The Cache

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Authors: Philip José Farmer
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makes no difference. If I tried to rejoin our war party or go home, I’d be stoned to death. They wouldn’t even dishonor their steel with my blood.”
    “Perhaps you’d be better off dead,” said Benoni. “A man with no home is no man. And then your scalp . . . it’s so woolley.”
    “I don’t want to die!” said Zhem. “Not as a captive, anyway with my hands tied. It’d be different in battle. And I feel sad because I’ll never make love to my wife again. But I want to live.”
    “You might be a help to me,” said Benoni. “I don’t know the land. But why should I trust you?”
    “You shouldn’t,” said Zhem. “I wouldn’t trust you either. But if we became blood-brothers . . .”
    Benoni asked what blood-brothers meant, and Zhem explained. Benoni considered. He looked steadily at Zhem for a long time. Zhem fidgeted, frowned, smiled. Finally, Benoni said, “Very well. I don’t like the idea that I have to fight for you no matter what you do. I don’t know you. Maybe you’ll do things I won’t feel like defending you for . . .”
    “You’ll be my older blood-brother,” said Zhem. “I will obey you in all things, unless you do something dishonorable.”
    “O.K.” said Benoni. And he put out his arm for Zhem to cut and to apply his own wound to it . . . so their blood was red. He had thought it would be black; indeed, this thought had held him back from accepting Zhem’s offer. He had not liked the idea that he might become half-black.
    But, now that he thought about it, Navahos were very dark, sometimes, and their blood was as red as his.
    Zhem chanted some words so fast that Benoni could only understand several. Then, they applied clay to the cuts. And Benoni untied Zhem’s bonds. Until they were made blood-brothers, he had not trusted Zhem. He had watched him while he cut his, Benoni’s, arm for fear the youth would try to stab him. A hint of a wrong move would have sent Benoni’s knife plunging into the black skin. Zhem must have known this, for he had moved very slowly.
    They mounted and rode on. Zhem explained that they were two days’ horse-travel from the Msibi. This country belonged to the Ekunsah, a white nation. To the northeast lay the great nation of Kaywo. Its capital city, Kaywo, was at the meeting place of the Msibi and Jo rivers. Or, as they were called in the Kaywo tongue, Siy and Hayo. The Kaywo were a mighty nation, they had huge houses and temples, roads of smooth stone, and a great navy and army. They had just won a ten-year war with Senglwi; they had slaughtered the citizens of that city. And now they were turning their attention to the great city of Skego. Skego, once a small town on the shores of the Miys Sea, had become big, too, and was extending its empire southwards, towards Kaywo.
    “I would like to see this great city,” said Benoni, wondering if it were half as large as Fiiniks. “Can we go there without their killing us on sight or enslaving us?”
    “I’ve been thinking that we could go there and enlist in the Foreign Legion,” said Zhem. “If we fight for Kaywo, we get much booty. Women, too. If a man serves five years in the Legion, he is made a citizen of Kaywo. That would be worth fighting for. A man would have a home again.”
    “I would not mind going there if we would be allowed to leave again,” said Benoni. “But, I must get back to my home sometime.”
    “You could always desert,” said Zhem. “But you will not be allowed to enter the country as a free man unless you join the Foreign Legion.”
    Two days later, they reined their horses back upon the top of a high hill. Below was the Msibi, or Siy, the Great River. Benoni stared at it for a long time. He had never seen so much water before. It must be at least two miles, maybe more, wide. He shivered. It was like a giant snake, a snake of water. And that much water had to be dangerous.
    “It’s worth walking across half the world to see this,” said Benoni. “Debra will never

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