Zork (12) Journey's End by Peony D Beckside.

 

Chapter Twelve: Journey’s End

 

Peony D Beckside
Illustrations by Arizona Wanderer

In appreciation of, and with thanks to John Norman for creating the wonderful world of Gor, in which this story is set

The Narrative Of Cadmus

 

Zork leads.  We are well into Torvaldsland now.  Perhaps only five days walk from Thingvellir, the great meeting place where the ‘Thing’ is held.  As I understand it, it’s a kind of annual gathering of the men of Torvaldsland.  Here it is that the important issues of Northern lands are debated and laws passed.  It also doubles up as a feasting ground, a market place, and a place to settle disputes.  A kind of northern Sardar Fairs, but without the religious overtones.  I’m not at all sure that Zork should go there.  The men of Torvaldsland are fierce and at this place many.  It is unlikely that the other Kurii, that Zork believes are in this land, will be at the Thing.

We hide a sadness, the knowing that at any time Zork may leave us in order to search for his compatriots.  The rest of us will head for the Thing.  It’s reported to be a magnificent gathering; we may never see its like again

It’s summer, but we are all grateful for the animal skins gathered during our crossing of the Northern Forests.  Kiki with some effort fashioning them into warm clothing for all of us except Zork, but then he has his own fur coat!  I must admit he seems more comfortable in these temperatures than he did in southern climes.  I miss seeing Kiki’s legs as she walks ahead of us.  Somehow though she seems able to sway the long skirt she now wears, by the swing of her hips.  It’s highly hypnotic, and erotic.  I can barely keep my eyes focused on where we are going.  The boots we obtained from a tanner at a village, as we entered Torvaldsland are sturdy, though not stylish, but in this environment are essential.

We pass through a narrow defile in the hillside.  There is snarling, Kur communication.  From Zork’s translator comes the message

“Greetings Brother…”

The Kur clearly guarding this track northward is almost as big as Zork.  His pelt is lighter though, almost a honey-blonde.

“… And I see that you’ve brought your lunch with you!”

I stiffen, assuming that Clystemous and Kiki both are ready for ‘fight or flight’.  Zork’s hand goes to his shoulder in readiness to grasp the handle of his axe, which is in a sheath at his back; the handle handy just above his shoulder blade.

There’s a subtle menace in Zork’s response, that even comes through the soullessness of the translation device.  Perhaps it’s just that we all know Zork’s body-language and are picking up on it, as well as the words.

“They are not food animals.  They are companions.”

“What a droll idea…  I can’t say that I know you brother; and I thought I can recognise all the Kurii hereabouts.”

“I am Zorksprinrtovnickan…”

It’s only the second time I’ve heard Zork’s full name since we first met.  To Clystemous and Kiki, it’s doubtless the first.

“My ship was destroyed way down south of here; halfway round this rock of a planet.  It has taken two of this planet’s years to get here.  But for my companions, I would not have made it this far.  I would be dead.”

“Nevertheless, your timing is good.  There’s to be a battle[1] in three days time.  Perhaps after the battle is over, you will be allowed to keep these puny ones as pets.”

“Battle?  What battle?  Who are we fighting?  For what?”

“You really have been out-of-touch, haven’t you?  Aren’t you aware that Torvaldsland is the beach-head, the starting point of our invasion of Gor?  Some five days ago, we attacked the meeting hall of the puny ones, to kill the leadership of our enemies.  Some of them got away, and are calling in all the other humans.  They are gathering like outraged gitches.  We’ll stomp them all into the ground at the battle.  Our march south will then be secure from attack from the rear.  It’ll be glorious, the killing, the feasting…”

I feel sick, not just about what the Kurii will be feasting on, but at the implication of this news.  A Kur army would be unstoppable; taking city after city until mankind was reduced to effectively being tarsks, verr, or bosk; farmed animals for the table.

