House of Zeor

by Jacqueline Lichtenberg

  That last quarter of a mile uphill seemed much longer than the morning’s climb. Valleroy found he ached in every muscle and, when he tried to put his strength into the climb, his limbs trembled with fatigue. At last, Klyd’s firm hand helped him up the last rock slide, where he sprawled on the flat ledge in a dwindling patch of sunlight.

  If it hadn’t been for the channel, Valleroy knew he’d just fall asleep right there and freeze happily to death during the night. But he couldn’t give up while Klyd refused to show the slightest sign of fatigue. Gritting his teeth, he humped to his feet. They needed firewood and dry clothes.

  Depositing their apples inside the cave, Klyd said, “We’re in real luck. No recent occupants to dispute our claim and even some dead leaves for kindling. You make us a fireplace, and I’ll prospect for wood.”

  “No,” Valleroy shook his head doggedly. “You’ll be in need soon. Save your strength. I’ll go.”

  Cocking his head in politely suppressed amusement, Klyd leaned against a boulder while Valleroy took a few wobbly steps toward a nearby thicket. His trembling legs gave out. He pitched headlong over a fallen log. Before his head hit the ground, the channel was there breaking his fall. “Now that, Naztehr, cost more selyn than merely fetching the wood myself. In order to move that fast, I had to augment to a selyn consumption rate nearly seven times basal.”

  Angered, Valleroy sat with his elbows on his knees. “Well, you didn’t have to augment to save me! I’m not exactly the world’s worst tumbler, you know!”

  “We can’t afford injuries. Your safety is as important to me as my own. Now, will you go see what you can do for a fireplace? Next time, you might go head over heels down the mountain and never be heard from again!”

  Stung, Valleroy retorted, “I suppose you couldn’t fall?”

  “Simes have a better sense of balance and a more reliable kinesthetic sense than Gens.”

  “I suppose you’re not tired either?”

  “No, I’m not tired in the same way you are. I am fatigued, yes, and need approaches rapidly now. But I have not been exerting myself beyond normal limits as you have. And I’m not affected so severely by the cold...yet.”

  Valleroy framed a sarcastic commentary, but checked himself in mid-breath. They both would freeze if they didn’t get dry. No sense arguing. “Yes, Sectuib.”

  “That’s better.” The Sime headed down the slope to a promising cluster of scrub oaks, apparently unaware that Valleroy resented being told what to do.

  Valleroy climbed to his feet and brushed off the clinging mud. He’d almost broken his fool neck, and he was madder at himself than at Klyd’s smug, supercilious attitude. After all, he rationalized, the channel had led a very sheltered life. He expected obedience as his rightful due. Valleroy resolved to teach him a lesson...some other time. He vented his anger in dragging a pine bough up to the cave. He used it to sweep all the dead leaves into a heap in the corner leaving a nice, safe rock surface for their fire. Then he stripped all the needles from the bough and wedged it across the top of the cave forming a very neat, impromptu clothesline.

  By the time Klyd got back with his first armload of firewood, the tiny alcove was beginning to look like a camp. While Valleroy selected the driest pieces of wood, Klyd brought a second armload. Then they bent to the chore of getting a blaze going. It took five of their remaining matches, but within the hour they had a cheery fire warming their retreat.

  It was only then that Valleroy began to shiver. Teeth chattering, he said, “I could use something hot to drink! Suppose we could bake some of those apples?”

  Smiling lopsidedly, Klyd said, “I’d never have thought of that. But it’s a good idea. I’ll get some leaves to wrap them in. Meanwhile, get out of those clothes before you catch pneumonia.”

  While the channel made one last foray out into the gathering dusk, Valleroy fought the instinct that told him wet clothes were warmer than no clothes. Teeth chattering, he managed to strip off his jacket and shirt and hang them over the clothes bar. Then, wrapped in his blanket, which was damp only in spots, he peeled off pants and socks. It wasn’t long before he stopped shivering.

  “Hugh. Guess what I found!”

  Valleroy looked up to find the channel approaching the fire, arms loaded. He guessed facetiously, “A pot of steaming coffee?”

  “Almost. How about some mushroom soup?”

  “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “