Garan the Eternal Read online

  Garan the Eternal

  Andre Norton

  Contents

  PART ONE

  Chapter

  1 Through the Blue Haze

  2 Garin Learns of the Black Ones

  3 Into the Caves of Darkness

  4 Escape from the Caves

  5 The Battle in the Caverns

  PART TWO

  1 Lord of Yu-Lac

  2 The Master of Koom

  3 The Sotan Pleasure Palace

  4 Ila and Lania

  5 The Taking of Thrala

  6 The Ways of Darkness

  7 The Thing from the Gulf

  8 World Doom

  9 Escape

  10 Darkness

  One Spell Wizard

  Legacy from Sorn Fen

  * * *

  PARTONE

  * * *

  Chapter One

  Through the Blue Haze

  Six months and three days after the Peace of Shanghai was signed and the Great War of 1985-88 declared at an end by an exhausted world, a young man huddled on a park bench in New York, staring forlornly at the gravel beneath his badly worn shoes. He had been trained to fill the pilot’s seat in the control cabin of a fighter plane and for nothing else. The search for a niche in civilian life had cost him both health and ambition.

  A newcomer dropped down on the other end of the bench. The flyer studied him bitterly. He had decent shoes, a warm coat, and that air of satisfaction with the world which is the result of economic security. Although he was well into middle age, the man had a compact grace of movement and an air of alertness.

  “Aren’t you Captain Garin Featherstone?”

  Startled, the flyer nodded assent. Two years before he, Captain Garin Featherstone of the United Democratic Forces, had led a perilous bombing raid into the wastelands of Asia to wipe out a vast expeditionary army secretly gathering there. It had been a spectacular affair and had brought the survivors some fleeting fame.

  From a plump billfold the newcomer drew a clipping and waved it toward his seat mate.

  “You’re the man I’ve been looking for"—the stranger refolded the clipping—"a pilot with courage, initiative, and brains. The man who led that raid is worth investing in.”

  “What’s the proposition?” asked Featherstone wearily. He no longer believed in luck.

  “I’m Gregory Farson,” the other returned as if that should answer the question.

  “The Antarctic man?”

  “Just so. As you have probably heard, I was stopped on the eve of my last expedition by the sudden spread of the war to this country. Now I am preparing to sail south again.”

  “But I don’t see—”

  “How you can help me? Very simple, Captain Feather-stone. I need pilots. Unfortunately the war has disposed of most of them. I’m lucky to contact one such as yourself—”

  And it was as simple as that But Garin didn’t really believe it until they touched the glacial shores of the polar continent some months later. As they brought ashore the three large planes he began to wonder at the driving motive behind Farson’s vague plans.

  When the supply ship sailed, not to return for a year, Farson called them together. Three of the company were pilots, all war veterans, and two were engineers who spent most of their waking hours engrossed in the maps Farson produced.

  “Tomorrow"—the leader glanced from face to face—"we start inland. Here—” On a map spread before him he indicated a line marked in purple.

  “Ten years ago I was a member of the Verdane expedition. Once, when flying due south, our plane was caught by some freakish air current and drawn off its course. When we were totally off our map, we saw in the distance a thick bluish haze. It seemed to rise in a straight line from the ice plain to the sky. Unfortunately our fuel was low and we dared not risk a closer investigation. So we fought our way back to the base.

  “Verdane, however, had little interest in our report and we did not investigate it Three years ago that Kattack expedition, hunting oil deposits by order of the Dictator, reported seeing the same haze. This time we are going to explore it!”

  “Why,” Garin asked curiously, “are you so eager to penetrate this haze?”

  Farson hesitated before answering. “It has often been suggested that beneath the ice sheeting of this continent there is hidden mineral wealth. I believe the haze is caused by some form of volcanic activity, and perhaps a break in the crust”

  Garin frowned at the map. He wasn’t so sure about that explanation, but Farson was paying the bills. He shrugged away his uneasiness. Much could be forgiven a man who allowed one to eat regularly again.

  Four days later they set out. Helmly, one of the engineers, Rawlson, a pilot, and Farson occupied the first plane. The other engineer and pilot were in the second and Garin, with the extra supplies, was alone in the third.

  He was content to be alone as they took off across the blue-white waste. His ship, because of the load, was loggy, so he did not attempt to follow the other two into the higher lane. They were in communication by radio and Garin, as he snapped on his earphones, remembered something Farson had said that morning:

  “The haze affects radio. On our trip near it the static was very bad. Almost"—with a laugh—"like speech in some foreign tongue.”

  As they roared over the ice Garin wondered if it might have been speech—from, perhaps, a secret enemy expedition, such as the Kattack one.

  In his sealed cabin he did not feel the bite of the frost and the ship rode smoothly. With a little sigh of content he settled back against the cushions, keeping to the course set by the planes ahead and above him.

  About an hour after they left the base, Garin caught sight of a dark shadow far ahead. At the same time Farson’s voice chattered on his radio.

  “That’s it. Set course straight ahead.”

