Dare to Go A-Hunting ft-4 Page 8

  Farree was learning now from a source which lived and breathed, far from the tapes and scrolls the Zacanthan guarded so dearly. His own short life—or as much of it as he could remember—had been spent in the filthy dregs of the Limits—infinitely worse than even the portside on the planet from which they had risen. He had never seen open country until they had finned down on Yiktor. There events had sped by so fast that he had not had time to think of what they saw but only of what must be done, and as speedily as possible. He had acted mainly from instinct and not from knowledge.

  Now he matched thoughts with the bartle and so lived the life of the great furred hunter. He padded down mountain trails, his head up to savor the wind and any message that it brought. Claws were sharpened on a favorite rock which also marked the boundary of Bojor's own hunting ground. And so did he slip from one outcrop of rock to another, eyeing a small herd of grush feeding the shoulder-high grass. Thus he squatted on the banks of the stream, one paw ready to dip in with a gesture seemingly too delicate to be used by a bartle, and bring out a swift-swimming creature which had the sinuous body of a reptile.

  It was not a one-way meeting for thought which tied Farree to Bojor during those sessions. For the bartle roused from his hibernation enough to display a curiosity of his own, and demanded that Farree return adventure to balance adventure. The life of the Limits was something which Farree recalled very briefly and from which Bojor turned away in disgust. Those hours he had spent on Yiktor were all he had to offer.

  He could still recall the wonder of that time when the hideous hump which had made him a matter of disgust all through his days split and peeled away and his wings were born. The first moments of his beginning flight, when, unsure and clumsy, he had made the attempt to raise himself above the ground, he remembered well—and all the rest of what the wings had brought him—the chance to serve Maelen and her people as no one except he who was so endowed could do.

  That memory appeared to interest Bojor above all others.

  His own experience with flyers had been only with birds, one species of which had followed him boldly from place to place, feasting on the scraps of any kill. For creatures such as himself and the others aboard this ship (Farree discovered from the first that Bojor looked upon them all as fellow beasts, clearly apart from the hunters who had first entrapped him, even though they had worn the same kind of bodies as his present companions had), flight was very strange indeed. He plied Farree with thought questions as to how one felt speeding above and not across the earth.

  There were not only Bojor's memories to be tapped, but also Yazz's. The slender-legged, beautifully coated animal had other information to add to that which Farree was eagerly assimulating. So and so did it feel to come upon a strange track in the muddy bank of a drink-pool. A nose at such times was greater than an eye to tell whether this was an enemy or a stranger who need not be feared.

  Farree rubbed his own nose ruefully at that. Though he had been able to trail the wing patches into the ship, he certainly lacked such sensitive and selective nostrils. Thus Yazz added to his store of knowledge about what one might search for in a new territory.

  Zoror, Bojor and Yazz all had something to add to his lessoning in preparation for the future. But it was from Maelen, and from Vorlund, that he learned that which would be of most importance if they descended from the stars to discover their chosen world had other menaces—perhaps from those whose interest they had already brushed against.

  "They had that wing portion." Vorlund gestured to the mark on Farree's wrist. "It is true that trade after trade may swing from planet to planet, nearly across the space lanes– but those wing portions, while they are rare enough, might have little value in themselves. They might have been brought to back up some story, to entice backing, even as a form of introduction from one Veep to another. Perhaps they thought to use them not only as bait for you—but for all of us, little brother, who must now be well known to the Guild—did we not spoil their game on Yiktor? And they do not easily forget losses and failures. It would not be well for them to either lose or fail without exacting punishment—they have enemies enough who might be so encouraged to fight back. Yes, if this is bait—then we are perhaps heading straight into a trap. So for that we must be prepared."

  Thus Vorlund became his instructor in other ways. There was the use of the slender knife which the spacer carried concealed in the top of his space boot. Though their room for practice was greatly curtailed, Farree learned how to throw. In addition he listened as carefully as he did to all his other instructors for useful information which could only come from a Free Trader who had known a number of different worlds. Not the least was Vorlund's collection of Guild information gathered from years of listening in ports and to shipmates.

  Farree had thought that life was of little worth in the Limits where not even the peacekeepers walked except in pairs and then with tanglers at alert. However, the more he heard, the more he came to believe that there were dangers he had never dreamed of when he had slunk through the shadows of that pest hole. He had once thought that life in the upper town would be ideal and now he was certain that peril was even more complex and ever-present there also.

  Dream– It was one night when he had settled in his cabin hammock that he began to dream.

  He was hovering above a rich green spread of vegetation where bright touches of color rose up to the sun as the worlds appeared to spark a star chart. A stream of water bubbled along, so clear that one could well view the stones scattered over its sandy flooring and spy upon the fleeting shapes of water dwellers.

  There were taller growing plants along the stream edge and among those fluttered gauzy winged insects, their armored bodies jewel bright. For there was warmth and light– not only from a sun, but also shooting from the mountains which stood high to protect this peaceful cup of valley. Here, too, there was the drifting silvery mist which floated, now and then veiling off one of those heights and then another. Only this time no flyers winged through it—there was only an empty land. Farree was struck of a sudden with a sensation of vast loneliness containing not fear but despair.

