John Dalmas - The Lion Returns.pdf - John Dalmas - margozap

The Lion Returns

John Dalmas

Dedicated toELIZABETH MOON

ACKNOWLEDGMENT

Parts of the first draft were critiqued by members of theSpokane Word Weavers, a writers' support and

critique group. The second draft was critiqued by two science fiction and fantasy authors: Patricia Briggs

and James Glass. And as always by my wife Gail. My thanks to all of you.

The Farside series grew out of an invitation by Jon Gustafson to write a short story for a WesterCon

program book a few years ago. I rather quickly realized it was not a short story, but the opening chapter

of a novel. Thank you too, Jon.

PROLOG

The distance across theOceanSea to Vismearc is said to exceed that from fabled Tuago to the River

Erg. It took fifty-eight days and nights to sail across, and fifty to return. Of the four ships that set out, only

one came back, and very fortunate its mariners, for those days and nights were beset with storms, and

sea dragons with necks like mighty snakes. The larger of them snapped men from the deck. And there

were monstrous eels whose very stare was venomous, but fortunately they were rarely seen.

And when the sea had finally been crossed, Vismearc itself proved no less dangerous. Great birds dwell

there, their hearts as black as their plumage. They are more clever than a man, and large enough to carry

a sheep through the air. The women in Vismearc birth many children, in order to have any left after the

birds have taken what they wish. Several birds together would attack a man and clean his bones in

minutes, so that no one walked out alone, even to relieve himself. While one man voided his bowels,

another stood by, sword in hand, to protect him. And there are bees large as sparrows, that make honey

of surpassing sweetness, but a single sting causes men to swell like bladders, and die horribly.

But most terrible of all are the hordes of savage warriors no higher in stature than the nipples of a man.

Short of leg but long of arm, they have bodies of stone, the strength of giants, and no concept of mercy.

Yet it was for Vismearc the Ylver set sail from their island home, those centuries back. For though their

mariners had read of the terrors they would face, their fear of the Voitusotar was greater. And no man

knows whether any of them arrived in that frightful land, or if they arrived, whether any of their progeny

yet live.

Oiled parchment found in the archives ofHwilvorosPalace .

PART ONE—THE PLANS OF MEN

The physical universes are not designed for the convenience or pleasure of humans or other incarnate

souls. Intelligence, diligence, and good intentions do not necessarily produce security, comfort and

pleasure. There are no guarantees.

One can try and one can hope, but one's expectations are often disappointed. On the other hand,

today's victories sometimes lead to tomorrow's woes, while out of today's woes may grow tomorrow's

blessings. The roots of joys and griefs can be distant in both time and place. So it is well to be light on

your feet, and not too fixed in your desires.

Vulkan to Macurdy, on the highway to Teklapori

in the spring of 1950

Leave

«^»

Captain Curtis Macurdy's train pulled slowly up to the red sandstone depot. Through a window he saw

his wife on the platform, flowerlike in a pink print frock. Without waiting for the train to stop, he moved

quickly down the nearly empty aisle, grabbed his duffel bag from a baggage shelf, and when the door

opened, swung down the stairs onto the gray concrete.

Mary saw him at once, and crying his name, ran toward him. Putting down his bag, he caught her in his

arms and they kissed hungrily, while the handful of other disembarking passengers grinned or looked

away. It was Thursday, June 1, 1945. Servicemen on leave were commonplace.

"You taste marvelous," he murmured. "You smell marvelous."

She laughed despite eyes brimming with tears. "That's perfume," she said, then added playfully, "Evening

inParis ." She looked around. The air was damp and heavy; smoke from the coal-burning locomotive

settled instead of rising. "Perfume and coal smoke," she added laughing. "And soot."

He picked up his bag again and they walked hand in hand to the car. It was she who got in behind the

wheel. That had become habitual. He got in beside her, feasting his eyes.

"Hungry?" she asked.

"For food you mean? Yeah, I guess I am. I had breakfast on the train somewhere west of Pendleton,

and a Hershey bar at the station inPortland ."

He knew from her letters that she'd moved out of her father's house and rented the apartment above

Sweiger's Cafe. He was curious as to why, but hadn't asked. She'd tell him in her own time. She pulled

up in front, and they went into the cafe for lunch.

