Children of the Gates

  Both staggered, as if they kept erect and moved only with the greatest of efforts. One fell and Nick and Linda heard him call out hoarsely, saw him strive to pull up again. His companion came to a wavering halt, looked back, and then returned to help. Linked by their hands they went on.

  “Nick—in the sky!”

  “I see it. Keep down, out of sight!”

  A small saucer craft, such as the one that had hunted the Herald, snapped into view. Now it was almost directly over the runners who may or may not have had an instant or so to realize their peril.

  Both men continued forward, their agonized effort plain. It might have been that the grassy meadow had been transformed into a bog in which sucking mud held them fast. Then they wilted to the ground and lay very still.

  The saucer hung motionless directly above them. From its underside dripped a mass of gleaming cords looped and netted together, lowered by cable that remained fastened to the ship. And swinging down that came another figure.

  The saucer man (if man he was) was small, dwarfish. But little could be seen of him save a silver shape. For he wore suit and helmet not unlike those of an astronaut. A second such joined the first and they busied themselves with the net and the inert men on the ground. At a signal the net swung up, heavy with the runners, the suited crewmen riding with it.

  The craft swallowed up captives and captors. But it did not disappear as Nick hoped desperately that it would. He began to fear that those on board had knowledge of their presence also. Who knew what devices the hunters might operate?

  “Nick—!” Linda’s whisper brought a warning scowl from him.

  Her hand went to her mouth as if she needed to physically stifle her fear. Lung crouched beside her, shivering, but he did not utter a sound. Dare they try to move? Edge farther back into the woods where they were more protected by the trees? Nick was not sure they could make it—not now. It could be that they were needlessly alarmed. Still the saucer did not go.

  Lung whined.

  “I told you, keep—” Nick began hotly.

  What he saw stunned him into silence in mid-sentence.

  Between the bushes where they lay and the open meadow flashed a slender line of light. It broadened, became a mist, forming a wall before them.

  Out of the saucer in turn came such a ray as had followed the Herald during his ride. It was aimed at them and once more Nick felt that sickening tingling. Where the ray met the vapor wall, the mist balled into a fiery spot. And from the centering of energy ran out lines of fire.

  “Quick! This protection cannot be held. Into the woods!”

  At that cry Nick did not hesitate. When he reached for Linda, his hand closed on emptiness, she was already retreating, fighting her way into the shadows of the trees. It was not until they were well under that leaf cover again that Nick demanded:

  “Who called to us?”

  “Nobody!” Linda leaned against a tree trunk as if she could no longer trust her own feet. “It—it was in our heads. Somebody—something—thought at us!”

  He shook his head, not altogether denying what she had said, but as if to clear away the disorientation brought about by the realization that it was true. No one had shouted that order, it had rung in his mind!

  Linda turned her head slowly from left to right and back again.

  “Please, whoever—wherever you are”—her voice was low and not too steady—“we’re grateful—”

  But need they be? Nick’s wariness was back full force. It might only be that they had been marked down as prey by one power who thus had defended them against another.

  Something flashed into his memory as clearly as if he still saw the scene before him.

  “She was crying,” he said.

  “Who?” Linda was startled.

  “The girl with Lung. She was crying when she disappeared.”

  “You think she—” Linda was, he saw, prepared to protest.

  “It might be. But why was she crying?”

  Linda pressed Lung so closely to her the Peke whined. “I don’t know. Maybe she wanted Lung so much—”

  “No, it wasn’t that.” Nick shook his head again. That queer sensation frustrated him. It was as if he had been on the very edge of learning something important and then a door slammed, or communication was sharply broken, leaving him ignorant. “I don’t think it had anything to do with Lung at all.”

  “She whistled him to her,” Linda snapped. “Nick, what are we going to do? I don’t like this woods any better than I did before, even if it shields us from that saucer.”

  He agreed with her. There was a feeling of life around them that had nothing to do with trees, or vines, moss, or the rest of the visible world. Which was the lesser of two evils—the unknown of the woods, or the open and the hunting saucer? Somehow, of the two, he was more inclined now to risk the woods and he said so.

  Linda looked dubious and then reluctantly agreed.

  “I suppose you are right. And we would have been netted just like those others if something hadn’t interfered. But which way?”

  There Nick was at a loss. The compass on which he had depended before was back at the house with the rest of his gear. And he no longer trusted his own ability to set any course, not after what had happened before.

  “Too bad Lung isn’t a hound—he might guide us—”

  “But he might! Oh, why didn’t I think of that?”

  Linda actually seemed to believe the Peke could guide them, and Nick was amazed at her obsession with the dog.

  “His leash! I need his leash—” She had put Lung down between her feet, was looking about her as if what she sought could be materialized out of the air by the strength of her desire.

  “Wait—maybe this will do.” She caught at a vine running along the ground. It was tough and resisted her efforts to wrench it loose.

  Nick grabbed a good hold on it and jerked. He had no false optimism about Lung’s ability to take them out of the woods, but perhaps Linda knew more about the Peke than he did.

  Linda stripped off the leaves and small stems and fastened one end to Lung’s collar. Then she picked up the small dog and held him so his slightly protruding eyes were on a level with her own.

  “Lung—home—home—” She repeated that with solemn earnestness as if the small animal could understand. Lung barked twice. Linda put him down. Again she repeated:

  “Home, Lung!”

  The Peke turned without hesitation and headed into the woods. Linda looked back impatiently as Lung pulled at the improvised leash.

  “Are you coming?”

  Nick could refuse, but at the moment he had no alternative to offer. And there could be a chance she was right about Lung, that he might find the way back. Nick followed.

  Apparently Lung had utter confidence in what he was doing. He wound his way among the trees never hesitating at all. And the very certainty of his steady progress promised something, Nick decided. But he was still only partly able to accept the fact that the Peke had such ability as a guide when they came out of the woods (it must have been a narrow tongue at this end) and could see, some distance to their right, the farmhouse.

  “I told you!” Linda had such a note of triumphant relief in her voice that Nick guessed she had not been so firmly confident of Lung’s abilities after all.

  Now she ripped off the vine leash, picked up the Peke, and ran for the building that was more than ever a promise of safety. Nick halted for a moment to check the sky. The saucer people might have foreseen this move, could be cruising overhead, or snap suddenly into view—

  But Linda was running faster, too far ahead for him to catch and suggest prudence. He set out after her. As they entered the space immediately before the door Nick saw it was not, luckily, barred to them but stood ajar. Did that mean that the others were gone—?

  Linda crossed the threshold, he was now only two or three paces behind her. And Nick had hardly cleared the space of the door swing before that was clapped to and the bar cla
nged down.

  The transition from sunlight to this darkened room was such that Nick could not see clearly. Someone seized his arm ungently. He knew Stroud’s voice.

  “What d’you think you’re doin’?

  “I ought to give you a good one!” the Warden continued, and his grasp tightened into a painful vise. “You haven’t even the sense of a coney—not you!”

  “Get your hand off me!” Nick flared. All his fears, frustrations, his anger against Linda for her foolishness, was hot in him. He struck out at the man he could only half see.

  “Sam!” The Vicar pushed between them as the Warden ducked that badly aimed blow with the ease of one trained in such business.

  Stroud loosed his grip, but Nick, breathing hard, did not draw back.

  “You keep your hands off me,” he said again between set teeth.

  “Stop it!” Linda cried out. “Nick only came after me—”

  “And what were you doing out there, girl?” Lady Diana asked.

  “I went after Lung. Someone whistled and he went out—through the window in the other room. I had to go after him. It’s a good thing I did or she would have had him!”

  “She?” It was the Vicar who asked that. Nick’s sight had adjusted to the gloom now. He saw that they were ringed by the rest of the party.

