Chapter 3 - Meeting
When Mithas sent messages to the tribes within a days travel from his stronghold, all he said was that he needed to discuss matters of grave importance to all mutants.
Such meetings were rare, as the tribal leaders had the responsibility to protect their tribes. For safety, larger groups of mutants seldom came together. Curiosity, along with the need to discuss concerns of their own, caused the leaders to agree to meet with Mithas.
Each brought along one or more of their elder advisors, and were not perturbed when they arrived at the cave and were greeted by Mithas, flanked by two silent figures. The anonymous figures clad in grey rough spun fabric robes, with their faces hidden by the hoods, served refreshments to each guest on their arrival.
When all the expected leaders had arrived, Mithas began speaking to the standing guests.
“Know I do, your tribes need you. For coming, my thanks. Need I have, our allies to discuss.”
“Imply you do, them you trust not,” one of the newly arrived leaders challenged, as he picked a place to sit. The other visiting leaders copied the action, keeping their advisers standing behind them.
“Say as I do,” Mithas confirmed. “Seventeen years I lead tribe, and my father before. Allies claim, our saviours to be. Serve them I have.”
“Claim, Mithas?” came an instant challenge.
“Yes, Dormar,” Mithas confirmed. “Have they done for you more than make promises?”
“Weapons we have,” Dormar countered.
Mithas snorted. “Discards only. Good as club, is all. No protection from other weapons.”
“You slow then Mithas. Just run faster,” Dormar chuckled at his own wit.
“If rubbish make you happy, no use talk,” Mithas retorted.
“What concerns you, Mithas,” a different leader, the oldest, asked.
Mithas turned away from Dormar and addressed the others. “Ambush we did, troop of guards. Allies pleased, but not care that many of tribe killed or hurt. Royals hunt us, catch some. Catch me and elders. Our saviours care not. Only when my tribe don’t obey without us, forced allies were, to help.”
“So help they did,” Dormar stated boldly. “Why you grumble?”
“Why? Sent they did, little, little commander. My son have more sense. Lucky he was, to get me free. Orders he had, to leave others to rot and torture. Care not for them. We only free when baby prince announced. When guards distracted.”
“Warlord Zorrec say, baby no threat for years,” the youngest leader offered. His name was Faush.
Mithas smiled grimly and did not react to the comment. “Read mind of little commander, I did. He think we only good as sword food. Us ugly, good riddance.”
Dormar drawled, “War it is. Dying happens.”
“Rather live for promised reward,” the elder leader responded.
“As do I, Jenmar,” Mithas said.
Dormar grunted, “What your point, Mithas?”
“Point is, Warlord Kellex claim he take every prince from tyrant king. He couldn’t get new babe. His warriors caught by Royals, so my tribe people freed to be caught or killed instead.”
Growls came from several throats as the leaders took in the insult to Mithas.
“Say you do, allies just use us. How you know?” the remaining leader demanded.
“Little commander tell me, Gors. He assume we keen to die for Warlord. Mind say we not important. They wanted babe and the kings other get.”
“Babe no threat. What others,” Dormar demanded.
“Tell later, point is, not allies who took other princes.”
Mithas heard two mental exclamations of “What!” and his back began to prickle, though he did not turn to glance at his presumed guards.
“Who then?” Gors demanded.
“Brother of father,” Mithas said.
There was a bark of laughter from several of the advisors.
“Clown one? Keep changing his face?” one asked.
Mithas glared in the direction of the speaker. His anger at the memory he was going to share was only apparent to the two figures standing behind him. Keeping that anger hidden, with difficulty, Mithas slipped out of the common mutant dialect and used the dialect of the Tymorean commoners. “Allies sent uncle to get first two. Boy and girl. The ones about ready now to lead our saviours. Allies challenge him to change into two bodies, to look like little Royals. He wasn’t very smart. Uncle died. Allies say he was too damaged to live. Now I know he died so Royals think children dead, not taken by allies.”
“Clever that was. So what the others,” Dormar asked, fascinated.
“Father sent after oldest two. He only look little strange. Went to spaceport where King was on tour. He got near Princes, with thing allies give him. Then trader shuttle crash on him, kill princes too and lots of commoners.”
Dormar shrugged. “People die. Common, Royal, no loss. Father die hero.”
Mithas growled, angry at Dormar’s reaction. He continued doggedly. “Other one, eleven years ago. They took my younger son, a baby of three days - because he look normal.”
Dormar suddenly stopped grinning.
Mithas went on, “Told I was, honoured. I would give up my son, and for that sacrifice, I would be rewarded with a prince to raise as our ally. While our tormentors would raise mutant to destroy them.”
“I do that easy,” Dormar claimed. “Sons only fight and drink.” Then he suddenly stared at Mithas. “What they do? You only one son.”
“They switched children. Their medicine doer went to town where Royal Consort in labour. She was birthing too early. My child, a healthy boy, died three days later. Because he died, allies did not give me other. My son’s inner organs shrivelled because of some foul brew our allies gave him. When I protested, they warn me to keep helping or tribe would die.” Mithas’s voice was unsteady, but he went on. “I stay quiet until now, because my tribe is family. Too precious to risk. Until now, I think only allies can help us get better life. But it’s been twenty years and we still scratch dirt to exist. We are not equals of allies but slaves of no importance.”
Mithas spat into the centre of the circle of seats to make his point.
“Nothing ever given us,” Dormar said. “Earn it we must. What other get of king is there? We find them and keep ourselves. Heard of babe, not others.”
“Soon to kill the accursed ones anyway,” Faush claimed brashly. “Be in front of allies I’ll be. Honour that is.”
“How will you be honoured, if die you do?” Mithas countered.
“Okay, inflated brain, what think you we do?” Dormar asked.
“Think we must, best for tribe,” Jenmar proposed.
“My point exactly,” Mithas nodded. “But we must think if our best interests still lie in serving these allies of us. Or if we can do better in our own way.”
“Nowhere we got before allies.” Faush said. “Tormentors die now.”
“More of family die now too,” Jenmar retorted as he moved stiffly on his seat. His face contorted as if with pain.
“Weapons we have, spears less better,” Dormar said.
“Purpose we have,” Gors added. “Allies know much we don’t. Ideas good.”
“Good ideas,” Mithas echoed. “Have you stopped to think, that before we met allies, before we began to kill and capture for them, peace we had? Now, we are hunted like criminals, by the guards from the palace, feared and hated by the common people. We fear for our tribes – afraid of reprisal. Afraid of failing our allies – because of their anger.”
“Soft you got, Mithas,” Gors accused. “I send strong son to take your tribe. Heard grumbles that you let Royal brats escape. You lost chance to bargain.”
Mithas shook his head, aware of the presence of those “brats” behind him. “They were the kings get, ones Kellex only just learnt of. We caught them when the allies could not keep them. Felt their minds I did. Trust them I do.”
“Traitor!” Gors and Dormar yelled in unison, rising to their feet. Their so far silent elders growled their agreement.
Mithas raised his voice. “When I felt their mind, I knew I could no longer serve the allies. I agreed to serve them instead. When they knew that we would be killed if we let them escape – they allowed themselves to be captured. We were treated with gas, then paralysed by our allies so we had no chance to bargain - even had I wanted to – and just so they could get children. They did not trust us, and they feared the power of the children. Children! Our allies are scared of the Governors, scared of their children. They went and left us helpless. The kin of the children helped me, one of the Governors – cured the paralysis, so I could guard my tribesmen until they recovered. They helped me, even though I had captured their children, and they still did not know if those children were alive or dead.”
“Governor, scum, how did they know you got brats?” Dormar demanded.
“I sent message. Allowed two commoners to go free – one had been tortured by allies to near death.”
“Commoners! No waste.” Gors shrugged. “Brats gone, even better. Allies won’t fail twice. But you! You break covenant of mutants. You deal with tormentors….such treason.”
Jenmar looked at Mithas, his face having gone pale and damp. He tried to stand and speak, but only a hiss escaped his lips.
Without a word, one of the grey hooded figures moved from behind Mithas, and went to Jenmar. He began massage the older mutant’s shoulders. Jenmar slumped on his seat, but colour began to return to his face.