“You’d best report to Gritzenprektonc, the commander.  Follow the track for about a day, and turn right after the second black basalt rock face.  Other Kur will direct you from there.  If you’ve yellow cloth wrap some around the arms of your pets.  It’s how we keep track of those puny ones that help us, as against those who are our enemies.”

We do have a small amount of yellow cloth; an old camisk of Kiki’s from earlier in the journey.  As soon as we have left this other Kur behind, I have Kiki tearing lengths of it for the purpose outlined.

When we are out of sight of this other Kur, we leave the track.  Zork finds a rock and sits.  It’s clear he wants to think, we do not intrude on his ruminations.

Zork stands, turns, and speaks to us all.

“I fear our journey is over.  Beyond this point I cannot protect you from my own kind.  I will be sad to lose your company.  You have been honourable, even you Kiki.  I did not come here to fight, to wage war in an invasion of this planet.  What has been clear to me on our journey is that there is nowhere, no place for one of my kind alone.  I cannot get off this planet without the technology of those of my kind, and the price of that is that I must earn my passage by winning the trust and respect of the Kurii here.  I must therefore fight this unwanted war.

            Grunthon  explained it ‘My home-stone, right or wrong’.  For me, it is ‘My species, right or wrong’.

            Whilst your warriors are brave and skilled, I cannot see that they can withstand the might of a Kur army.  I am convinced we will win the battle ahead, and that over time my kind will expand over this planet, making it ours.  I grieve for what will become of your species, but one lone voice of dissent will change nothing.

            Go now, flee south as fast as you can.  Warn your cities of our coming.  Enjoy what pleasures you may for as long as you can.  I wish you well, all of you.  Do not follow me.  This is my decision. I do not take it lightly.”

Zork turns away.  I’m used to his facial expressions now.  This is a new one, one of infinite sadness.  I don’t think that Kurii can weep, but there is something in Zork’s movements that speaks of such.

I turn to Clystemous and Kiki.  I think they both have tears in their eyes, but I can’t be sure; my eyes fogged by my own.

Rather like a funeral parade we swing east and later south, so as to avoid running into the honey-blonde Kur we’d encountered earlier.

 

I am not happy.  We have been dragging our feet for two days as we trudged south.

“Enough!  I am going back.  I have to know what’s happened to Zork.  Danger or no.  Death if it is to be so.  I will go to Thingvellir to see the aftermath of the battle.  Clystemous, take Kiki.  Head for the town of Laura.  Wait there for a month.  If I haven’t returned by then, I will be dead and Kiki will belong to you.  Here’s the map.”

There is shock in the faces of both Clystemous and Kiki, not I think at my decision to return to the place of the Thing, more that I would not ask them to accompany me.

Kiki is first to speak, unusually so; she knows that doing so unbidden is forbidden her.

“NO!  Master, I will not go south with Clystemous!  Punish me for disobedience, for insubordination, for fleeing my slavery, for whatever else I am guilty.  I will go north with you or will follow you if you don’t want me with you!”

Clystemous is no less insistent that he is not yet ready to go south; that he too will journey to the place of the Thing.  I am moved.  I acquiesce to them joining me.  To Kiki, I remind her of her place.

“You are forgiven your outburst and may accompany me, but don’t ever disobey me again, slave!”

“Yes, Master.  Thank you Master.  I abase myself in apology.”

“Enough, slut!”

 

We have been travelling for four days.  Clystemous and I lie on our belly’s hidden by a low rock.  We overlook the plain of Thingvellir.  I study the field through the ‘glass of the builders’.  A battle has clearly taken place.  There are signs of disarray everywhere.  What astounds me most is that the place is not filled with Kur!  Indeed it is men who seem to be in charge!  They are bringing together verr, tarsks, bosk and women, corralling them.

At the edge of the plain there is a huge pile of shaggy multi-coloured fur.  Kur body’s?  Nearby there is a makeshift gallows, where several men dangle, hanged by the neck.  These hanged men all seem to be wearing yellow arm-bands.  I untie the yellow cloth that’s still wrapped round my upper arm, and order Kiki to do likewise.  I pass the glass to Clystemous.  He studies the scene for a while.  He draws my attention to a pile of oversize weapons by what appears to be a makeshift forge.  I don’t need to tell him to remove the yellow cloth from his arm.

