It is said by those who traveled the road between Arcadia and the Porse Cutoff that for two years the swamp rocked with the pained screams and frightened footsteps of the creatures that lived there. Great scars appeared in the surface of the road, cutting the road clean through in places. The trees, highgrass, and brush surrounding the body of water they called Nightmare Lake turned black and were swept with fires. Trade along the route halted, and whatever ice or cast iron that made it to Tarzak came south through Kuumic and then across the Great Desert. The towns north of Tieras, as well as the entire Emerald Valley, could bring in trade goods only at prohibitive prices.
It became so bad that talk was begun among the peoples of the Central Continent towns. At The Season the thirty-fourth, in Tarzak's Great Ring, the talk led to the possibility of constructing a road north from the White Top Mountain Road, west of the Great Muck, to the base of the Snake Mountain Range, and from there, east to the town of Miira. The route would avoid the swamp altogether.
But the only bull left was Reg, and Reg was old. The proposed road could be constructed with horses, wagons, and Steengrease, but it would take at least another two years. Also, the cost would be measured in lives as well as movills. The Season ended with no plans agreed upon, no contracts awarded. Soon after, in May of the thirty-fifth Year Since The Crash, lone travelers that braved the cursed route reported that all was quiet in the Great Muck. The vegetation around Waco's Lake was again green. The story was confirmed by others, and soon the gashes in the road were repaired and trade resumed as though nothing had happened. Everyone, save the Great Mootch Movill, was at a loss to explain what had occurred. Mootch's story involved the landing of the great treasure ship Caddywampus, with its holds laden with jewels, spices, fine fabrics, and a potion he called "real whiskey." But Mootch was a storyteller, and was known as such. It was a fine story; but for answers that could be relied upon, there was no supplier. However, by The Season the thirty-fifth, the only memory of the event was lost deep within the scriptorium of the Tarzak Priesthood; on the road all that was remembered was Mootch's tale of the Caddywampus.
No One placed the final rock upon Waco's grave, stood, and walked the few steps to the fresh water pool at the edge of the clearing. He pushed back his hood and knelt to sip from the pool. Just before his lips touched the water, he saw his own image in the water backgrounded by an angry black sky. His hair was as white as his clown-whited face. He reached his left hand up and touched it to his hair. When had it turned white?
More rocks.
No One looked away from the water to see Ssura standing behind her father's grave. He turned back to the water, took a drink, then sat back upon his heels.
More rocks!
He shook his head. "No more rocks. Enough." He looked again at Ssura. She stood, naked as always, her fists upon her hips. "Ssura, where is my child?"
She shook her head. Not yours. She pointed toward the edge of the clearing closest to the road. You go now.
No One looked up toward the mound on the top of the rise. He shook his head. "No. First the eggs must speak to the others. Tarzaka and Trouble."
Ssura laughed, her voice at a wild pitch that assaulted No One's ear drums. No want. Eggs no want. No need them; no want them. She presented her back to him and ran away; presumably toward whatever she used for a shelter.
No One shook his head, trying to remember the hateful, clawing, repeated acts that eventually produced the child. It could not be called the making of love. It was the cold, unfeeling manufacture of a child. No One's eyes narrowed as he again saw his image in the pool. He had not been able to perform. Alone with a crazy-strong wild woman in the dark of the jungle screaming at you—who could? The eggs—the eggs made him perform. He clenched his jaws against the indignity—the exploitation—the shame.
And the child? No name. No One's child had no name. He didn't even know if the child was male or female. It had been a year, alone among the trees of the swamp, since Ssura had lost her stomach. And No One had no claim to the child. Both the swamp woman and the eggs had made that very clear. The week before, the eggs had nothing more to teach him; but they refused to teach Tarzaka and Trouble. They had what they wanted from No One; the bargain was off.
No One pushed himself to his feet and began walking up the rise to the mound. Tarzaka and Trouble could roast themselves as far as he was concerned. But the eggs. Those damned, cursed eggs. They had made a bargain.
Come no closer, No One!
No One felt the feeble thoughts of the eggs working upon him. You are small, he said to the eggs. You are too small and too weak. We have made a bargain. I have done what you wanted; now you shall do what I want.
The feeling of scorn washed from the mound down the rise toward No One. We do what we choose, stud beast. And we need you no longer. Have we not given you full command of your powers? Have we not shown you the two great visions you will someday have? Go away unless you want us to make you give yourself a child.
No One's mind reached out and placed its fingers around the eggs within the mound. I can crush you, now. I will, unless you live up to your part of the bargain.
The eggs cried out: Ssura! Kill! Ssura! Kill!
No One laughed. Your thoughts cannot get beyond me, now. His fingers reached within one of the shells. They wrapped around the head of a cold, slime-covered creature. How does it feel? All I must do is to close my fingers and your head will be crushed!
We agree! We agree, No One. Whatever you want! We agree! We agree!
No One released his mental grip upon the Ssendissian infant, and then studied the mound. Are all of you listening to me?
They all answered: Yes.
Then hear this. Any time I choose, no matter where I am on this planet, I can reach out and destroy the lot of you. This is the power you helped me to achieve. Do you all understand this?
The eggs answered in unison. Yes.
No One nodded. Then you shall meet your side of the bargain that we made. There is now a child that is doomed to spend its life in twisted horror, caring for you. I have done my part. Now you must teach Tarzaka and Trouble all that you can teach them. If you do not, I shall reach out and smash your shells! If I now have the power to kill a bull with my mind, your insignificant lives are in even greater peril.
No One looked down from the mound at the shack where Trouble and Tarzaka stood in the doorway looking back at him. He held his hands to his mouth. "It is settled..."
He laughed, then lowered his hands and spoke to the pair with his mind. I have talked with them. Now your school begins. Do you understand?
The pair waved back. Tarzaka began running after him. She shouted. "No One, wait! You must not do what you are planning. Wait!"
He lifted his hand and the fortune teller stopped as though she had run into a masonry wall. No One studied them for a moment. Good-bye. He turned and faced the edge of the clearing nearest the road. Within a few moments he had located his pack, now rotten and crumbled with age. He set his jaw and continued moving his feet through the trees and highgrass toward the Arcadia-Miira Road.
Little Will sat upright against the litter's raised back. Clutched in her right hand and resting upon her lap was the gold-and-mahogany bullhook. The bullhands of Miira were gathered behind her and at her sides, and all watched as Bigfoot, new Master of the Miira Bullhands, entered the kraal and approached Reg.