“You damned dirtworm—gun it! We want to get this crawler going before dark!”
As that order rang in Kannar’s head, he could see below him the land vehicle in question, its curved nose almost touching one of the standing rocks. No trees graced this world of Henga, or at least the Scouts had observed none during any of the preliminary flybys; but rising upright in rough circles which, in places, clustered thick together, were the stones.
Those formations had presented the planet’s first great mystery. Though to the eye they were only crude pillars of a granitelike stuff, they could not be touched, nor even approached closely enough for any to attempt to set hand upon them. They were, it seemed, impregnably shielded by some unknown force against close examination.
Kannar did not quicken his pace. He knew too well that nothing he could do might protect him from the vicious attentions of O’ju waiting for him down there. The accident with the crawler would, of course, be blamed on him, and then . . .
Overhead, the green-fired orb of the small sun was now close to the broken line of the horizon, and the slate-colored sky had begun to darken. Even as no trees grew here, neither did any birds or flying things soar aloft—in fact, the sole life-form that seemed to have been grudgingly bestowed upon Henga was a variety of malignant vegetation.
The youth drew up beside the land transport and grounded his pack on the sand thick underfoot. The captain, always careful of his tools (human and otherwise), waited until that storage bag was safe; then, wielding his laser like a club, he aimed a blow at its bearer.
Kannar dodged as best he could, stumbling back toward the stone against which the crawler was now nuzzled. He struck against something he could not see that gave a little on contact with his body, then pushed him away. The combination of that shove, the irritation of his skin, and the throbbing in his head broke through the control he had held so firmly. For a moment, the scene around him wavered; then he could clearly see the weapon threatening him in O’ju’s heavy-gloved fist. No longer was the gun held for use as a bludgeon—now it faced him muzzle-end first, the inescapable death-dealer it had been cast to be.
The laser grew in the boy’s sight, looming larger as his superior approached. Why didn’t O’ju simply fire? Certainly his captive slave possessed no defense.
Defense—?
Through the pulsing pain in Kannar’s head a thought struck. The fear that had held him motionless, an easy target, suddenly gave way to a clear memory of his half-forgotten life and the training that had protected him in the past. He was Gart!
Moving in one of his old defensive tricks, the youth landed belly-down in the sand, partway under the stalled crawler. Blinding fire burst around him; then there was darkness.
“Scout Six, to the fore!”
Kannar lifted his head an inch or so. The effort was almost more than he could sustain.
“Scout Six, report! “
The order was a further goad. That voice from the impenetrable blackness—the Scouts must be on night maneuvers.
“Scout Six in, sir,” the boy mouthed through the grit that masked his face. He tried to lever himself higher and pierce the stifling night by sheer force of will. Unable to see, he tried to listen, to catch more speech or any identifying sound.
Then he began to cough. It was as though the dark had invaded his throat and was striving to reach his lungs. One bout of the chest-racking spasms left him weak and gasping until he felt that no more breathable air remained to him. Kannar flailed out in near panic, fighting to beat away the smothering blackness, but his weak efforts were futile, and he ceased to struggle and sank into oblivion once more.
Yet even his inner night was without peace, lit by a fitful lightning of dream-flashes and broken bits of memory that skittered away whenever he tried to focus upon them. The boy whimpered and huddled in upon himself, seeking forgetfulness again.
When the young Scout roused the second time, it was into real night-dark, not the curtain that had been drawn across his mind before. The first of Henga’s three pale moons was climbing the sky, and there were stars—stars!
Though still aware of a heavy stench that made him gag, he had awakened clearheaded enough to know where he was and to realize the source of his lungs’ torment. He managed to drag himself upright. Within arm’s reach was one of the thick patches of moss, and in the reduced light, he could see the sparks that arose from the mat of vegetation.
Even that poor illumination showed Kannar more: a body—or rather a portion of body, for the head and shoulders of that sprawl of flesh and bone had been reduced to blackened rags melted into the sand on which it lay. O’ju. But—who had turned a laser on him? The boy clenched one of his own scaly hands reflexively. A gun was lying on the ground almost within reach, yes, but he had certainly not dropped it!
Suddenly the Scout froze. There had been movement close to him—the motion of something small, perhaps only a little larger than his two hands clasped together. As it neared the phosphorescent plant-stuff, he could see its form more and more clearly.
The creature had eight legs, the two at its fore-end being held aloft and tipped with large claws. Its body shared the puffy plumpness of the moss and was a dull gray, near the color of the sand across which it was scuttling. It made a detour around the dead, but seemed to be following a purposeful course.
Then it halted by the laser. Both fore-claws swung down and fastened upon the weapon, which was raised until it rested on the round back of the thing. Task apparently completed, the being swung about and headed back the way it had come.
Kannar drew a deep breath, wrenching his mind back with an effort from the curious action he had just witnessed to the ugly scene at hand. He could do nothing for O’ju, and repair of the crawler was beyond his skill. No Gart had ever been allowed knowledge of Quasing technology. But the youth was aware that the land vehicle sent out some type of signal to guide searchers, and that sooner or later the surviving Scouts would make a flyby from their camp. They would find a dead man, the second-in-command of their mission, an inert crawler, and—a Gart. To them, the answer would be very simple.