  He was unaware of his own body—only that he could see—and feel: settling upon him was a need to go elsewhere. There was a flashing of light and he faced an opening of what might be a mountain cave. From the throat of that spiraled the glittering mist.

  If this was a natural fault in the rock there had been those eager to refashion it, for there were workings to smooth the rock and then overlay it with crystals such as he had never seen. Pure white, like water frozen into clusters, shading downward to the threshold and upward to a squared-off space. Those jutting points near the foot were dusky, yellowish, as if soil had worked into them before they had been frozen into immobility and, far above, the water-clear stones were tinged with a faint shade of violet which deepened into a rich purple.

  The doorway drew him and he floated (for he was not aware of flying in this dream) towards the entrance—only to be so sharply and suddenly repelled that he was driven out of dream and sleep in the same instant. He lay, gasping, his heart beating so fast that he felt it must be shaking his whole body. For a space of time which could be measured only by his hurried breaths he adjusted to the fact that he was in the cabin and not before that burnished, gem-studded and open doorway.

  Far in his mind something stirred as if a door long and securely locked was shaken. He lay inert and strove to reach that door, only to have a sickening whirling possess him utterly.

  While he pressed his hands to his mouth to help control the rising sickness in him, there came a signal from the wall of the cabin. They were coming out of overdrive—if Krip's efforts had been successful, the system they sought lay waiting for them.

  Farree moved cautiously, levering himself up in the hammock. The sickness was still with him, but so was that vivid and complete dream—as much of a reality as if he had specifically sought out the crystal door.

  Chapter Seven

  T
here it is!" Krip pushed forward in the co-pilot seat to view what lay on the vision screen.

  Green, blue—a round ball rapidly approaching them was before their eyes. For it seemed to Farree that that world was approaching them rather than they were seeking for a landing place on it.

  "Ah—" Zoror's hands were busy on the controls. A feeling of tension spread from the Zacanthan to the rest of them. Just as in the dream the crystal door—or something– had warded Farree off—now the feeling arose in him that danger waited—

  Zoror's attention was all for the bank of buttons and levers before him, but now he spoke to Vorlund: "Station for entrance—do you use the controls also—" The Zacanthan's shoulders were braced as if he were exerting force against more than buttons.

  Vorlund's own hands flew down on the co-pilot's controls and his face drew grim.

  Did a flicker on the screen actually waver for a moment? Farree was almost led to believe that it did. In that breath or two out of time it might have been that their ship was warded off, held from entering the inner skies of this unknown world. Then, if there had indeed been a barrier, it was gone. They finned in with the same ease as if the Zacanthan had held the ship in his hand to place it neatly on a solid surface. Vorlund leaned forward to touch the level of the vision screen which would turn slowly to give them a full view of the space where they had landed.

  There were wisps of smoke rising which veiled much; the landing rockets must have found something to set alight. Maelen was reading symbols which flashed on a smaller screen near her right hand. Those blazed up in small green flashes, each one of which Farree knew stood to reassure that beings such as themselves dared explore without wearing ponderous equipment meant to battle hostile atmosphere.

  The air, the light, all seemed well; there might not be a second warn off. Farree wondered if any but him had felt the first. However, when they prepared to down ramp and go to view this world he saw Vorlund buckling on a stunner belt. Maelen flexed her fingers as if her bare flesh was also a weapon.

  That the Zacanthan was also reaching for a stunner was a surprise. So respected were the Zacanthans across the star lanes that even a Guild Veep might consider carefully any idea which included interfering with one. In fact rumor had it that Hist-Techs' continued studies of the past had included experimentation with outre weapons of the Forerunners and that they were better left strictly alone. Farree had his knife in his boottop but he doubted his own efficiency with that in spite of Vorlund's careful schooling.

  They came out on the ramp which was slung out over the strip of burnt vegetation. Maelen paused, fingers lightly clasped and held out as she slowly made a half arc turn, sweeping from one side of the country before them to the other, Vorlund and Zoror pushing back a little to give her full room.

  Farree used his mind without any link to an instrument. Of a sudden he took to the air, soaring up above the ship, winging out and away from the circle of destruction its tail flames had caused as it rode those in for their landing.

  He headed for a point in the cup of valley in which they had landed—a green-covered hump to the north of the ship. It was the first, he noted, of a series of such which sprouted upward in a straight line. They varied in size, however, some being taller even than Zoror afoot and others so small their presence could be overlooked unless one was searching for any rise in the vegetation.

  The careful placement of the hummocks made Farree believe that they were not the work of nature. Burial mounds? Ruins well concealed by years of abandonment? He loosed his mind touch, but there was nothing, not even a fraction of a hint as he earthed on the first one of the line.

  This vegetation was thick, curling upward about his feet near to knee height. Hidden by the many three-pointed leaves were small flowers of a dim grey-white, as if the sun, so warm on his wings, never touched them. The weight of his feet loosed scent, sweet-spicy, while from near the patch where he had alighted there burst into the air pellets, some of which struck against him and clung. Those, too, were the grey-white of the flowerets. He pried one loose from his jerkin, finding it sticky, holding now to his fingers. But the moment he took that into his hands he had again a pain-edged flash from that inner part of his mind which had been always sealed until he began this venture. He—he knew this!

