Free Haydn of Mars by Al Sarrantonio Page A

convoy of L’aag tribesmen from the west traveling in steam motor vehicles; the Mighty and his fifty or so soldiers, men and women, swooped down from our hill position and routed them within minutes.   Not a gunshot was fired, not an arrow or blade used, and the convoy was soon on its way again, bereft of tribute.
    The Mighty rode up the hill whooping like a schoolboy, carrying something long and colorful in his hand.   He jumped from his horse beside me where I lay nested on a bed of pillows, belly taut as a drum, and held it up triumphantly.
    â€œA present for you, Ransom!”
    He bowed and handed me the hat, a ridiculous thing of purple silk and a long yellow veil.   I tried not to laugh.
    â€œYou don’t like it?   Then I will give it to one of my harem!”
    He dropped it on the ground beside him as he sat down.
    â€œSo, Ransom, tell me, when will the kit be born?”
    â€œAny day now,” I answered.    Feeling a pang in my belly I added, “Perhaps any hour.”
    â€œAnd you are being tended to?”
    â€œ Overly tended to.   Your harem bother me by the hour with their attentions.”
    â€œYou are not hungry?”
    The thought made me gag.   “No.   Nor thirsty much, either.”
    â€œBut you do drink?”
    â€œYes.   A little.”   I thought of the bitter-tasting gemel tea, stronger and more bitter tasting than usual, that young Hera had brought me an hour before, and had insisted I drink.   I had not felt quite well since.
    Suddenly the pains came very strong in my stomach, and I clutched myself and tried to breathe–
    â€œI’m afraid–” I began.
    And then blackness dropped down upon me.
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    I awoke with terrible, dull pain.
    It was still daylight, though much later by the height of the sun.   I lay in my tent, on a mound of blood-stained pillows.   Immediately I knew that something was not right.
    Myra came in, carrying a bowl of water, and her eyes flared open to see me.
    She dropped the water bowl and ran out.
    â€œWhat–” I tried to say, but discovered I could barely speak.
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    I awoke again with my head cradled in Myra’s lap.
    â€œDo not try to speak,” she ordered gently.  
    â€œMy kits–”
    â€œThey are gone,” she said.   “There were three, two male, one female.”
    â€œWhat–”
    â€œShh, do not speak.   The Mighty will speak with you later.”
    I looked up into her face.   There was a strange, distant, faraway look in her eyes.
    Suddenly overwhelmed, I tried to cry, but the pain was so intense that I could only go to blackness again.
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    A third time awake, this time night.
    It was warm, and I felt a limpid breeze on my face.   My fever was gone.   Mya was still there, curled on the ground beside me, asleep.
    The breeze blew the tent flaps open, and I saw the Mighty standing there, staring in at me, stone-faced.
    â€œYou’ve come to see me,” I said.
    He nodded, but would not enter the tent.
    â€œWhat happened?” I asked.
    â€œWhat happened is to my eternal shame.   To think that I protected you these two months, only to let something happen right under my nose.”
    â€œWhat...”
    â€œThere have been many prayers, and a Noon and two Moon ceremonies.”   He turned away.   “I hope someday to be forgiven.”
    He heard me try to speak and said in a pained, angry voice.   “She slept with you under the same roof!   And to think she was part of my harem !”
    He beat his breast viciously with his fisted paw.
    He lowered his head.   “She has been dealt with.   She was the daughter of my cousin Depal.   The F’rar took him prisoner while we were in the south and threatened to behead him if she did not return to our caravan and try to kill you.   She waited until you were to give kit, thinking you would be weaker.   The gemel tea she