The boy licked dry lips then spat grains of sand. Many ingenious forms of death had been invented by his masters—even death-in-life. He could not hope for a clean ending if he remained to be found.
The creature with its perilous burden could still be seen, heading toward a wider space between two of the rocks; it was plainly seeking what it considered a safe place. The Scout made a swift decision. What might be a haven for one born of Henga could be a lethal trap for an offworlder, but perhaps the ending he could find there would be quick. The youth was bleakly convinced that a death of this world was infinitely preferable to any the ship’s crew would deal him.
The native had crawled between a pair of the stone pillars, keeping an exact distance from both. The off-world boy was considerably larger than his guide, and the field of power generated by the rocks might well repel him. He could only test it.
Doggedly, Kannar moved forward on his hands and knees, his out-suit crunching on the sand. With every breath he drew, he expected to be smitten by some force beyond his comprehension.
But the opposition he feared did not come. Instead, once he had passed completely through the portal-pillars, he came into a place where there was more light and a feeling of freshness in the air. The boy reached what was roughly the center of that uneven circle and hesitated. At last he hunkered back on his heels and strove to scan all the surrounding rocks with a slow turn of his head, a crouching shift round and round. Nothing he could see differed from what was before him at every view: the silent stones deep-rooted into the sand. But the being he had followed, though the weight of the laser was plainly sapping its strength, was still going purposefully forward.
Now it faced the most massive of the rocks, and there it laid the weapon upon the ground, seeming to have accomplished a set mission. As Kannar watched, unsure of just what was taking place, he saw a movement at the foot of ev
ery stone within his range of sight. More of the puff-bodied creatures rose from the sand in front of those pillars. As the first native stood a little to one side, each of the newcomers advanced in turn. None of them attempted to raise the gun, but rather scraped their forelegs across it length- and width-wise, the tips of their claws grating on the metal of the offworld weapon.
The late arrivals trailed away discreetly and vanished as they had appeared; however, the creature who had delivered the laser remained where it was. The young Scout saw no signal given, heard no sound break the ever-noiseless night, but the burden-bearer now began to dig. Throwing goodly clawfuls of sand from side to side, it worked with such speed that, in a short time, a hole appeared. Into that opening it purposefully tumbled the laser, then covered the weapon with the same haste. An instant later—
Kannar caught his breath. The stone before which the gun had been entombed began to glow, and— though he was certain nothing like this had been there before—a line of some sort of crystals appeared, zigzagging down the rough side of the pillar. The glittering bits shed a soft light, too, and their radiance grew brighter with every second.
The creature gave a sudden spring forward, plastering its full body-length against the rock and across the crusting of crystals. The watching boy became aware of a new scent in the air; unlike any he had encountered on this world, yet the odor was pleasant, and deep memory stirred within him. Holiday—feasting—well done! Why did he now think of a trophy award?
His hand reached forward instinctively, but he was not close enough to touch the pillar, even if such contact were allowed. The native being had dropped from the stone, and the vein of mineral formations was fading fast. Then the limited light around him began to fail, as well, until the dark ruled utterly. Unbearable fatigue descended upon Kannar, and he slept.
The Scout awoke suddenly. Light had come again—the light of day—and—sound. A flyby. The search pattern might not take the ship directly over this stone circle. A flyer had gone down during the first general exploration, and the theory had been offered that the protection surrounding the rocks might also extend into the air above. But, if that hope failed, the rock ring afforded no place to hide.
The boy swallowed, painfully aware of a dry throat and the pinch of hunger. The others need only leave him where he was, and their purpose would be fulfilled: another Gait would be accounted for, and with very little effort on their part.
Kannar could see between the stones clearly. The crawler still stood, nose pressed to one of them, and nearby lay the splotch that had been O’ju. The flyer was setting down well away from that point. Three men emerged from the cargo door, rendered clumsy by heavy protect-suits. Each carried not a laser but a blaster, and they advanced in a broken pattern as though to discourage or evade attack.
There was nowhere to run now, the youth knew. The strength that had sustained him through his years of being a Gart in bondage was gone. He could do no more than wait and hope he would die quickly.
A crackle sounded in the earphone he still wore. Captain O’Lag had reached the land vehicle and looked upon what lay beside it. The harsh stridency of his voice seared Kannar as his commander voiced the filthy destiny due a Gart.
“No laser.” That was O’Sar, the science officer.
But O’Lag was no longer studying the stalled machine and the corpse at its base. His bulging eyes burned yellow with rage as his gaze swept through a gap in the stone circle, pinning the boy to the spot like an insect specimen on a board. The captain stopped his volley of curses almost in mid-word, and his blaster shifted as he sighted through that opening at Kannar.
On impulse, the Gart abandoned his hugging of the sand to pull himself upright and face his superior who stood outside the ring of rocks. It did not become one who had been Second Cadet Officer at Herber to cower before the enemy. Sometimes how a man dies matters, and death would be swift and sure when O’Lag pressed the button—
Fire came. So blinding was the flash that Kannar staggered back, though he did not fall. He heard sizzling in his earphone, then such cries as brought back nightmare memories of the invasion of his own world.
