CHAPTER SEVEN

A NEW LEGEND

 

 

“GENE THE HACKMAN, top dog, him done the great walk around. Not for him the darkness, not for him the cold, not for him the Time of Ice. Gene the Hackman, him got whet. Gene the Hackman, him got whet and walked the Earth and him killed Them.”

They were the most familiar words in the world, the words told by every tale-teller at the beginning of every story. Edward Leer had recited them more times than anyone could remember down the years.

But now, in Ezra Pound’s den, they sounded different. They didn’t sound like the start of a fable to Evelyn. They didn’t sound like the beginning of another retelling. They sounded as though Edward Leer was telling the Pack leader something new and real.

“The land, it was vast and dry and filled with rocks. The Pack, them were in the big hills, tougher and tough. Gene, him was worried that there were no Urgings. Him was worried that him could not hear the Master’s Voice.”

Some of the dams in the crowd gasped. This was not like the other tales. This was a new story, one they hadn’t heard before. There were no legends about the Master’s Voice, there never had been. The tales were about the legend that was Gene the Hackman, about the scrapping.

One or two of the younger males shuffled their feet in discomfort. Eyes flickered, seeking reassurance in Ezra Pound’s face. His expression never changed, and his stance remained relaxed.

Edward Leer’s expression reflected the story he was telling. It was serious now, as he stood tall, holding his staff firmly, but not leaning on it.

“It was the longest walk Gene the Hackman, him had ever taken. Eight months all-away round. Them were living off body fat. Tod of Much Slaughter, him had got the bone for it. Him wanted to go away home. Him had got the bone to challenge Gene the Hackman.

“Gene the Hackman, top dog, him stood firm, but Tod of Much Slaughter, tougher and tough, him stood against Gene. Him wanted to walk away the long walk home.”

More gasps. Gene the Hackman was a legend. No one challenged the legend. No one got the bone to challenge Gene the Hackman. Still, Ezra Pound’s expression did not change as all eyes turned upon him. Edward Leer was Tod of Much Slaughter, now, an aggressive sneer on his face, challenging Gene the Hackman.

“Gene the Hackman, him stood firm. ‘My pack, my rules’, him said. But Tod of Much Slaughter, him and his mate, Maryann Faithful, them turned their backs on Gene the Hackman and them walked away home.

“Gene the Hackman’s pack was Jack so Wild and Old Man Gary. Gene’s pack, them was mostly dead or gone. Jack so Wild, him was young and him missed home, and him was scared. Old Man Gary, him was loyal to Gene the Hackman, but him was old in scrapping.

“Gene the Hackman, him could not hear the Master’s Voice and him could not feel the Urgings, so him followed the light. The light of a falling star that blinked on and blinked off. Him lost the light and him kept walking the long walk in the big hills. Jack so Wild, him was scared and him followed Gene, and Old Man Gary him was loyal and him followed Gene, and it was dusk.

“Old Man Gary, him was the first to see the bodies. It was a pack like them, but deader and dead. Starved to the bone and dried up. Raw bones.

“Gene the Hackman, him could still hear with his two ears. Him could still hear the echo in the big hills. Him could still hear Them.

“‘RUN!’ said Gene the Hackman.”

The gasp came from all the Aux, males and dams both, and they jostled closer to the tale-teller, protesting at his tale. Gene the Hackman didn’t run. Gene the Hackman fought. Gene the Hackman scrapped. Gene the Hackman was the warrior legend. One large beta dog bared his teeth, and raised a clenched fist so tense that his knuckles showed white.

Ezra Pound waved them back. He still slouched in his chair, but the muscles of his maw were tight, sinews taut as he clenched his teeth and worked his jaw.

“The tale-teller, him must finish his tale. Leer, him tougher and tough. Tougher than a scrapper,” said Ezra Pound. Then he laughed, a mean sound filled with danger.

“Them had changed. This was a new Them. Them was bigger and faster and tougher and all tough. Jack so Wild, him could not outrun Them. Old Man Gary, him could not outrun Them. Gene the Hackman, him could not outrun Them. Gene the Hackman, him turned to face Them. Him drew his blades. Him knew him could not outfight Them. Them with their chitin. Them with their limbs and claws and teeth. Them with their screaming and tearing and biting. Them, all of Them. Tougher and tough. Tougher than Gene the Hackman.

“‘Jack! RUN!’ Gene, him shouted, but Jack, him fell. Him broke his ankle. Jack so Wild, him could not run and him could not fight. Gene the Hackman, him got whet. Him swung his blades. Him tore at Them and him defended the pup, Jack. Jack so Wild, him was weak and him was scared. This time, Gene the Hackman, him was too slow. Them was skittle-scuttle fast. Them got Jack so Wild first and Them bit him, and Jack, him was dead.

“Gene the Hackman, all him had was his wrath. All him had was his vengeance. Him knew him could not outrun Them. Him knew him could not outfight Them. Him only knew him could get whet and scrap and have some revenge on Them before him died.

“Gene the Hackman, him scrapped with Them. Him swung his blades, fast and furious. Him hacked through bone and chitin. Him spread great sprays of ichor. Him attacked Them from all angles. Him thrust and lunged and swept his blades. Him maimed and him killed, and more Them came upon him.

“Them stood tall on their hind legs. Taller than the Alpha dog. Them had long torsos with four swinging limbs of chitin, clawed and grasping. Them had great, round maws of countless teeth, in their jagged bony heads. Them hungered. Them tore and Them bit.

“Gene the Hackman, top dog with no pack, him swung his left hand wide, him lunged his blade in the face of one of Them. Them, skittle-scuttle fast. Gene the Hackman, him got bit. His left arm, him got bit clean off. Gene the Hackman, tougher and tough, him got bit bad.”

There was silence in the chamber. Some of the Aux looked pale and anxious, had gathered together for consolation. Dams stood close to their mates for reassurance.

Leer had been taking the story steadily. He acted out the most dramatic moments of the scrapping with his staff. He lowered his voice sombrely at the moment of Jack so Wild’s death, and again when Gene got bitten.

He had never told the myth before. The tale had been passed down to him, as it had been passed to every tale-teller of every generation. As far as he knew, he was the first to tell it in all those generations.

The tale-teller in Edward Leer relished the task. The Aux in him did not.

The only person in the room who shared any of his confidence was Evelyn War. She had not heard the story before, either, but she had suspected that such tales existed; her father had always said as much.

“VABOOOM!”

The audience, rapt and intent, reeled from the sudden sound. There were moans and squeals from the dams and younger Aux.

Edward Leer had been preparing for the explosion since his last revelation, slowly filling his lungs with air. The effort took its toll on the tale-teller; it was another few seconds before he could continue.

“And that was the scrapping of that day,” he finally said.

“Gene the Hackman, him had taken a bad hurting. Him didn’t know anything. Him only knew that Them were dead.

“Him had lost blood, but him found a way to get to the place. Him found a way to get to a Master. The Master, him gave Gene a new arm. Gene the Hackman, him was impressed. The Master, him gave Gene a new death toy. Gene the Hackman, him was impressed.

“Them came. Them came to the place. Them came for the Master. Gene the Hackman, him took the new death toy. The death toy, him fired bolts, faster and fast. The death toy, him didn’t need re-loading. Gene the Hackman, him fired the death toy into Them. Them died. Them all died. Them were broken to pieces on the ground, splashed in their ichor. Deader and dead.

“Gene the Hackman, tougher and tough, him survived. Him survived because of the Master.

“Gene the Hackman, him could not protect his pack. Him could not save Old Man Gary. Him could not save Jack so Wild. Tod of Much Slaughter and Maryann Faithful, them had turned their backs on Gene.

“A top dog, him without no pack is no Alpha. Gene the Hackman without no pack, him was Omega dog.”

Edward Leer was clever, cleverer even than Evelyn War had known.

For his entire life, Edward Leer had been telling the legends of Gene the Hackman that the Aux wanted to hear: as inspiration for the scrapping, as a fighting manual.

Now he had told a story they didn’t want to hear.

“The tale... me, I have told, it needed to be told now,” said Edward Leer, almost apologetically. “This is a time of change. Us, we must face it. Zoo Pack, we must remember the Masters and what them bred us to do. The Masters, them taught us strength in numbers.

“If Gene’s pack, it had stayed together, it might have fared better, especially when it came to facing Them that had changed. Gene the Hackman, him needed Tod and Maryann. Alpha dog, him needed other Aux besides.”

Edward Leer paused.

“Just like Zoo Pack, us, we need other packs to stand beside us in the time of change.”

The Aux in the chamber stood in shocked silence. It disturbed them, but they all understood Leer’s explanation of the fable. They waited for Ezra Pound’s reaction.

There was a commotion in the passage outside the chamber, and the noise in the room began to build as a beta dog squeezed his way through the throng. He began to address one of the lieutenants close to where Pound was sitting, but the Alpha dog gestured to him.

“You, speak,” he said, and the room fell silent, the Aux eager to listen.

The beta dog was one of the younger pack members. He’d been hurrying, and looked clammy in his tightly-fastened garments, his head cloth flapping around his shoulders. He hadn’t yet loosened any of his clothing in the warmer space at the habitation.

“My turn for sentry duty at the fork,” he said. “Ward Cleaver, him gone... disappeared. Only blood... and this.” He held out Ward Cleaver’s blade, dented and nicked from ferocious blows.

The young sentry’s breathing was becoming a little steadier, but he still looked panicked.

“What else?” asked Leer.

“Me, I heard something,” said the Aux. “Me, I heard a sound like whistling. Me, I ran.”

“Them,” said Evelyn.

This time, no one could fail to hear her.