  The shadow grew until it became a wall of purple-blue from earth to sky. The first plane was quite close to it, diving down into the vapor. Suddenly the ship rocked violently and swung earthward as if out of control. Then it straightened and turned back. Garin could hear Farson demanding to know what was the matter. But from the first plane there was no reply.

  As Farson’s plane kept going Garin throttled down. The actions of the first ship indicated trouble. What if that haze were a toxic gas?

  “Close up, Featherstone!” barked Farson suddenly.

  He obediently drew ahead until they flew wing to wing. The haze was just before them and now Garin could see movement in it, oily, impenetrable billows. The motors bit into it. There was clammy, foggy moisture on the windows.

  Abruptly Garin sensed that he was no longer alone. Somewhere in the empty cabin behind him was another intelligence, a measuring power. He fought furiously against it —against the very idea of it. But, after a long terrifying moment while it seemed to study him, it took control. His hands and feet still manipulated the ship, but the alien controlled him.

  The ship hurtled on through the thickening mist. He lost sight of Farson’s plane. And, though he was still fighting against the will which overrode his, his struggles grew weaker. Then came the order to dive into the dark heart of the purple mists.

  Down they whirled. Once, as the haze opened, Garin caught a glimpse of tortured gray rock seamed with yellow. Farson had been right: here the ice crust was broken.

  Down and down. If his instruments were correct the plane was below sea level now. The haze thinned and was gone. Below spread a plain cloaked in vivid green. Here and there reared clumps of what might be trees. He saw, too, the waters of a yellow stream.

  But there was something terrifyingly alien about that landscape. Even as he circled above it, Garin strove to break the grip of the will that had brought him here. There came a cac
kle of sound in his earphones and at that moment the Presence withdrew.

  The nose of the plane went up in obedience to his own desire. Frantically he climbed away from the green land. Again the haze absorbed him. He watched the moisture bead on the windows. Another hundred feet or so and he would be free of it—and that unbelievable world beneath.

  Then, with an ominous sputter, the port engine conked out. The plane lurched and slipped into a dive. Down it whirled again into the steady light of the green land.

  Trees came out of the ground, huge fern-like plants with crimson scaled trunks. Toward a clump of these the plane swooped.

  Frantically Garin fought the controls. The ship steadied, the dive became a fast glide. He looked for an open space to land. Then he felt the landing gear scrape some surface. Directly ahead loomed one of the fern trees. The plane sped toward the long fronds. There came a ripping crash, the splintering of metal and wood. The scarlet cloud gathering before Garin’s eyes turned black.

  Garin returned to consciousness through a red mist of pain. He was pinned in the crumpled mass of metal which had once been the cabin. Through a rent in the wall close to his head thrust a long spike of green, shredded leaves still clinging to it. He lay and watched it, not daring to move lest the pain prove more than he could bear.

  It was then that he heard the pattering sound outside. It seemed as if soft hands were pushing and pulling at the wreck. The tree branch shook and a portion of the cabin wall dropped away with a clang.

  Garin turned his head slowly. Through the aperture was clambering a goblin-like figure.

  It stood about five feet tall, and it walked upon its hind legs in human fashion, but the legs were short and stumpy, ending in feet with five toes of equal length. Slender, shapely arms possessed small hands with only four digits. The creature had a high, well-rounded forehead but no chin, the face being distinctly lizard-like in contour. The skin was a dull black with a velvety surface. About its loins it wore a short kilt of metallic cloth, the garment being supported by a jeweled belt of exquisite workmanship.

  For a long moment the apparition eyed Garin. And it was those golden eyes, fixed unwinkingly on his, which banished the flier’s fear. There was nothing but great pity in their depths.

  The lizard-man stooped and brushed the sweat-dampened hair from Garin’s forehead. Then he fingered the bonds of metal which held the flier, as if estimating their strength. Having done so, he turned to the opening and apparently gave an order, returning again to squat by Garin.

  Two more of his kind appeared, to tear away the ruins of the cabin. Though they were very careful, Garin lost consciousness before they had him free.

  When Garin again became aware of his surroundings, he discovered he was on a litter swung between two clumsy beasts which might have been small elephants, except that they lacked trunks and possessed four tusks each.

  They crossed the plain to the towering mouth of a huge cavern where the litter was taken up by four of the lizard-folk. Garin lay staring up at the roof of the cavern. In the black stone had been carved fronds and flowers in bewildering profusion. Shining motes, giving off faint light, sifted through the air. At times as they advanced these gathered in clusters and the light grew brighter.

  Midway down a long corridor the bearers halted while their leader pulled upon a knob on the wall. An oval door swung back and the party passed through.

  They came into a round room, the walls of which had been fashioned of creamy quartz veined with violet. At the highest point in the ceiling a large globe of the motes hung, furnishing soft light below.

  Two lizard-men, clad in long robes, conferred with the leader of the flier’s party before coming to stand over Garin. One of the robed ones shook his head at the sight of the flier’s twisted body and waved the litter on into an inner chamber.

  Here the walls were dull blue and in the exact center was a long block of quartz. The litter was put down atop this and the bearers disappeared. With sharp knives the robed men cut away furs and leather to expose Garin’s broken body.

