Jack L. Chalker - Soul 1 - Spirits Of Flux And Anchor

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SOUL RIDER I: SPIRITS OF FLUX AND ANCHOR

This is a work of fiction. Alt the characters and events

portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance

to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

book, or portions thereof in any form.

A TOR Book

Published by:

Tom Doherty Associates, Inc.

8-10 West 36th Street

New York, New York 10018

First TOR printing, March 1984

ISBN: 27298-03

Can. Ed.: 812-53-276-7

Cover art by Dawn Wilson

Printed in the United States of America

For Mike Resnick

-from. one madman to another.

ANCHOR

There was no need to tell anyone in Anchor Logh

that the man in black was dangerous. Any stringer

who rode the Flux was more than dangerous—he

was someone to be feared for more reasons than

one.

Cassie watched the man ride in on his huge

white horse and felt a sudden chill at the very

sight of him. She had a particular reason for that

chill, being of The Age and with the Census Cele-

bration barely three days away, although she didn't

really believe she was in any danger. The quota

this year was the lowest in her lifetime, thanks to

an unusually abundant harvest and a high number

of deaths among the Honored Elders, and her odds,

like all those -with her birth year, were barely one

in a hundred. In fact, only four stringers had been

invited to the Celebration this year and, it was said,

only two had accepted, the rest preferring fatter

pickings in other Anchors with more potential

victims—and profits. That fact alone made the ap-

pearance of this one even more of a standout than

it normally would have been.

He was a tall, lean, muscular man with coal-

black hair and a handlebar moustache, and in

normal circumstances and with a normal back-

ground he would have been considered a hand-

8 Jack L. Chalker

some man, even a desirable man, by those Cassie's

age and older. But he was not a normal man with

a normal background, and it was clear to any who

looked upon him that this was so. There was just

something about him, something you couldn't put

your finger on, that radiated a fearsome chill to all

he passed. His face was worn and aged well beyond

his years, his skin seemed tough as leather, and his

eyes, a weirdly washed-out blue, radiated contempt

for World and its offerings- He was dressed in

black denim, including black boots, gloves, and a

wide-brimmed black hat that had one side of its

wide brim tied up in stringer fashion, and a black

leather jacket lined with weathered sheepskin that

must have once been white.

Weathered.... That was a good word for him.

His boots, his clothes, even his sawed-off shotgun

with the fancy carved handle that hung from his

silver-decorated belt in a special holster—they all

were weathered almost beyond belief.

He rode slowly, imperiously, right past Cassie,

but those cold, distant eyes took no notice whatso-

ever of the thin, slightly built girl nor of much of

anyone or anything else, either. She shivered a bit,

then turned and began walking back towards the

communal farm where she had been bom and

raised.

The farm lay at the end of a winding, rutted dirt

road, about a kilometer back from the main high-

way, and on either side of the girl stretched broad

fields of grass dotted with grazing cows. She knew

every rut in that road by heart, and every cow as

well, but somehow, today, they seemed more dis-

tant and remote than anything ever had.

It was a bright, cloudless day, and the Holy

Mother was in all Her divine glory in the sky,

filling Anchor Logh with her brightness and slightly

coloring the landscape with subtle and different

shadmgs. It was a glorious sight, yet She was al-

SOUL RIDER: SPIRITS OF FLUX AND ANCHOR 9

ways there when the clouds parted, and Her visage

was so omnipresent, so taken for granted, not just

by Cassie but by all those on World, that the Holy

Mother was rarely paid attention to except when

one was praying—or sinning.

Today, though, the Holy Mother seemed particu-

larly close and needed, and Cassie stopped and

looked up at Her reverently, seeking some comfort

and inspiration. The sparkling bands of gold,

orange, deep red and emerald green that gave the

slight color shifts to the land showed the beauty

and glory of Heaven and reminded ail humankind

of the Paradise it had lost and could regain, in the

same way as night showed the emptiness of Hell,

the distant, tiny stars representing the lost souls

that might be consumed by darkness if not re-

deemed.

After a time she moved on, a lonely little figure

walking back to the only home she'd ever known.

Although the day was pretty, there was a chill in

the air, and she wore a heavy checked flannel shirt

and wool workpants.

Cassie had the kind of face that could be either

male or female, and this, along with her tendency

to keep her black, slightly curly hair clipped ex-

tremely short—as well as her slight build—often

got her mistaken for a boy, an error her low, husky

soprano did nothing to correct. She'd been the last

of four children, all girls, and her parents had

really wanted a boy. Particularly her father, a smith

who wanted very much to pass on the family trade

as his father had to him, and his father's father

before that. She had not been spared that knowl-

edge, and was often reminded of that fact.