Ruthie Sweiger saw them take a booth, and came over with menus. "Look who's here!" she said. "How

long has it been?"

He answered in German, as he would have before the war. "Not quite three years. July '42."

Her eyebrows rose, and she replied in the same language. "Your German sounds really old-country

now. You put me to shame."

"It should sound old-country." He said it without elaborating.

"Curtis," Mary said quietly in her Baltisches Deutsch, "people are looking at us."

He glanced over a shoulder. At a table, two men were scowling in their direction. Curtis got to his feet

facing them, standing six feet two and weighing 230 pounds. One side of his chest bore rows of ribbons,

topped by airborne wings and a combat infantry badge. Grinning from beneath a long-since-broken nose,

he walked over to them.

"Do I know you guys from somewhere?"

"I don't think so," one of them answered, rising. "We came over fromIdaho last year. We log for the

Severtson brothers."

Macurdy extended a large hand. "My name's Curtis Macurdy. I used to log for the Severtsons, before I

joined the sheriff's department. With luck, I'll be back for good before too long."

Both men shook hands with him, self-conscious now, and Curtis returned to the booth, grinning again.

"A little public relations for the sheriff's department," he said, in German again. "And food for thought

about people speaking German."

Ruthie left to bring coffee, then took their orders. While they waited, Curtis and Mary made small talk,

and looked at each other. Curtis felt her stockinged foot stroke his leg. When their food arrived, they ate

quickly, without even refills on coffee. Then Curtis paid the bill and they left. They held hands up the

narrow stairs to her apartment, and when Mary closed the door behind them, she set the bolt.

For a long moment they simply stood, gazing at each other. Then they stepped together and kissed, with

more fervor than at the depot.

Finally Mary stepped back and spoke, her voice husky. "The bedroom," she said pointing, "is over

there. I am going to the bathroom, which is over there." Again she pointed. "When I'm done there, I'm

going there. Which is where I want you to be."

After a couple of minutes she arrived at the final there. He was standing naked by the bed. She wore

only a negligée, and as she walked toward him, dropped it to the floor.

"Oh God, Curtis!" she breathed in his arms. "Oh God, how I want you! How I've wanted you these

three long years!"

Their first lovemaking was quick, almost desperate. Afterward they lay side by side talking, talk which

was not quick at all.

There was much he hadn't written; much of it would have been deleted by military censors if he had.

And things she hadn't written, not wanting to send bad news.

He knew of course that Klara, Mary's grandmother, had died of a heart attack the previous autumn.

He'd gotten that letter while inFrance , training dissident Germans to carry out sabotage and other

partisan actions in Hitlers planned "National Redoubt." And he knew that Mary's dad, Fritzi, had married

after Klara's death.

Mary had moved out of her father's home because she hadn't gotten along with Margaret, Fritzis wife.

Margaret was basically a good woman, Mary insisted, but bossy and critical, in the kitchen and about the

housework. And insisted that Mary, as "her daughter," attend church regularly with Fritzi and herself.

Even though Mary was thirty years old, and been married for twelve of them. The matter of church

attendance was Margaret's only position that Fritzi had overruled—previously his own attendance had

been fitful—and Margaret had backed off without saying anything more about it.

Mary's uncle, Wiiri Saari, owned several rental houses. Lying there on the rumpled bedsheets, the young

couple decided to let Wiiri know that when Curtis got out of the army, they'd like to rent one of them.

Curtis suggested they spend the rest of his leave on the coast south ofTillamook Bay , where they'd

spent part of his leave in 1942. Mary agreed eagerly. She'd already gotten a week's leave from her job at

Wiiri's machine shop. She could probably get it extended.

With a slim finger, Mary followed a long scar on Curtis's right thigh. "I wish—" she said hesitantly, "I

wish you didn't have to go back. Mostly I felt sure you'd come home, but sometimes I wasn't very brave.

I was so afraid for you. And the Japanese? People say they won't give up, that they'll fight to the bitter

end. And you're dearer to me than my own life."