“Touch him not, traitor scum!” Jenmar’s fellow tribesman tried to drag the hooded figure away, but succeeded only in removing the hood to reveal brilliant red hair and a face with out any distortions. “Kill him not!” the man began to pound on Tymos’s back.
Recognition of the lineage of the revealed person brought instant bedlam. Gors and Dormar leapt for Mithas, still seated on his seat, but the second grey grey-hooded figure moved faster and stood between them and the target of their wrath. Faush skittered nearer the way out.
Then Kryslie removed her hood.
“Be seated again!”
“Obey you! We NOT!” Gors roared.
“Very well, stay as you are then. However, I will not let you harm Mithas.”
“He is traitor to us! Dealing with you scum.” Gors told her, inching forward, hand on a hidden weapon.
“Hides behind girl child!” Dormar taunted, doing the same. He watched for Kryslie to start to react.
The two mutants, both hefty and ready for a fight, were within inches of Kryslie when a new voice stopped them. They turned and stared in surprise.
“Fools you be. Mithas has chosen right.” Jenmar was on his feet, standing straight, and looking as vigorous as he had ten years before. Tymos moved away, waiting.
“Minds I can’t read, but acts speak to me more than fancy words. Allies laughed at me. Asked my son if they should kill me so a stronger man could rule. My son is loyal, so I live and my mind is not feeble. When the pain came just then, and chest was on fire – I thought that the allies would have their way. Then I felt the hands and the pain began to go, and the other pain, that bends my joints and aches all day and all night.”
“They trick you!” Gors snarled.
“Why will an enemy of us, choose to help me – an old dying man – and give me years more of life? Like you said of commoners – mutants, no waste.”
Faush edged back to the table.
“If they wanted to trick me into helping them, enough it would be to help me a little - long enough to get home. To die there. Our allies would not even do that much for me. Instead, I will be leading tribe for years yet.”
“Listen more, I won’t,” Dormar said, turning to walk out of the cavern.
“Two tribes no more are friends,” Gors added, turning to follow. Faush looked undecided, but he was the youngest leader.
Just as they reached the opening, Tymos spoke, thoughtfully, as if he didn’t understand something.
“Your allies. Do you really know what they are?”
“Care not!” Gors replied. “Hate you they do, and kin of yours.”
“Since allies, we strong. Weapons given. Land we will have, lots and lots, then grow much we can. Rich we get, telling of you.”
“I suppose you would be very rich, if you could keep your life,” Kryslie said gently. “Didn’t you listen? Mithas captured us – you heard how they treated him. Your allies treated us worse, by drugging us as well. But we escaped and now they are trying to blame him for their mistakes. The soldiers of your allies took us away, while Mithas and his family were helpless. So they could not have helped us escape from their flying ship. So when you go and tell your allies where we are – and get to keep the richness of your life, what do you think will happen?”
“Rich we get!” Dorman repeated.
“Is that all? Suppose they don’t find us – these infallible allies of yours?”
Dorman shrugged. “Care not.”
“You should,” Kryslie said. “First, they will kill Mithas and his tribe for harbouring us. Then, when they can’t find us, they will take their anger out on you and your tribe. They will not reward you for worthless information.”
“Mithas tribe – traitors – no waste. As for rest – believe you not. Tell we will.”
Dorman and Gors began to stride to the door. When Tymos spoke again, they paused, but did not look at the speaker.
“One thing that I learnt talking to Mithas was how much he, as the leader of his tribe, cared for them,” Tymos said evenly. “He was greatly concerned for all the tribes when he had proof of your allies’ duplicity. I am sorry that you care so little for your own people. My sister and I have no wish for innocents to be killed.”
Dorman snorted. “You not prove to us, allies not friends. My own mind, I follow.”
“We do not mindlessly obey our elders, though many think we should. We were taught to see facts and see truth. We give you that same right. We will not force you to believe us.”
Dorman’s second snort was less forceful. Before he began to move on, Kryslie asked, “Who did your allies say they were?”
“Friends,” Gors said loudly, “Outcastes like us. Hated by you – for darkness of eyes.”
“Where did they come from?” Kryslie asked again.
“From far away, to help us, and us help them.”