  Salenge! Ill-bane! It banished ills and made the heart light—only how had he known that? "Salenge," he repeated aloud. His fingers closed of their own accord on the tiny clove he held. It burst under pressure, releasing another scent, sharper, making his nose tingle, the saliva flow in his mouth. Again, without conscious thought, he raised his now juice-coated hand to his mouth and licked the remnants of the burst berry from his flesh. It was cool in his mouth and hot as he swallowed.

  Farree flung back his head to look at the sky above the arch of his wings. Salenge—that he knew—and also its use. Only he had never seen this before—or had he? Impatiently he thrust at that barrier in his memory and then swayed at a second bite of pain. No, do not push—Maelen had told him this and she was right. There was nothing but emptiness when he sought. Yet when he let his thoughts settle elsewhere there came hints such as this.

  He stooped and shook the plants gently. On his other hand and arm he caught as many of the expelled balls as he could. Then he winged up, to circle the ship in an outward swing, studying the ground below.

  They had not landed in what could be thought a valley, rather in an odd formation of ground. It was indeed cup-shaped, a perfectly round stretch which was walled by cliffs and rises, with no sign of any break through which one might depart without a climb. Through the lower of those cliffs were partly masked in curtains of vegetation, as thick-matted as the ground, with many entangled vines, the reaches higher up were of a stone which was of a grey close to silver. Through that ran a pattern of veins of a clear white which in places caught the sun and flashed as if they were embedded with gems.

  There were no trees or large shrubs—only the rippling of the salenge which was thickest about that line of undulating mounds, then grew less and less until on the other side of the finned-down ship, beyond the black marks of its landing fires, there was a sprawling of what seemed to be leafless vines across a grey-brown soil, hardly distinguishable from what they rooted upon.

  Farree climbed with strong beats of wing until he reached the level of the sparkling stone. The air was clear and the scent of it was the scent of growing things which he gulped, after the recycled atmosphere of the ship, in mouthfuls, fairly drinking it down. The exultation which came with free flight was like a heady draught. Almost he forgot all else when he swung around over that space where the vines made odd ridges, leafless against the ground.

  For the first time he centered his attention completely on that. Its contrast to the verdant growth at the other side of the space ship became more and more apparent. He dropped to fly closer. There was something about—

  Again a sword of memory cut at him deeply.

  Hagger—a hagger run. He could see in his mind a bloated brown body, a thing which ran stomach down on six legs. Yet the shape of its head—! Hagger!

  That which controlled his flight did not wait for memory to grow any clearer—it sent him climbing, heading for the gem rocks with wildly beating wings. Then he fought free of that fear, turned back, coming once more to his first perch on the mound. Again around him arose the scent of trampled salenge, soothing—relaxing—

  Hagger and salenge—where under the moons of Three did such ever come together? The moons of Three! He dropped his harvest of burst berries and held his head in both hands. Again a memory flash—why did such torture him so?

  "Farree!" Maelen's mind call brought him out of that haze of pain. "What is it?"

  He did not answer. Instead he took wing, flying back to the ramp outsprung from the ship and there stood before the other three. Plucking a salenge berry from the edge of his sleeve he held it into their full sight.

  "This is salenge—what they call also ill-bane for it heals all il
ls and wounds if it can be used in time. And"—he gestured to the ship—"behind that are the hunting lines of the hagger. Do not ask me how I know this—I cannot tell." He shook his head slowly. The pain had eased, yet he knew that it was lying just beyond—waiting—

  "Where have we landed?" To Farree's surprise Zoror asked him nothing concerning what he did know.

  "Thus—" Quickly Farree replied with a picture of the cup in which they had planeted.

  It was Vorlund who broke the silence first when he had ended.

  "No way out then?"

  "Not unless you climb. But I have not had time to search thoroughly."

  Maelen let her hands hang free. "No life registers—save our own party."

  "Those mounds." The Zacanthan nodded to the humps Farree had first sighted. "Grave barrows, ruins—" He spoke as if to himself. Then he asked Farree the question for which the other had been waiting. "Salenge—hagger—?" Repeating the words he made them an inquiry.

  Farree shrugged. "I cannot tell you why," he repeated, "but that much I know."

  Vorlund sealed the lock with a word code they all repeated after him and then they moved off, Zoror heading straight for the nearest one of those hillocks. Vorlund stood eyeing the nearest wall, now hidden under that thick coating of vegetation and Maelen held her head up, staring straight northward, as if from a breeze now rising she had gathered a message.

  Farree's gaze followed hers. He actually staggered as the strongest hurt from that hiding place of his memory struck home.

  "Caer Vul-li-Wan—"

  Not part of the barriers which closed them in now, no—rather a peak upstanding like a narrow tower surmounting a keep. White against the sky which was a rich green-blue– Down its sides he thought he could see flickers of glitter even as far away as it must be—perhaps the same gem light as on the upper reaches of the cliffs about.