Moon Mirror

  He twirled around and was gone, right before Lew's wide open eyes!

  7

  * * *

  * * *

  It Will Last a Thousand Years

  "Seeing's believing—no, no, no!

  Believing's seeing, you can go!"

  Lew repeated the words, trying to make some sense of them. He could guess that they had importance. Now, as he sat on the floor where his attack on the Old had thrown him, he looked around in search of something —anything—which could be a clue.

  “ ’'Seeing's believing‘—” he said slowly for the second time. He believed in what he saw. He saw this hall and blocks which flared into color when he stepped on them. This was real, solid. He could pound his fist down on the block before him and feel its unyielding surface against his hand.

  ” ‘No, no, no'—” Why “no"? Did the Rhyming Man mean not to believe in what I saw?

  Lew was suddenly certain that this was the truth. Then, if he were not to believe in what he saw, he was to believe in what he did not see! Of course, this would be believing as seeing!

  Was this what had happened to Kristie and the rest? They had believed in the Rhyming Man and in what might not be real. So they went. Went—where? Somewhere else in the city, surely. But where?

  What must you believe in?

  Lew looked to where the stunner lay just as it had fallen at the Rhyming Man's feet. Machines—the stunner was a tool, a machine. The whole city was a machine to keep life going on in a burnt-out world. This hall was a machine and machines followed set patterns, planning—if he could discover the secret of the pattern, then he could make it work for him and reach Kristie.

  The pattern must have something to do with the way the Littles had moved under the direction of the Rhyming Man. Perhaps the songs with their strings of nonsense words were also a part of it. Maybe the sounds of the words helped to activate the machine. If Lew could only remember!

  "Believing's seeing"—he must believe that this would work. This was the most important thing of all.

  He got to his feet but did not move to pick up the stunner. Instead he turned slowly and completely around so that he could see all the blocks of the pavement. Then he drew a deep breath—

  Here goes!

  Red square, yellow, blue—

  No! Lew halted on a blue which had not blazed to light when he stepped on it. Something was wrong. Nor could he remember the first song at all. Its words had been muffled by the walls as he was trying to find a way in. If only the Rhyming Man—

  Lew swung back again to eye the portion of the floor where the Old had danced. Just the stunner lay there to mark the spot.

  “Hi—” Lew's voice rang hollowly. “Hi, there!” He did not even know what name to call the Old. “Rhyming Man!” he shouted at last. Only the echo answered him.

  Lew stood straight, head high, his fists on his hips, facing the emptiness as if it were an enemy. He was not licked, not with Kristie missing! Then, as if something deep inside him moved, he called aloud again, not for the strange Old, but for his sister:

  “Kristie!”

  Outside, the moon was now high and bright. Kristie shifted on the pile of grass. She opened her eyes. A dream—a dream about Lew. Lew!

  Softly she crawled away from the nest beside Lisa. Lew wanted her. She knew this as well as if she could hear him call. On her hands and knees she crept from the place where the others slept.

  Once up the slope she got to her feet and began to scramble higher as fast as she could. If she could just discover the place where she had come Outside, then she could find Lew. She must find Lew!

  At the top of the rise Kristie looked carefully around. There, she was sure she remembered that tree. She had seen it behind the Rhyming Man when she asked him about Lew. Only there was no gate Outside—just open country. She turned to glance back. Ear in the opposite direction was a big, black blot which swallowed the land. Even where the moon shone down on it the light was less clear. The city!

  Kristie studied the blot. So that was what the city looked like—dirty and dark. She shivered. And Lew was caught in there, with Fanna and all the others. No! Lew must come out!

  Lew! She did not scream his name aloud as she had when the rats had cornered her by the sealed gate. Instead she made a picture of Lew in her mind and called to it with her thoughts in a way she had never tried before.

  She saw Lew.

  He was standing in the hall where the colored blocks made the floor. Lew had found the Rhyming Man's place and was going to come Outside!