Fire had come—yet he was not consumed! The youth blinked, fought against the brilliance that seemed to cloak his eyeballs. Though the shrieks had died away, he could now smell the stench of cooked flesh, the acrid tang of metal heat-seared. But he still stood—lived—and soon he began to see again, at first as if through a mist, then without hindrance.
No blaster-burn was visible on the stones facing him, between two of which O’Lag had fired; no reek of death any longer poisoned the air. Without the circle, however, lay two crumbling forms, their ash mixing with the sand, and the crawler with a great hole melted into it. It looked—Kannar rubbed the back of one hand across his eyes and cleared his vision enough to see true—it looked as if the captain had aimed not at a trapped Gart but had rather turned his weapon against his own men and their machine.
Noise again; the flyer was taking off. The vessel was equipped with out-mounted blasters. Did the pilot now intend to avenge this disaster with air-to-surface fire?
Yet though the vessel made a circuit of the standing stones, it did not approach closely, nor loose any deadly bolts from its belly. It did not linger long but winged away toward the camp.
He was still alive: Kannar accepted as fact something he would have thought impossible. Yet Death was not far off, for so great was his thirst that the dryness in his throat choked, and hunger gnawed him like a beast. Because there was no more need to make a parade of pride, the boy allowed himself to slide to the ground, facing the opening in the rocks so he could still view the carnage that lay beyond.
What he saw there was as much beyond reason as his own survival, if he could believe what dimming eyes told dulling mind: both the near-consumed corpses and the blasted crawler were sinking steadily into the sand. But even so strange an event meant nothing to him now. The last link with humankind—for the Quasings had to be deemed at least physically human—had been broken. The youth turned his head slowly and stared up at the dense gray-blue clouds that showed Henga’s green sun through their drifting mass like matrix rock revealing a precious jewel.
Time seemed to have stopped for him. His memory had been buried even as had the dead Scouts and their vehicle, and he was being consumed by hunger and thirst. A man could not take long to die thus. . . .
It was as though a hand had been laid on his scaled cheek, moved to touch his lips. Kannar raised his head to follow, to hold that touch—and then he was crawling toward the stone pillar before which the laser had been entombed. He gasped and coughed rackingly as he dragged himself forward, barely able to breathe or see; but though all other senses were nearly gone now, he could still smell, and there was a scent—
His fingers touched the roughness of the rock, and for an instant he hunched his shoulders, waiting for a blast of defensive energy he would be helpless to counter. When no attack came, he looked up again. Then he saw it—a glow welling up from a crevice in the rock between his hands. Those crystals with the radiance of gems—they gave forth not only light but that scent, which promised help ever more strongly.
The boy’s painfully swollen tongue touched the bubbling stuff. It gave— No words existed in any galactic language he knew to describe this! Warmth, comradeship, all he had lost long ago were restored to him in a moment, more richly than before they had been torn away. He licked the feast, which did not cloy, until he was thoroughly sated.
It appeared that Kannar had partaken of a true banquet. First his body had been tended, and he was not tired anymore but refreshed and avid to enjoy what might be offered next. That was the main course. And for the after-sweet? A gift to mind and spirit: thoughts were what he drank now. This planet was indeed more strange than any he had seen or heard of.
What his kind had taken for pillars of lifeless stone were the Old Ones, who stood rooted in the very flesh of their world, who had seen stars be born and die. To them kn
owledge came, though some of that a human could not understand. With them in partnership lived the skaat, the creatures who served as hands when such aids were needed. And even the winds and the clouds brought messages, for what any thought became a part of all the world.
Old Ones—?
Welcome, star son. The words rang as clear in Kannar’s mind as if he had heard them with his ears. You are now blood of our blood, substance of our substance.
The boy had been minded of a prize awarding when the gray creature had claimed its crystal-feast after burying the laser. He felt so now. Everything that had been Herber in the days before the ending of Gart was here, and he was entering the great Gate of the Victors where all his comrades waited to greet him.
Kannar knew that he had much—oh, so much!—to learn, but those of this place were anxious to share. And he did have something of value to offer in return: his memories of Gart, his knowledge of other worlds, different beings.
A flurry of activity commenced in the space near the Old One who had made him welcome. The skaat—a number of them—were digging speedily, and a hole of some depth soon appeared. Without hesitation, the youth took two steps forward, then lowered himself into the scooped-out place, which engulfed his body to the knees. Sand was shifted quickly back to cover him.
Rest now, star son, the stone-born voice rang in his mind. When the Change is done, we will have all the time of the stars to learn from one another.
A gentle night closed upon Kannar as though curtains had been drawn, and a sudden drop of sweetness dewed his lips. He drew it in eagerly, then slept.
Ravenmere
Historical Hauntings (2001) DAW
“Heard as how they has sold Ravenmere—to foreigners. Have to be such.”
I had nearly reached that portion of the general shop sacred to Her Majesty’s mail before the two women at the other end of the crowded room noticed me. For my part, I paid no visible heed to the silence that ensued as they did; in the small towns of my American homeland, strangers were equally suspect.