Perhaps because of this, or at least in trying to

please them, she'd always been a tomboy, getting

into fights and walking, talking, and now working

with the boys, herding, milking, and even break-

ing horses. Tel Anser, the hard old supervisor in

10 Jack L. Chalker

the corral, often held her up as an example to the

boys he worked with, teasing them that she was

far more of a man than any of them. That didn't

win her any popularity contests, of course, but she

didn't really mind. She was proud of the comment.

Still, she was a lonely girl. Partly because of the

way she was, she never got asked to dances, never,

in fact, had even been asked for, let alone been out

on, a single date. Those few boys who did accept

her did so as an equal and a friend—and that

meant as just one of the boys. It was hard, some-

times, sitting around and listening to them com-

pare notes on girls they were attracted to, driving

home by their very indifference to her sex the fact

that she would never be the object of such conver-

sations, either by them or by others.

Still, the flip side of that never appealed to her

much, either. Perhaps if she'd been pretty, or sexy,

or at least cute, or had big breasts and a big ass

she might have thought differently, but she didn't

have those attributes and never would.

That meant, at least, never having to dress in

those silly, fancy outfits and do all that highpitched

giggling and gushing about that absolutely dreamy

boy in the third row in school, or flirting, putting

on phony perfumes and painting eyes, cheeks, lips—

well, it just seemed so damned silly and stupid to

her, if not downright dishonest. She never saw

why girls had to go through all that stuff anyway,

when boys scored extra points just by taking a

bath.

She'd never gotten along with, nor much liked,

her sisters, either. Of course, part of that was in

being the youngest, and, therefore, the target for

older siblings, but, later on, it was because she

neither liked nor identified with them or their

concerns and they knew it. Well, now she was

riding and herding and milking while her oldest

sister was pregnant with her second kid, the next

SOUL RIDER: SPIRITS OF FLUX AND ANCHOR 11

was trying hard to have her first while working in

the commune laundry, and the third was an ap-

prentice bull cook who seemed content. Some won-

derful ambition that was.

Ambition was very much on Cassie's mind right

now, for she was The Age, graduated from general

school, and on her way to either higher education

or an assigned trade depending on how she did on

the massive battery of tests she'd take after Census.

She'd always had an affinity with animals, par-

ticularly horses, who were prettier, stronger, and

far more loyal and dependable than most people

she'd met, and this had not gone unnoticed by

those who were always referred to as "the powers

that be." She was aiming for one of the two slots

open for veterinarian's training. Then she'd show

them! Then she'd show then all! Status, a true

profession, rank that commanded respect, top pay,

and a skill that was vitally needed.

Her father was working iron when she entered

the smithy, and she stood and watched until the

red-hot metal had been skillfully shaped and formed

and dunked into the water. He spotted her then,

standing there, and frowned. "Well, Cass? Parcel

man have anything for us today?"

She looked suddenly disgusted with herself and

shook her head. "I'm sorry, Pa. I—I guess I forgot

to check."

"What! Didn't you go out to the highway like I

told you to?"

"Yeah, I went, only ..."

"Only what?"

"Well, soon as I got there a stringer rode by and

I just sort of forgot anything else. I'm sorry, Pa."

Her father sighed- He was a huge, superbly mus-

cled man with thick black hair and a full beard,

looking every bit the smith he was, and he had a

hell of a mean streak in him and the short temper

to bring it out. He didn't usually let it get the

Jack L. Chalker

better of him, though, unless he'd been drinking,

and while she braced for at least a hard and foul

tongue-lashing, it never came. Like everyone else

in Anchor Logh, her father had once been The Age

himself, facing his own Census. As rough as he was

now, and he'd been even rougher back then, he

knew what the sight of a stringer this close to Cen-

sus would have done to him back then, and he was

never the sort of man to hold anyone to a higher

standard than that to which he held himself.

Instead he said, "Welt, don't fret about it. The

Holy Mother knows you got enough on your mind

right now."

Feeling very relieved, she decided she should

make amends anyway and so she responded, "Want

me to go back out there now? I don't mind. I got

nothing much to do."

"Naw, that's all right. I hav'ta go out there my-

self in an hour or two anyway, and if there's any-

thing I guess it'll wait 'til then. You just get along

now and enjoy yourself."

She thought for a moment, the crisis already far

in the past in her mind, and decided to take advan-

tage of her father's unusual good nature. "Maybe I

could tak« Leanspot into the city, then? I got to

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摘要：

SOULRIDERI:SPIRITSOFFLUXANDANCHORThisisaworkoffiction.Altthecharactersandeventsportrayedinthisbookarefictional,andanyresemblancetorealpeopleorincidentsispurelycoincidental.Copyright©1984byJackL.ChalkerAllrightsreserved,includingtherighttoreproducethisbook,orportionsthereofinanyform.ATORBookPublished...

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