  Happiness flooded through Kristie. Then she realized mat Lew was not moving. There was no Rhyming Man to show him the way. He was caught in the city. No, Lew would not be caught! He could not be!

  If the Rhyming Man was not there to show him the way, could Kristie do it instead?

  She tried to think herself back into the hall. But there was no chance. She still stood under the bright moon facing the dark, dead blot of a city. Both Lisa and the Rhyming Man had said no one could go back. But she must do something so Lew could come out! He did not belong in that bad place; he belonged Outside.

  How had the Rhyming Man brought them out? Could Kristie somehow think right into Lew's mind as Lisa thought into hers? Could she let him know what to do? She would have to try.

  Kristie closed her eyes so she could no longer see the dark trap of the city. She made herself imagine Lew in the hall. Yes! There he was.

  Now—

  Into her mind came the words of the Rhyming Man's song:

  "See-saw, sacaradown,

  Now which is the way to London Town?

  Put one foot up, the other down.

  This is the way to London Town.”

  Lew must—he must hear! Three times Kristie repeated the rhyme.

  Lew was moving! A red square, then a yellow, a green, a blue, two squares to be covered by a hop to another red one. Yellow again, then a hop to a green block, over farther to a red.

  Lew sang the words which seemed to come from nowhere into his mind. He was not sure they were the right ones. Nor could he explain how he thought of them. Somehow they seemed to be what he must say.

  The first nonsense rhyme came to an end. But other words followed in the same strange way:

  "Intery, mintery, cutery corn;

  Appleseed and apple thorn;

  Wine, brier, lumber-lock.

  Five fat geese in one flock.

  Sit you now and let us sing,

  Out about and in again!"

  Lew dropped down on a yellow block, not knowing what came next. So far nothing had happened, except for the fact the blocks burned brightly as he trod on them.

  Out on the hillside Kristie stood statue still. Reddy had fallen unnoticed from her grasp. She cupped both hands tightly over her eyes and tried to remember what the Rhyming Man had done next. She said aloud:

  "Seeing's believing—no, no, no!

  Believing1 s seeing, you can go!"

  It was hard for her to see Lew. Now only his face was steady in her mind.

  "Lew!” She called his name both out loud and in her mind. “Lew! Do as I think! Please, Lew, do as I think.

  "Now we dance, looby, looby, looby—"

  Kristie could not see if Lew was moving in the right way. There was still just his face in her mind. Did his lips move? Was he also singing the rhyme? Kristie could not be sure.

  "Now we dance, looby, looby, looby, light.”

  More nonsense words came into Lew's mind and he chanted them aloud.

  "Look to your left hand,

  Now to your right!"

  Move to the left block, then back to the right. He did this twice though he had no idea what was making him. He only knew that he must. What came next?

  Kristie remained still, her eyes covered. The Rhyming Man had pointed next and then they had gone. But the Rhyming Man was not there with Lew. There was no one to point. The rest—how should she do the rest when she was here and not there? A Rhyming Man to poin
t—

  She did not try to keep Lew steady in her mind now. The Rhyming Man must be there to bring Lew out—he must! She must make the Rhyming Man with a mind picture, she told herself, or Lew will stay locked Inside forever.

  There was a strange flickering in the air. Lew stood watching it numbly. There was nothing in his mind now, not even more rhymes. He had a feeling he had lost something. No, he must believe! He must keep on believing that somehow he was going to reach Kristie, that this was the way he would find her.

  The flickering steadied into a hazy figure which slowly grew more solid and brighter. The Rhyming Man! Lew shifted from one foot to the other. He sensed that this was a most important moment. He would reach Kristie now or never. And he must believe he would make it.

  "Eeery, Orrey, Ickery, Ann—”

  This time the song was only a ghostly whisper. The features of the Rhyming Man were not clear to Lew. He tried to see the stranger better and forced himself to believe he could.

  As Lew concentrated, the Rhyming Man's face grew more distinct. The boy could make out the eyes now, and then a mouth shaping the nonsense words which must have a necessary meaning.

  "Fillison, Follison, Nicholas John.

  Queevy, Quavey, English Navy.”

  The Rhyming Man was still a little hazy. But his long arm was rising jerkily and his outstretched finger pointed straight at the boy.

  "Out—goes—your

  Lew heard the hoarse whisper. He saw the pointed finger level at his head. This was the way to Kristie! It was, he willed, it was!

  There was the feeling that he was falling or flying. Lew could not tell which. He was afraid, but still he held on to the belief. This was the way to Kristie, the only way. Believing must be seeing!

  He dropped on something softer than the pavement on which he had been standing.

  “Lew!”

  Opening his eyes, he saw her. He held out his arms as Kristie flung herself upon him, pushing him back against the ground. This—this was indeed Kristie. But where were they?

  “Outside, Lew, we're Outside!” Her voice was joyful. She held Lew as if she would never let him go again.

  Outside? Although there were no streetlamps here, there was still light. What light?

  “The moon, Lew.” Kristie pointed to a bright ball in the dark sky. “There are stars, too. And the Rhyming Man told me:

  ’Star light, star bright,

  First star I see tonight,

  I wish I may, I wish I might,

  Have the wish I wish tonight.‘

  “I wished you'd come, Lew. And you did!”

  The boy shook his head as if to bring his whirling thoughts to order. He was sure he had not said a word since he had found Kristie. Yet she knew what he was thinking. How could she?

  Now she laughed. “ ’Believing's seeing,’” she repeated. “When we come Outside, we can understand what people think. It's true, Lew, it's really truer

  He felt as if his head were still in a dizzy whirl. Kristie had gotten to her feet, but she still held on to his hand. Now she tugged, pulling him up. When Lew was standing, she caught up Reddy.

  Lew looked around wonderingly. Outside? But Outside was dead, poisoned. No one could live Outside.

  “They can now.” Again Kristie had read his thoughts. “When the people went Inside, the dead world began to change. The good came back. Look, Lew—” She pointed to something behind him.

  Lew turned. There was a black, ugly blot on the land.

  “That's the city, that's Inside,” Kristie told him. “We can't go back—ever. But maybe the rest can come out. I'm going to try to think Fanna out. If you help me, Lew, maybe we can. I thought about you and got you out.”

  “Where—” for the first time he spoke. He had reached out and twitched a leaf from a twig on the bush beside him. It was real; he could feel it between his fingertips.

  “It's all real” Kristie agreed. “We're in London Town. That's what Lisa and the rest call it. Because of the bridge-”

  “What bridge?” Lew still felt as if he were struggling in the midst of a dream.

  “London Bridge. We're to build it up again. We're the stones, you see—

  "Build it up with stone, my dears,

  It will stand a thousand years.”

  “We just have to be careful and not do what the Olds did before. We have to keep the Outside as it is now and not try to make it like Inside. That's so ugly.” Kristie made a face in the direction of the city.

  “The Rhyming Man—” Lew said. “Who is the Rhyming Man and why—”

  Moonlight shimmered and formed a figure. In this softer light the Old's clothing glittered again as he bowed to them.

  “This time I didn't think you,” Kristie said. “You must be real. And, you see, you were wrong—Lew did come!”

  He nodded and smiled at them both.

  "When Little's Big,

  The time has come

  For men to cast

  Their final sum.”

  Kristie shook her head. “I don't know what that means. And I can't read what you are thinking.”

  Still smiling, he shook his head with the same vigor as he had nodded. Lew watched him narrowly.

  “You mean this is a second chance for us and there won't be another?”

  This time the Rhyming Man nodded.

  “Who are you?” Lew pressed. “And why—?”

  The Rhyming Man raised his finger to his lips as if Lew were a Little who must be warned into silence.

  But a thought stirred in the boy's mind. Perhaps the Rhyming Man was not a real Old after all. Perhaps long ago those in the city had hoped that Outside would be free someday. There were machines which were as strange as the blocks which answered to dancing and rhymes.

