omens were so bad that a break in their misfortunes might only be a herald of worse to come. A relief too readily accepted could well prove to be the cruel jest of a malignant entity who would turn on them and multiply their troubles.

The distrust continued during the leaving ceremony that set them on the way to the Valley of the Gods. The ceremony was supposed to be one of celebration. The tribe was renewing its bonds with these mysterious Gods by sending them their young men. Maybe the real celebration would come after the three had left. The tribe could rejoice at the departure of the young and the dangerous.

After the purification ritual, Harkaan, N'Garth, and Valda were led naked before the tribe. They were carefully dressed in fringed white robes and brought to their mounts. The three maidens who, by tradition, would accompany them to the Valley were already mounted and waiting, also dressed in white and garlanded with flowers. The entire tribe watched stone-faced as the six of them walked their mounts out of the village in solemn procession.

The Law laid down only two rules for the journey to the Valley of the Gods. The first was that they follow the path dictated by the stone and go all the way to the Valley. The second was that the maidens should remain maidens. To facilitate this, they were charged with traveling in two strictly segregated groups. By day, the two groups would ride separately, but in sight of each other. By night, they would sleep in adjoining but separate camps.

The first rule was relatively simple to follow. They were so steeped in the traditions and superstitions of the tribe that they would never challenge the Gods by succumbing to the temptation to turn away from their destiny. The second was a little less easy. They might belong to the Gods, but N'Garth, Harkaan, and Valda were youths in the first flush of potency. It didn't help that their untouchable companions were three of the most beautiful young women in the tribe. Indeed, they had been chosen for exactly that quality. There was Am-sessa, the tall, willowy sister of Ga-Niru who had been killed at the river battle. Her straight black hair fell almost to her waist, and her eyes tilted up at the corners. Harkaan could, if he put his mind to it, make himself ache with the thought of actually lying with her. What disturbed him was that he could ache in the same way for Naio, the witchling from the lodge of Horlem-Fram. She wasn't as tall and straight as Amsessa, but she had equally beautiful eyes and a flashing smile. There were also her ample breasts and the way her hips moved as she walked. In fact, the only one he couldn't feel that way about was the third maiden. Not that Conchela lacked beauty-with her unusual pale gold hair, she was possibly the most striking of the three-but the fact that she had served Marjooquin in the Lodge of the Spirits set her apart. Even this fairly innocent connection with the realm of ghosts and demons made her somehow unsuitable as the subject of an earthy, erotic fantasy.

N'Garth was the first to rebel- In camp, on the second night, he rolled over and propped himself up on one elbow.

"In the end, who would know?" he asked. "Who would know what?"

N'Garth didn't really have to answer. The other two knew exactly what he was talking about. Harkaan sighed. "The Law is absolute." N'Garth lay back and stared at the sky. Pran, the smallest of the moons, had just risen. All three were silent for a long time. When Valda finally spoke, it was as much to himself as to anyone else. "What are we going to find when we reach the Valley of the Gods?"

For Harkaan, it was frighteningly simple. "We'll find the Gods."

"I'm not sure I'm prepared for Gods."

"We've always been told that a man who comes face to face with his Gods has need of nothing else in his life."

N'Garth rolled over once again. "I'm not sure about that."

He continued to stare at the maidens' campfire.

Every morning when they rose and at intervals throughout the day, Harkaan would remove the stone from its wrapping and scan the horizon. Each time, the glow of the stone indicated that they should continue in the same general direction. They kept moving east, following the course of the red sun.

By the afternoon of the fifth day, the plains started to drop away. On the horizon, there were the purple folds of a low range of hills.

Even though he'd never been there before, Harkaan had a distinct feeling that the Valley of the Gods was somewhere in those hills. These feelings were starting to unnerve him. It was as if the Gods were already reaching out to him. He'd said nothing to the other two, but he'd watched them carefully. They showed no signs of sharing the feelings. Maybe it was because he was carrying the stone and it somehow had an influence on him, or maybe it was because the Gods had selected him for something particularly unpleasant.

On the fifth night, they camped beside a spinney of trees in a shallow, wind-sheltered bowl. N'Garth and Valda were chafing at the confines of the second rule and were about ready to break loose and visit the girls during the night. Harkaan could hardly believe that he was the only one who stood in awe of the Law and who remembered the horror of the killing at the river. His respect for the Law had brought him into conflict with the other two. They called him a prude and an old woman, and probably worse when his back was turned.

"What's the matter with you, Harkaan? You want to deny us what might be a final chance at life? You're as crazy as a Brana-ma."

To avoid an open conflict on that particular night, he elected to take the first watch. They could break the Law on their own; he didn't have to be a witness. He climbed to the nearest high point and settled himself on the short grass, making himself as comfortable as possible. He drew his knees up to his chest and watched the shadows deepen among the distant hills. He was more sure than ever that somewhere in those shadows, the Gods were waiting.

But despite himself, his mind wandered to the young women in the camp below. Were N'Garth and Valda really going to visit them? Perhaps they had already made their move. The idea created a cold hollow inside him. Why did he have to care so much about what was right and wrong that he was prepared to give up a bright fire and a pretty young girl laughing into his face? What was this absurd sense of duty that forced him to sacrifice bright eyes, moist lips, and teasing giggles for a night on a bare hillside?