  They lifted him to the quartz table and there made him fast with metal bonds. Then one of them went to the wall and pulled a gleaming rod. An eerie blue light shot out from the dome of the roof to beat upon the helpless Garin. He felt a tingling through every muscle and joint, a prickling sensation in his skin, and soon his pain vanished as if it had never been.

  The light flashed off and the three lizard-men gathered around him. He was wrapped in a soft robe and carried to another room. This, too, was circular, shaped like the half of a giant bubble. The floor sloped toward the center where mere was a depression filled with cushions. There they laid Garin. At the top of the bubble, a pinkish cloud formed. He watched it drowsily until he fell asleep.

  Something warm stirred against his bare shoulder. He opened his eyes, for a moment unable to remember where he was. Then there was a plucking at the robe twisted about him and he looked down.

  If the lizard-folk had been goblin-like in their grotesqueness this visitor was elfin. It was about three feet high, its monkey-like body completely covered with silky white hair. The tiny hands were human in shape and hairless, but its feet were much like a cat’s paws. From either side of the small round head branched large fan-shaped ears. The face was furred and boasted stiff cat whiskers on the upper lip. These Anas, as Garin learned later, were happy little creatures, each one choosing some mistress or master among the Folk, as this one had come to him. They were content to follow their big protector, speechless with delight at trifling gifts. Loyal and brave, they could do simple tasks or carry written messages for their chosen friend, and they remained with him until death. They were neither beast nor human, but rumored to be the result of some experiment carried out eons ago by the Ancient Ones.

  After patting Garin’s shoulder the Ana touched the flier’s hair wonderingly, comparing the bronze lengths with its own white fur. Since the Folk were hairless, hair was a strange sight in the Caverns. With a contented purr, the Ana rubbed its bead against his hand.

  With a sudden click a door in the wall opened. The Ana got to its feet and ran to greet the newcomers. The Chieftain of the Folk, he who had first found Garin, entered, followed by several of his fellows.

  The flier sat up. Not only was the pain gone but he felt stronger and younger than he had for weary months. Exultingly he stretched wide his arms and grinned at the lizard-being who murmured happily in return.

  Lizard-men busied themselves about Garin, girding on him the short kilt and jewel-set belt, apparently the only clothing being worn within the Caverns. When they were finished, the Chieftain took his hand and drew him to the door.

  They traversed a hallway whose walls were carved and inlaid with glittering stones and metal work, coming, at last, into a huge cavern, the outer walls of which were hidden by shadows. On a dais stood three tall thrones and Garin was conducted to the foot of these.

  The highest throne was of rose crystal. On its right was one of green jade, worn smooth by centuries of time. The one at the left was carved of a single block of jet. The rose throne and the jet one were unoccupied, but in the seat of jade reposed one of the Folk. He was taller than his fellows and in his eyes, as he stared at Garin, was wisdom—and a brooding sadness.

  “It is well!” The words resounded in the flier’s head. “We have chosen wisely. This youth is fit to mate with the Daughter. But he will be tried, as fire tries metal. He must win the Daughter forth and strive with Kepta—”

  A hissing murmur echoed through the hall. Garin guessed that hundreds of the Folk must be gathered there.

  “Urg!” the being on the throne commanded.

  “Take this youth and instruct him. And then I will speak with him again. For"—sadness colored the words now—"we would have the rose throne filled again and the black one blasted into dust. Time moves swiftly.”

  The Chieftain led a wondering Garin away.

  Chapter Two

  Garin Learns of the Black Ones


  Urg brought the flier into one of the bubble-shaped rooms which contained a low, cushioned bench facing a metal screen—and here they seated themselves.

  What followed was a language lesson. On the screen appeared objects which Urg would name, to have his silibant uttering repeated by Garin. As the American later learned, the ray treatment he had undergone had quickened his mental powers and in an incredibly short time he had a working vocabulary.

  Judging by the pictures the lizard folk were the rulers of the crater world, although there were other forms of life there. The elephant-like Tand was a beast of burden, the squirrel-like Eron lived underground and carried on a crude agriculture in small clearings, coming shyly twice a year to exchange grain for a liquid rubber produced by the Folk.

  Then there was the Gibi, a monstrous bee, also friendly to the lizard people. It supplied the cavern dwellers with wax and in return the Folk gave the Gibi colonies shelter during the unhealthful times of the Great Mists.

  Highly civilized were the Folk. They did no work by hand, except the finer kinds of jewel settings and carving. Machines wove their metal cloth, machines prepared their food, harvested their fields, hollowed out new dwellings.

  Freed from manual labor they had turned to acquiring knowledge. Urg projected pictures on the screen of vast laboratories and great libraries of scientific lore. But all they knew in the beginning, they had learned from the Ancient Ones, a race unlike themselves, which had preceded them in sovereignty over Tav. Even the Folk themselves were the result of constant forced evolution and experimentation carried on by these Ancient Ones.

  All this wisdom was guarded most carefully; but against what or whom, Urg could not tell, although he insisted the danger was very real. There was something written within the blue wall of the crater which disputed the Folk’s rule.

  As Garin tried to probe further a gong sounded. Urg arose.

  “It is the hour of eating,” he announced. “Let us go.”