  “The shining girl in the woods. She was going to give Lung something—something to eat, I think. When I tried to knock it out of her hand,” Linda’s voice faltered, “my—my hand went right through her arm!”

  She stopped as if she thought they would not believe her and for the space of a breath or two she was met by silence. Then Crocker spoke, a roughness in his voice close to that which had hardened Stroud’s when he accused Nick.

  “What did she look like—this ghost girl of yours?”

  “She—she was about my height,” Linda said. “I was so afraid for Lung I didn’t see her much to remember. I think she had brown hair and she was wearing green. Ask Nick—he saw her better than I did. When my hand went through her arm—” As her voice trailed into silence Nick saw them all turn to him.

  “She—well, she had brown hair, only it had some red in it, too. And it was shoulder length.” He tried to remember all the details he could. Crocker had pushed ahead of Stroud, was as intent upon what Nick said as if this was of utmost importance. “She wore green—with a coat like the Herald’s—a silver and gold apple branch on it. And she was pretty—Yes,” memory suddenly provided him with another small point, “she has a little dark mole, right about here.” He touched his own face near his mouth. “You could see it because her skin was so very white.”

  He heard Crocker’s breath hiss as if the pilot gasped.

  “But—” Nick added what seemed to him to be most important, “when she faded away she was crying.”

  “Rita!” Crocker pulled away, his shoulders hunched, his back to them.

  “Or an illusion,” Hadlett said quietly. “We have seen illusions, many of them, Barry.”

  Crocker did not look around, his hands were covering his face.

  “An illusion would be intended for us, we knew her. These two didn’t! So what would be the purpose of feeding them an illusion?” His voice was low, toneless. Nick thought he fought to control it.

  “Barry is right,” Lady Diana agreed. “Unless the People want us to try and find her—and provide such an illusion to get us out of here.”

  “Which they won’t, not that way!” Crocker replied. But he still did not look at them. “We let her—it—know that long ago—”

  “What else happened?” Hadlett took over the questioning.

  Nick supplied the account of the mist-hidden departure of the illusion (he thought the Vicar had the right identity there), their following the wrong tracks out into the open. As tersely as he could he gave them an account of the capture of the fugitives by the saucer, the strange wall of light that undoubtedly saved them from a like fate, and their return with Lung’s aid.

  Hadlett was more interested in the defense that saved them from the saucer than all else, and he took Nick through as full a description of that as he could give for a second time.

  “Definitely a force field,” the Vicar commented when he had pried every possible detail out of Nick. “But the People have never interfered before, not for one of us.”

  “Rita would—” Jean said. “I don’t care,” she added. “He said she was crying, and Rita did cry that last time. I believe it was Rita, not just an illusion sent to trap us. And I believe she did save them from the hunters.”

  “She’s one of them!” There was ugly violence in that sentence Crocker hurled at Jean.

  “Yes.” Her agreement was bleak as if he advanced an argument no one could deny.

  “We do not know,” Hadlett commented, “how much of the human remains in those who accept. If Rita remembers us I do not believe it is in anger. We did what we had to do, being what and who we are. It seems plain that something well disposed to these two young people did save them this morning. And that is no small action.”

  “That’s all past,” rumbled Stroud. “What we’ve got to think of is that there’s hunters here—not too far away. Something in the woods wanted you two free, but that don’t mean that it’s goin’ to keep on fightin’ for us. We can hole up here—for awhile—but not long. No supplies to keep us goin’. We’ve got to get back to the cave.”

  “We’ve the bolt hole,” Crocker said as if he welcomed the change of subject. “That’ll put us on the other side of the ridge.”

  “An’ a sight too near that city for my thinkin’!” Stroud answered. “But it may be we won’t have much choice.”

  They scanted on the rations they shared for breakfast. Luckily they did not lack for water, for in the far corner of the big room a round stone could be heaved up and there was a well below. It would seem, Nick decided, that the original inhabitants of this place had built to withstand sieges.