“I assume that as concerned friends who know their tribal area better than the newcomers, you have watched over them and helped them when they were in trouble?”
“Help they don’t want,” Dorman muttered. He didn’t deny that he watched their activities.
“Government scientists have proven that your allies, who we were unaware of until some months ago when a space craft landed, are sneaking around our world, playing games with our weather, performing acts of sabotage that cause tremors in the ground and cracks in our water storage basins. You may have noticed that our moisture reserves are much lower than normal for this season. Yes, this will be harming those people that you resent, but it is hurting you and your people as well. Even the storage basin near here is dry.”
From the lack of an immediate retort, Tymos felt that his message had begun to filter through to the two belligerent mutants. He did not attempt to touch their minds to find out.
“What else you ask?” Dorman growled. “Think, we may.”
Kryslie asked several questions with a pause between them.
“Do they treat you with the respect you deserve? Have your allies ever offered to share a meal with you – as friends do? Do they offer to teach you what they know so that you may improve your lives and your knowledge and be even more useful to them?”
“What you ever done for us?” Dorman countered.
“We gave you refreshment when you arrived,” Kryslie said simply.
“That was proper, expected.” Gors told her.
“Of tribesmen or Royals?”
“Perhaps you alright, children, not like Governors. What else you say,” Dorman asked.
Tymos sighed.
“I am concerned for you. We know what your allies are. They look much like us, but they come from another world.”
“What is world?” Dorman asked.
“The world is everywhere where people live. You were born on this one. Your allies were not born here. They came from another world which they destroyed and now they are trying to take ours from us so their people can take it over.”
“No one take my place!” Gors growled.
“They have no right to,” Tymos said with more force. “To take over our world means they will take your homes, take all the homes in the cities, take the palaces for their people, and kill or enslave ours to look after them.”
“Not what they promised.” Jenmar inserted pointedly.
“No, but words are attractive when you are promised what you want. War is coming. The Elders have foreseen it, and are preparing to defend our people.”
“Why would the Governors bother with us?” Jenmar asked. “What care have they done in past?”
Tymos spoke again. “They care because you are Tymoreans. They would help you if you allowed it.”
Dorman’s advisor spoke out suddenly, causing Dorman to glare at him.
“Don’t believe – our allies came from this ‘world’ – said they did.”
Kryslie answered, “Thousands of years ago their ancestors left here, because they would not accept the tenets laid upon them by the Guardians of Peace. Then as now, those people were greedy, taking what they wanted, not caring the cost to others. They have not changed. If their leaders had asked ours for help to save their world, help would have been given…”
“They think they can come here and rule, but if we accept that, then your tribes have an even greater right,” Tymos said. “In spite of the hatred, misunderstanding and lack of trust your tribes have towards us, I recognise that you act according to honour. I can see how your leaders have fought to keep your dignity and respect. You would never have stolen the children of your allies in other tribes and taught them to hate their own kin. My father would never do that to any of you, no matter what you think of him. Yet your allies did that to him.”
Kryslie did not try to hide the tears that came into her eyes. “Our father lost five children. It is bad enough that he mourned them as dead, but to find out that two of them have been trained to hate him, and a third will become like them…”
“You alive. How so?”
“Because,” snapped Tymos, “We grew up on yet another distant world. Away from our kin. We came here less than a cycle of seasons ago.”
“Perhaps that’s why you think different.” Gors said, thoughtfully. “Answer this. Allies say that your power make mutants. That why you no good.”
Kryslie and Tymos felt a flood of information come into their mind, for a moment they were unable to answer. Everything the three Governors knew about the power of the Royal Tymoreans, surfaced in their minds - the result of a deep mind meld. Kryslie quickly sorted the information and began to explain.
“In the history of Tymorea, our world, there have been four types of people. All were descendents of those upon whom the Guardians of Peace bestowed their power.”
“Those like us,” Tymos took over the explanation, “Can sense and use the power and are not harmed by it. We are compelled to do no harm to innocents and use it to bring peace, to help others. The commoners have no trace of this power and cannot sense it or use it and are not affected by it.”
“We not commoners, we mutants,” Dormar crowed. “Allies right, power cause mutants. Royals do it to us.” He smirked at the other mutant leaders.
Kryslie spoke softly. “Dormar, you are right, but you are also wrong.”
“Right I am! Royals…”
“No!” Kryslie interrupted his claim. “We do no harm to innocents. Royal we may be, but Royals have not gone out and turned people into mutants.”
“Huh! Then how it happen?” Dormar insisted.
“The Guardians’ power is the ability to sense and use the power of the planet, this world,” Kryslie explained. “The power is all around us; everywhere. It affects your genetic make up - making you unstable. It gives us abilities and strengths that are greater than the commoners. Two extremes. For those considered Royal, comes the responsibility to use it to help, to heal, to bring peace. We can help stabilise you if you wish.”
“No!” Dorman refused with a visible shudder.
Kryslie shrugged and continued. “The fourth type of people were the ancestors of your allies. The power affected them in a more subtle way. It warped their minds, making them greedy and power hungry. Some of them could use the power to a small degree and did so to influence others, make them obedient slaves.”
Tymos added, “They use the power, but they do not control it. In close proximity to those with already unstable genes, they would make the mutations increase. So that the children don’t turn out like their parents.”
“How prove it?”
Jenmar spoke again, “Even you must have noticed the increase in variations in our children, Gors. And the trickle of strangers from amongst the normal folk, whose children are like us, not them?”
“Could be Royals, doing it, admit it not.”
“Only if our power were not controlled,” Kryslie reiterated. “And only if we deliberately set out to cause harm. We are trained to work for peace, and if we were to be like those who left thousands of years ago, we would have our power removed.”
“If believe you we decide – what promises you make?” Dormar asked suspiciously.
“We can promise help for your tribes. The same power that warps you can be used to stabilise you. It cannot change how you look, but it will give your future children a chance to be more like the norm.” Tymos said immediately.
Dormar sniffed.
“If you come to us for help, we would not turn you down,” Kryslie added. “The Governors have sent healers and teachers to you in the past, only to have them turned away.”
“We would have them send more,” Tymos said. “So you may learn through your own efforts, to improve your life – if that is what you wish. There are metal ores amongst these hills, which with the right knowledge, you could mine, refine and use to trade for goods you don’t have. There are even plants growing in the hills and mountains that are prized for their healing properties – also valuable for trade. Your women could grow these and add to the value of your tribes.”
“What if we stay work with allies?” Gors asked, watching Tymos and Kryslie intently for an answer.
“Then that is your choice. But if some of your tribe do not want to keep doing that, you should let them relocate, allowing them their free choice,” Kryslie accepted.
“Though, in the conflict to come,” Tymos interrupted, “We will protect first those who fight with us, and we will do no harm to those who do not harm us.”
“Your elders, agree they do?”
“They taught us to be what we are. What you want for your tribes, they want for all citizens.”
Dormar and Gors turned and walked back to their seats.
“Think we will. For children of power, not elders.” Dormar agreed.
“Troubles us though, what allies do, if serve them not.” Gors admitted.
“We don’t want to put your tribes in danger,” Kryslie said at once. “If you promised to help them, and feel that you still must, there may be a compromise.”
She had the attention of all five mutant leaders. “Was it only the men of your tribe that promised, or you on behalf of all?”
“We help what they want. We hunt, give food, clean, keep people away or catch them, we tend their creatures.”
“Then those of you not needed by allies can choose what they do with their time?”
The mutants nodded thoughtfully, catching onto her idea. Mithas sent a mental comment. “Sly you are.”
“Then, while helping them, you can help us. All we ask for you to do is note what they do and where they go, day by day. You are better hunters and woodsman than they are. I think if you wished to be unseen by them you would be. If you send such information to Mithas, he will get it to us. This will help counter their treachery and when they realise that our spirit won’t be broken and attack, we will know where they are and go to remove them.”
Dormar and Gors stared at Mithas and nodded suddenly. They both stood and stalked from the room.
“Do as you ask, they will,” Jenmar assured them. “Pride they have. Test words they will. Tribe of Mithas should leave.”
Mithas sighed. “Already we have. This path has danger. Tell if you would