“Shall we go down, Cadmus, and see what we can see?”

“Yes.  It would seem safe enough at present.”

I put Kiki on a chain attached to my belt.  She has plenty of play, but is not going wandering off.  None of us are happy at the charnel nature of the sight.  There are bodies everywhere.  In places men cry out in pain and fear knowing that their death is only a matter of time away.

Suddenly Kiki wails piteously, her cry morphing into racking sobs.  She falls to her knees, pointing. Clystemous and I turn to where she is indicating.  Among many others like it, there is the head of a beast impaled on a sharpened spike:  It is the head of Zork!  My blood goes cold in my veins.  I cannot help wailing too.  Clystemous seems no less affected.  Kiki crawls towards this macabre show, I let her, not minding being led by her.  She is chanting something.  I know not what she is saying.  I take it to be something appropriate in her native barbarian language.  I cannot castigate her for this, as her grief is clearly heartfelt.  I am no less touched by heartbreak.  I fight to overcome my sorrow.

“Kiki, Clystemous, we have work to do.  We will bury Zork.”

This decision made, gives us purpose.  We head for the pile of Kur corpses, walking round it, looking for an arm, a foot, any part of a Kur, that has the same colour fur as Zork.  Kiki finds Zork’s corpse, or at least believes it is so; she being most familiar with his fur, from much combing of it.  She reaches for the overhanging arm and pits her strength, trying to  pull it out from under the corpses thrown haphazardly on top of it.  She does get some movement, but not enough.  We are by her side helping, pulling, lifting furry bodies up so we can slide Zork’s corpse out.  It’s hard work, but we do finally have him free of the pile.

Clystemous goes to a corral and arranges to borrow a bosk bullock.  We fashion a travois and are loading Zork’s body onto it.

“What the fuck do you think you are doing?!”

The man is a stocky individual with a shock of sandy-red hair.  He doesn’t have the build or blondness of a  Torvaldslander.  He gives no name.  With no disrespect to Clystemous, I feel that it is I that should answer this man.

“We are burying this Kur.  He was an honourable beast, intelligent, honest, kind even.  We spent many months with him.  He never broke his word.  He came north to join his people, not knowing that they were going to launch an attack.  He had nowhere else to go, but to join his people.  He did not want to fight, but having finally joined up with his kind, had no option but to take up arms along with them.  In honour we bury him!”

The stocky man shrugs and wryly responds.

“Suit yourself, but I doubt anyone here will help you!”

He walks off.

We drag Zork’s body to the edge of the plain.  I fasten Kiki to Zork while Clystemous and I go back to get Zork’s head; not out of cruelty, but to ensure that she is not stolen by one or other of the men.

Clystemous has an idea.  We head back, but divert to the large pile of Kur size weapons.  It’s hard work, the weapons being so heavy, but we rummage through them.  We find it!  It’s Zork’s axe.  We put it onto the travois.  We find shovels and pick-axes, which we borrow.  We are as reverent as we can be in removing Zork's head from its pole.  We head back to where Kiki and Zork await

Clystemous and I immediately begin digging a large Kur-size hole.  The soil here is thin.  We cannot go down very far.  Not far enough.  We lay Zork into the hole, and find as many large stones as we can, covering the body of our friend fully.  We wedge Zork’s axe handle deep into the rock so it can’t easily be pulled out.  The name incised in the blade, being Zork’s finally marker.

It’s taken us all day to inter Zork.  We are all utterly exhausted.  Kiki having put in a prodigious amount of work, given her size and musculature.

We camp that night beside the final bed of our shaggy friend, being unwilling to say goodbye. Tomorrow, we must leave this place, heading for, we know not where.

We will never forget Zork!

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[1]     This battle is described in Marauders of Gor