  Stroud held a council of war, to which Nick and Linda could add very little. That they had returned safely from the morning’s venture, now seemed to Nick to be better fortune than they deserved. But perhaps some good had come from it by their witnessing the capture by saucer, a warning of the trouble now hovering aloft. It was finally decided that they would wait out the day where they were, since their position here was safe. With dusk they would move again, this time through a secret exit of the house.

  Hadlett suggested the advantages of resting all they could, since once they were on the move again they would have heavy demands made upon their strength. It was then that Mrs. Clapp spoke up.

  “You are all goin’ to listen to me now.” She spoke with the same firmness as Stroud showed upon occasion. “The Vicar, he has the right of it when he says as how this is goin’ to be a hard pull. Me, I ain’t put by in a chair with a pap bowl under m’ chin an’ two shawls around me—not as yet. But I’m stiff in m’legs, an’ when it comes to a spot o’ runnin’, I ain’t no gal in m’ teens, as it were. This is a safe place, as we all know. Best I bide here an’ you take off where m’ old feet won’t be no hindrance to you. This is only proper sense an’ you all know it!” She glanced from one to another, her face stubbornly set.

  “Maude.” The Vicar spoke gently. “This is something we decided long ago—”

  “Not the same at all, it ain’t!” she interrupted him. “It weren’t no matter then o’ one o’ us havin’ to lag so badly that she was a botheration an’ handicap to put all the rest in danger. You can’t make me be that, sir, you can’t!”

  “Perhaps not, Maude. But do you want to lay a worse burden on us then? To go and leave you and remember it?”

  She stared now at the hands twisted together in her lap. “That’s a hard—hard thing to say—”

  “Would you go, Maude? If I broke a limb and could not travel, if Lady Diana, Jean, Sam, any of us said what you have just said, would you agree?”

  He paused, she made no answer. Then he continued: “From the first we
said it, and we mean it—we stay together, no matter what comes—”

  “It ain’t fair—sayin’ that. Me an’ Jeremiah, we’re old, an’ we’re safe here. You could come back when it’s safe again.”

  “We shall make it, Maude.” Lady Diana moved up behind the stool on which Mrs. Clapp sat. Now her hands closed on the rounded shoulders of the older woman, and she gave her a small shake that had a rough caress in it. “We’ve been through a lot, and we’ve always made it.”

  “There’s always a first time not to, m’lady. An’ I don’t want to be a burden—”

  “You, Maude Clapp? What would we do without your knowledge of growing things? Remember how you pulled Barry through that fever when we had all given up? We can’t do without you!”

  “And don’t forget what we owe Jeremiah.” Jean knelt beside the stool, her brown hands laid over the gnarled, arthritis-crooked fingers clasped so tightly together. “He always knows when the People are around and tells us. You and Jeremiah, we couldn’t do without either of you, and we’re not going to!”

  “It ain’t right.” Mrs. Clapp held to her view stubbornly. “But, if I say you ‘no,’ you’re like to try to carry me. I wouldn’t put it past your stuffin’ me in a basket”—she smiled a little—“an’ draggin’ me along. An’ a good hefty bit of draggin’ I would make for the one who tried that, I’m tellin’ you, should you have a thought in that direction.”

  “You’ll go out on your own two feet, along with all of us,” Hadlett assured her. “I foresee more skulking and hiding in our next journey than running. Is that not so, Sam?”

  “You have the right words for it, Vicar. With them flyin’ devils out an’ bein’ so close to the city, an’ all. We go out through the bolt hole an’ then we take to the country like Jas Haggis used to.”

  “Seein’ as how we ain’t no poachers nor night hiders like Jas,” Mrs. Clapp commented, “I don’t believe that for one minute, Sam. Me, I’m more used to a good comfortable kitchen than all this trampin’. Get back to the cave, I will, an’ then you’re goin’ to have a good hard argufyin’ on your hands do you talk about doin’ this again.”