Curtis kissed her gently. "Don't worry," he said, "I won't have to fight the Japanese." He paused, sorting

his thoughts. When he spoke again, it was in a monotone, all emotion suppressed. "I was never in

ETOUSA; that was a lie, a cover story. In the hospital inEngland , while I was recuperating, I was

recruited by theOSS , because I spoke German well. Railroaded is the word. After they trained me, they

smuggled me intoGermany on a spy mission. InBavaria I lived with people I had to kill. Kill for good

reasons."

He stopped talking for a long moment. Mary looked worriedly at him, waiting, knowing he wasn't done.

"People I saw every day," he went on. "One of them especially I knew and liked; I had to shoot him in

the back. Another I killed treacherously, while he was shaking my hand. I needed to kidnap him, but first

I had to make him unconscious, and … sometimes you misjudge how much force to use. You can't

afford to use too little."

He paused, took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I'll tell you more about those things sometime."

Again he paused. "Those ribbons on my Ike jacket—they include the Distinguished Service Cross, the

next highest decoration after the Medal of Honor. That one's fromSicily . I almost bled to death there.

One of the two silver stars is fromBavaria ; they're one step below the DSC. You can read the

commendations that go with them."

He reached, touched her solemn face. Her aura matched her expression. This wasn't easy for her, he

knew, but she needed to hear it. "Anyway I'm done with war now," he went on. "For good. It may not

be patriotic to feel that way, but I'm done with it. I'll tell you more about that too, someday. It's not only

this war. It's stuff from before. From Yuulith, stuff I saw and did there that I never told you about."

With his fingertips he felt the rugged scars of his buttocks, and his voice took on a tone of wry

amusement. "This," he said, then ran a finger along the longest of the surgical scars on his right leg, "and

these will help me stay out of it. Among the things I did to get ready forGermany was, I practiced walking

with a limp. Till it was automatic. Along with my scars, and pretending to be weak-minded, the limp

explained why I wasn't in the German army. And kept me out of it while I was there."

Again his voice changed, became dry, matter-of-fact. "I'm due to report at the Pentagon on June 19.

When I get there I'll be limping, just a little. And no one will question it; my medical records will take care

of that. At worst they'll have me training guys somewhere."

That evening they ate supper with Fritzi and Margaret. Margaret questioned him about the war, his

family, his plans. His answers were less than candid; her aura, her tone, her eyes, told him she was

looking for things to disapprove of. He felt a powerful urge to shock her, tell her about his weird AWOL

atOujda , in French Morocco. About the voitar and the Bavarian Gate; the promiscuous Berta Stark,

now a good wife and foster mother; the sexually ravenous, half-voitik Rillissa; the sorceries in Schloss

Tannenberg.

Instead he recited generalities.

Afterward he told Mary that Margaret might be good to Fritzi, but he himself wouldn't care to be around

her. Though he didn't say so, he was aware that Fritzi was having regrets. Curtis saw auras in much

greater detail than Mary did.

The next day they got in their '39 Chevy and drove to the coast. There they rented a tourist cabin, and

spent ten lazy days strolling the beach, listening to the gulls, watching the surf break on great boulders and

basaltic shelves, and hiking the heavy green forest. He left for D.C. on the 13th, planning to spend a

couple of days inIndiana en route, visiting family.

***

Curtis's parents, Charley and Edna, had had no further contact with the Sisterhood. Not that he'd

asked—all that was behind him, for good—but they'd have mentioned it. Charley's back had gone bad,

and he'd sold the farm to his elder son, Frank. Frank was running beef cattle on it because he couldn't get

enough help to raise crops, and couldn't afford to quit his job as shop foreman at Dellmon's Chevrolet.

Frank Jr., a platoon sergeant, had come back wounded fromFrance , and was training infantry

atFortMcClellan .

He wanted to farm the place when the war was over.

Curtis leftIndiana feeling both good and bad. The farm he'd grown up on had changed, and his parents

had become old in just the three years since he'd last seen them. On the other hand, Frank was looking

out for them, and when Frank Jr. got out of the army, the farm would be in good hands.

John Dalmas - The Lion Returns.pdf

Plik z chomika:

Inne pliki z tego folderu:

Inne foldery tego chomika: