She did not wait to see if he would follow, but was already in search of that way down which she had found before. Along that she climbed, the rod made fast to her girdle, using hands and toes with all the dexterity she had learned in Kuxortal. When she reached the top of the second and much taller block, the haze that had surrounded them in their journey hither had indeed threaded itself away. The sky was darker than she had ever seen it.
Calling Zass to her, she settled the zorsal on a rock point from which she could view most of the surrounding territory, including a bit of that second sand river which might offer a new threat. Simsa rolled what she had left of the cloak-made rope into a mat and settled her head upon it. The Elder One might have in her time gone without sleep to a great degree—Simsa had come to suspect that when she discovered she needed less and less rest since her body had provided shelter for the ageless one—but a body was only flesh, blood, and bone after all and also had its demands.
She was straightway plunged into a deep dark where no dreams troubled her rest. If Thorn joined her on her perch, she neither knew nor cared. She no longer depended upon anyone or anything but herself and the zorsal, for Zass’s single-minded loyalty had never changed, and as a camp guard the zorsal was the best.
There was the contrasting brightness of the midmorning haze when she opened her eyes again. An arm’s length away lay the spaceman on his back, his eyes closed, the dried blood on his chin cracking and flaking off as he drew in long, slow breaths. Zass’s cry came—faint, but growing stronger as Simsa sat up and shook loose the silver lengths of her hair, combing it clumsily with her fingers. The zorsal made her usual circling descent and landed just in front of the girl. Her forepaws were tight to her body and so sheltered and protected she carried there a branch heavily laden with fruit. There was only one place the zorsal could have found that—she had been within the hidden valley. But it was what was woven around the branch that caught Simsa’s attention a moment later. A tubing of some kind, transparent enough to show that it was filled near to bursting with the blue water of the pool—and that was not Zass’s gift! Someone of the furred ones had wished the girl well enough to send that.
Simsa gave a sigh. For the second time in her life, she felt at one with something larger than herself. The first had been when she had fronted that statue of the Elder One which had contained the essence of she who had waited and watched for so long—and now, when she could believe that those of the valley cared, even in so little!
9
Simsa scrupulously drank and ate only half of the bounty the zorsal had brought. Like it or not, the sleeping spaceman at her side was still her responsibility. Zass squatted down, clapping and folding her wings, to sit licking at her body fur where sticky smears suggested that she had fed well before she returned to the two now stranded on the rock ledge.
Having appeased a measure of her body’s need, the girl went to the edge of the block on which they had taken refuge to survey the narrow ribbon of flowing sand that lay between them and the barriers of the valley. There were no ominous writhings on its surface, nothing to suggest that there lay danger beneath that smooth roll. But she did not in the least believe that if she ventured into that murky stuff (and she had no idea as to how deep it was), she would not be in such danger as her imagination was only too willing to suggest.
Her hook and rope trick could not work again. There was no convenient hole in the rock across the stream to catch her grapple and she had sacrificed so much of the rope length since she had knotted it together she was sure it would not span that space. Through squinted eyes, she viewed the escarpment on the other side. The haze appeared a fraction brighter, nearly as irritating to her sight as the fire in the dark tunnel had been. She dug into the memory of Simsa of the Burrows and tried to pluck forth an answer to her problem.
There was a chance—she looked to where the zorsal squatted. Zass had moved closer to the sleeping or unconscious spaceman, now and then stealthily putting forth a paw as if to touch him but quickly jerking back the limb before the gesture was complete. The zorsal apparently found the man the object of infinite curiosity—even though she had once traveled for days in his company on Kuxortal.
Simsa turned to face the plain over which they had come. Though none of those ominous lumpings of sand were being spit forth from the fissures, and no yellow tentacles had thrust up into sight, she knew that to set foot again on that surface was to offer a challenge to the sand dwellers.
The Elder One—she shook her head violently. No, she would open no doors, would have no part in lending her body to the other’s superior wisdom! No appeal to the Elder One. She was the Simsa of the here and now, and as such she would solve—
Her thoughts were broken by a hacking cough. The eyes of the man were open, and he had lifted himself up to lean on one elbow and regard her.
After one measuring glance, his gaze shifted to the rocks about them, the heights beyond the sand stream. The tip of his tongue crossed cracked lips. Simsa moved, bringing to him half of Zass’s bounty, which she had spared in spite of her own thirst and hunger. Thorn sat up, squeezing first a portion of the water into his mouth.
“Where does this come from?” He weighed the still not empty tube in his hand. Perhaps it was the needs of his body that made his voice so harsh.
Simsa could see nothing to be gained now in keeping the valley oasis a secret. Without his flitter, Thorn could not return to any of his own kind who might be encamped where she had brought down the Life Boat. Nor did she undervalue the dwellers within and their powers. They had already brought an end to one invader of their world and could hold them both at their pleasure.
“There.” She pointed to the rock wall that raised such a formidable barrier against them. “There is water, fruit—a place of growing things.”
“There is also more, is there not?” he returned, breaking one of the blue fruit apart, licking the pulp from his grimed and stone-bruised hands. “That whirlwind which struck a little too quickly and accurately. Your people—your home world?” He gestured with sticky fingers at what lay about.
“No!”
“But one you know well enough to be not only able to survive, but to protect yourself against any dangerous surprise.”
She was not aware that she had once more pressed the crescent-crowned rod between her breasts until there was a feeling of small warmth in it. She glanced down and saw the points of light like two gleaming Caperian sapphires, glistening where there was no sun to draw such an answer.
She did not know this world. But—did the Elder One? At least that inward dweller had matched the power of the furred one quickly enough. They might have been old partners in such a defense, or weapon.
“I do not know this world.” She held her voice steady; in at least half she was speaking the truth. “You are a star traveler—I am not. I cannot read the star maps. And Life Boats choose the nearest world which has breathable air for those seeking escape—so your own instructions to voyagers read. If this was the nearest world on which we could breathe . . . then that was it. I did not pilot the Life Boat. Who can?”
“Still, there is other life here besides those monsters of the sand.”
He chewed the last of the fruit skin and swallowed it. Then he picked up the water-bearing tube and swung it slowly back and forth as if intending by this gesture to refute any easy lie that might occur to her. “Your zorsal did not fill this—that I will not believe—no matter how well the creature has been trained.”
“You do not truly train a zorsal!” she snapped, playing for time before she made that other answer which she must truly give. “Yes, that was filled—by others—another. But I know no more of this world than that others do abide. And they are not humanoid, though they appeared to me well-intentioned.”
To her, perhaps, but she did not forget the raising of the whirlwind—nor, apparently, did he, for he gave a harsh sound that might have been laughter, except there was no lighting of that in his expression.
“They are well-intentioned?” Thorn made both a question and an accusation out of those four words.
“To me—to Zass—welcome was given.”
“But not to any scouring their skies—is that it?” He had lifted himself as far as his knees. Now with effort, Simsa making no move to aid him, he got to his feet and crossed to her side where he might look down at that sinister, half-solid flood circling there.
“How did you cross before?” he wanted to know, having stood a long moment in silence.
Tell him of the light path of belief—No! But the grapple anyone knowing of the Burrows would well accept as natural. She explained what she had done and that it could not serve them now because of the lack of torn-fabric rope and the fact that there was no anchor on the other bank.
Thorn did not even answer her. Instead, he leaned well out, back once again on his knees, looking along that section of this heap of stone which fronted on the river.
“If I knew how deep . . .” He might have been voicing some thought aloud. Now he slipped from its loop on his belt the ray weapon he had used in their flight. Knocking the small charge from the butt into his hand, he examined it closely.
“To set foot on that—” Simsa did not know what he intended, but she was sure that anything venturing on the sand stream would sink beyond aid, even if he or she was not attacked instantly by the dwellers therein. But Thorn was not peering downward. Rather, he turned his head to the left to inspect the edge of the platform on which they now perched. The new vigor of his movements revealed he must have made up his mind about something as he got to his feet. He spoke with the old authority she remembered well from the days of their first meeting on Kuxortal.
“If that rock—the one with the three lumps along it—is undercut, it will fall forward. Two more cuts there and there”—he used the barrel of his weapon as a pointer—“ought to bring down a rockslide. Let that reach this river and we may well have a dam over the top of which we can pass—if we are fast enough.”
“You can do this with your weapon?”
He nodded, but was frowning. “I believe so, but it will also near exhaust this charge, and if we meet with trouble beyond . . .” He shrugged.
He was not fashioned to show much patience in the face of danger. Simsa had sensed that from the hour of their first meeting. Neither was she. But the path on the other side of that flood was a rough and narrow one, twice forcing her farther away from the proposed crossing to cling like a nix-beetle to the stone and edge along. If the inhabitants of the stream were aroused, a mere crossing of their dwelling place was not going to bring much safety. On the other hand, to remain spinelessly where they now perched would achieve nothing either.
Simsa turned the rod around in her hands, rolling it back and forth between her palms. Might this weapon-tool of the Elder One serve also? Best not try, she decided swiftly. She needed all her native wits about her; she had no idea of turning any part of their escape over to that indweller. It might well be that the Elder One had no wish to get Thorn free of the valley or even continue to allow him life.
Her own attitude toward the off-worlder had made such a number of subtle changes lately that she could not be sure she would be able to rise and combat the Elder One on that point. So she remained silent, offering no assistance.
He was very careful in the aiming of his weapon, several times lying belly down upon the rock and then getting up to move again when the proposed angle of the beam seemed not to his liking. But at length he fired.
The ray that shot from the barrel was wider than before and there was also a puff of acrid smoke which set her eyes to watering and made Zass squawk indignantly and take to flight. Nor did the zorsal return; rather, she winged out and up toward the rim of the hidden valley.
However, the fire sprayed across the lumped rock that was Thorn’s choice for undercutting, the stone disappearing as if it had never had existence. The block fell forward. To Simsa’s astonishment, for she had not really believed in Thorn’s promise, two other huge stones followed, crashing into the first and driving it on into the river.