  Could a machine also have the appearance of a man—say a Rhyming Man?

  Only, as Lew looked into those very wise eyes watching him so keenly, he no longer cared who or what the Rhyming Man was. That he existed at all was the important thing.

  The Rhyming Man gave a high hop and a very wide smile as if he approved of the direction Lew's thoughts had taken. Now he pointed down the slope to where “London Town” lay by the brook.

  "Good night.

  Sleep tight.

  Wake up bright,

  In the morning light.

  To do what's right,

  With all your might!"

  He winked out as if he were a light which had been turned off.

  “Come on,” Kristie tugged again at Lew's hand. “We've got such a lot to do tomorrow. We must get Fanna out and the others—everyone that we can.”

  Lew laughed. He felt so free. This was Outside, not Inside.

  “I know.” He started down the slope with her. “There's London Bridge to build. Strong enough to stand for a thousand years.”

  MOON MIRROR

  * * *

  * * *

  A lathi edged farther intothebrush where she had left her backpack. The provisions within it she had added to during the past five days by judicious thievery while she had dogged the caravan. Now she held a last such trophy in one hand, the claw knife of her people in the other. The cape hood of her jerkin hid her silky blue-gray hair and formed a half mask covering her face near to the chin, so that in this dawn hour she was a gray-brown shadow well able to fade into the desolate countryside.

  This leather wallet, which she had filched from the tent of the master trader himself, was plump, the most promising she could find. Only, since she had crept away from the camp a new uneasiness had arisen in her, leading the furlike hair on the nape of her neck to twitch. Thus she did not hurry to plunder her prize, rather sat cross-legged, running her fingers back and forth across its worn leather.

  Yes, there was something. . ..

  The wallet was old. She could trace only by touch a design cut into its surface. The fringe across its bottom seam protruded like the stubs of broken teeth. She fingered those.

  Her hand jerked. She raised her fingers
to her lips as if they had been thrust into flames and she must so lick them cool. There was also a taste—acrid, almost as if she crunched ashes.

  With her knife she worried the stitches, sawing through tight strands. This seam was wider than it looked to be. What it contained had been so long hidden that she had to use knife point to loosen it from embedding leather.

  A narrow thread-ribbon of metal lay as Limber across her palm as if it were a chain, save that it was one piece, not linked. It was silver, untarnished, and across it played flashes of color. The two ends were thicker, one forming a loop, the other a hook, so that they might be joined.

  Though Alathi had never seen its like before, her inner sense told her this was a thing of power. As a hunting cat could fix upon prey, so could her race recognize such. They told tales of these things among themselves. Perhaps those were no tales in truth, rather fragments of history of a people who had once been rulers. That day was far past. “Hill Cats” had been prey for lowland hunters for years. Still they had not lost their pride nor command of special senses. Alathi knew the worth of what she held now as if it were shouted aloud at a Fire Feast. Its touch made her flesh tingle, the skin of her whole arm roughen. Her hand closed into a fist as she shivered at her roused feelings.

  Then she dared to hook it about her throat where it lay as snug as if fashioned for her alone. She pulled her jerkin higher, laced the breast thongs tight to hide it. Its purpose she had yet to learn, but she was certain now she had been guided to its hiding place.

  There was no food in the wallet pouch, rather a thick wad of folded parchment. Alathi freed this. Did she hold the same map she had watched the Merchant Coultar refer to yesterday when his wains had set up camp?

  The Merchant Coultar—her green-yellow eyes narrowed. Why had this man among all those who had sheltered in the inn she had spied upon drawn her interest enough that she had chosen to skulk in his wake? He was taller than most lowlanders, fair of hair and skin, where they were loweringly dark. Born of a different people she had guessed—perhaps from across the salt sea where few now voyaged since the world had been rift and burnt by the long war. He was no lordling by his dress—but his manner, that was something else. Both his own men and the guard of blank shields he had with him jumped to his word, though he never raised his voice. And see where he had boldly led them. . . .