“I am not your son,” John said impatiently. “We are not even kyn. Have all the people from Beyond taken your soma?”
“No, my son. Not all.” The guru looked at Harmon and frowned slightly. “Not even many of those who follow the path of Krishna.”
Harmon said, “I have yet to feel myself worthy to unite with the Lord Krishna.”
John looked at the Revelation’s skipper. “So you haven’t taken it but recommend that we do.”
Harmon said evenly, “One day I shall, when I feel myself worthy.”
John grunted and looked back at the older man. “Then, what happens after you take soma?”
“Yon become one with Krishna, our redeemer, and follow his teaching the rest of your years until the end of mortal life comes and you are gathered into the bosom of Kalkin.”
“What teaching?”
“Thou shalt do not harm.”
Don snorted.
John said, “Look, Guru of the Marks, it is impossible to go through life without harming someone.”
“Not just someone, my son. Any living thing.”
The Caledonians were staring at him.
“Any living thing ? How can you eat a steak of beef without harming the steer?” one of the clannsmen blurted.
“You cannot, my son. Followers of the path of Lord Krishna eat only of the vegetables of the fields and the fruit of the trees.”
John said, “Look, Guru of the Marks, do you claim that if one takes this soma, he will go through the rest of his life unable to harm any other?”
“He would not wish to harm any other, my son. Once he has taken his soma, he walks in the same path as the Lord Krishna.”
John stared at the older man even as he thought it out. “I don’t believe you,” he said finally.
“You will when, at long last, you have taken your soma, my son.”
John continued to stare at him in frustration. Finally he wheeled his horse and barked, “I want a volunteer.”
Fifteen hands went up.
He ignored them for the moment. “It is of great implication to our whole confederation. It will mean perhaps death, though probably not. It will possibly result in the volunteer being branded a slink and stripped of his clann kilts. You have heard this so-called guru. I want a man to take soma and report his experience. I would do it myself, but I am the leader of this troop and responsible to the Dail for the expedition’s report.”
The hands of the clannsmen remained up, but there was despair in all faces.
John looked them over. He called finally, “Robert of the Fieldings.” The clannsman rode forth, holding his reins in his awkward left hand. Other than his crippled arm and scarred face, he was a beautiful specimen of Caledonian manhood, well over seven feet in stature and carrying sufficient weight to be considered brawny. John had chosen deliberately. Robert had no immediate family—a raiding party had set fire to his hut on the heath where the then herdsman had built outside the Aberdeen walls. His wife and three children had burned, and since then Robert had spent his life on raid, never failing to volunteer for each expedition but thus far having been unable to find honorable death in combat.
John wheeled back to Mark, the guru. “This man will take your soma.”
The older man said, “Each must himself decide, my son.”
John looked at Robert of the Fieldings.
The clannsman said, “I wish to take this soma.” But their were blisters of cold sweat on his broad forehead.
The guru frowned in hesitation.
Harmon said, “Let the dully take it. Why not? Our task is to spread the message of Krishna. He’ll be the first convert in Aberdeen.”
“Very well. Follow me, son Robert.”
John said, “A moment. How long will this take?”
“He will return to you at this hour tomorrow, my son.”
The orange clad guru turned and began to reascend the ramp. Robert hesitated only momentarily before following. Harmon, a faint amusement on his face, brought up the rear. And now John could see two other orange robed figures at the entry to the Revelation. Evidently, this Mark was not the sole guru about the spaceship.
For a moment, John of the Hawks was about to call to Robert of the Fieldings, to recall him to the ranks of his fellow Aberdeen clannsmen. But then he shook his head. They could not return to the assembly of the Dail without full information on this precedent smashing situation.
He turned and said to Don, “We’ll make camp here.”
Don scowled toward Nairn.
John said, “No. They will not raid us. I suspect that many of them have taken this soma. Perhaps there are not enough true clannsmen remaining in the whole phylum to raid us.”
The following day, the small troop drew up again before the ramp of the Revelation, waiting. The entry port was still open, but there was no sign of life.
Don growled, “If we had our weapons, we could raid them. Undoubtedly, there would be much booty inside.”
“Undoubtedly,” John said. “However, it is a difficult position. They are unarmed men who claim to be teachers of religion, and I suspect it would be against the bann to attack them, or even to count coup upon them.”
Don snorted his disgust. “Religion! There is only one religion, and that is the religion of the Holy. Any Keeper of the Faith can tell you that.”
John didn’t answer his friend. There were many ramifications to all this, and he had by no means thought them out to a conclusion that satisfied him.
The troops stirred. Harmon, the self-proclaimed skipper of the spaceship, had appeared at the top of the ramp. Following him was Robert of the Fieldings.
They descended the ramp, and Harmon stood to one side, his expression amused. Robert of the Clann Fielding approached them and stood before John and the others.
And then John of the Hawks lost his characteristic dignity. His eyes bugged, and he rasped, “Where… where is the scar that ran from your ear to your chin?”
There was a strangeness in the face of Robert. It would seem the dour clannsman had lightened several degrees in complexion. There was a glow about his face, a shine in his eyes. He lifted his left arm and touched the side of his face, and all gaped anew.
Don blurted, “Your arm !”
Robert said in an unwonted soft voice, “I have been walking with the Lord Krishna and hence have been cured of all ills.”
Chapter Two
This year the meeting of the Dail was being held in Aberdeen. The plain before the city was a mass of tents, large and small, banner; flying above those which housed the sachems of the various phyla. The markets were in full swing, and feet had trampled the heather to the point where all now was dust, which billowed up as herds of cattle and horses were brought in for the bartering. There were the skirl of music and a continuous shouting, bickering, arguing, the last in particular from the men’s tents, where uisgebeatha was for offer.
In such a tent John of the Hawks found the clannsman for whom he sought.
John stood beside him at the improvised bar and ordered a small dorris of the potent spirits, at first pretending not to notice who was at his left. He sipped his drink, then said, “Ah. May the bards sing your exploits, Will, Sachem of the Thompsons.”
The other turned.
John said, “Perhaps you do not know me.”
Will of the Thompsons said jovially, “I recognize you immediately, John of the Hawks. May the bards sing your exploits.” He laughed his good humor. “Indeed, I assume they have. While you were still but a lad, you counted coup upon me, who was then Raid Cacique of the Thompsons.
John said politely, “The Holy granted me great fortune that day, Will of the Thompsons.”