There was a dam almost before she could draw a deep breath again. The first rock had disappeared, eaten up by the swirling grit, but the second, which had followed, kept its upper surface above the rising sand.
Thorn returned his weapon to its loop with one hand, the other one caught tight about her wrist.
“Jump! Jump!”
She could do no else than follow his command, for he had already moved to leap and would not release his hold. Thus, they threw themselves forward together, he loosing his hand only as they left their rock of refuge. Simsa fell as she had been trained, adding new bruises to her score.
Thorn was already up, once more reaching for her. The sand was banking higher, rivulets forced their way across the lower edge of the topmost block. There was no time to hesitate. She sprang first, reaching a higher landing on the other side, swinging around to narrowly watch the sand.
That pocking and lumping which had been the signal for the monsters’ attack before was beginning again. Simsa brought out the rod. It might well be all that was between them and death now—if, as he feared, his weapon was exhausted.
Just beyond was a narrow strip of small stone-marked beach. Where they had landed were rocks and already Thorn had his back to those, was glancing from the weapon he had drawn again to those movements of the sand about the improvised dam.
Simsa looked up hopefully. There were no promising hollows here. The cliff wall was sheer above a level with her head. Zass, who had returned to circle over them on that wild venture across the fallen rocks, gave a series of guttural cries and rose higher in ever-widening circles, one of which finally reached beyond the edge of the cliff. She did not return. The girl felt the warmth of the rod and knew that if they must make a stand, this fight was again hers as well as his. Could the haze that had been before summoned once more give them cover?
Deep in her there was a stir. The Elder One was rousing and, seeing a tentacle stretch from the river toward her, Simsa knew that this time perhaps a surrender on her part to that other personality might be their only chance at safety.
“Can you cover me?” Her companion’s demand was sharp, and Simsa, concerned with her own apprehension at the stirring of the Elder One, looked at him in confusion.
He was wrestling with his weapon, turning its butt around in his hand, tapping it against his palm.
“With that thing of yours”—he was even more impatient now—“can you hold them back for a space?” He nodded at the rod.
“What do you plan?” she asked, then swung the rod around so that the ray shot from the tip of the nearest moon crescent to transfix a yellow sucker-marked pointed ribbon, as thick as Thorn’s wrist, which flailed at the spaceman’s scuffed and battered boots.
“We need stairs. Hold them and I shall see what can be done!”
Almost mechanically, and without aim, she swept the glow of the rod across the now fiercely troubled sand surface. Thorn wheeled about to face that expanse of sheer rock. Did he think to bring down another rockslide? But what would that profit him if they were buried in it?
What shot from the barrel of his weapon was not the wide beam that had eaten out the rocks and reduced the monster company to odorous ash as they crossed the plain. Instead, a ray no thicker than her smallest finger was aimed steadily while a blackened hole appeared. Another and another, each some distance apart. Yes—a ladder which would not give under their strength but instead afford them a way out!
Reassured that Thorn knew what he was doing, Simsa kept to her own task, that of driving the sand creatures off. Perhaps they had learned the threat of the rod from her earlier attacks upon their kind, for they were in no hurry to crawl out of their holes. Tentacles waved and were reduced to oily smears. Then, though the sand heaved and whirled in an even more frenzied manner, there came no more signs of creatures emerging.
A muffled exclamation brought her
head around for an instant or two. Simsa could see that the ray from his weapon, thin and light as it was, had begun to ripple along its length, and she guessed that the source of its energy was failing.
Thorn flitted it more quickly now from the carving of one space to the gouging out of the next, racing against both time and his dwindling resource. The last dark splotch before the ray utterly disappeared was hardly more than a very shallow groove. Tucking the now useless weapon-tool back in his belt, Thorn knelt to jerk at the latches on his space boots, freeing his feet and locking the footgear by their fastening to his belt.
He gave a last glance to the boiling surface of the stream and then jerked a thumb at the cliff fast.
“Climb!”
Simsa resolutely shook her head. “Go yourself. I will stay and buy us what time fortune will favor.”
Thorn stared sharply at her and then centered his gaze on the rod, almost as if he would will that into his own hand as he had made the rocks earlier do his bidding. But it was plain, without any more words between them, that this game must be played by her rules and not his.
He turned and caught at the first of the holes he had cut in the barrier while Simsa, drawing upon all the depths of will within her, allowed the Elder One to venture forth.
Ah, this space-going intelligence was apt in a point of peril. Yes, one must well keep one’s eyes upon such species, for they learned so quickly that they often neglected the proper controls in their search for raw power. However, this was no time to argue the points of any such case. Simsa, the Elder One, flourished the rod as she would a whip to send some shadow lurker squalling. The bluish ray became a cloud to thicken and slide across the sand.
Thorn made good time up the rock ladder and Simsa, tucking the rod to safety, followed. But as she climbed, she discovered that the failure of the weapon he had used was marked by the shallow indentation of the high holes. She did not look down or try to squint upward at the other climber. Instead, she slowed until a voice from above brought her to a stop.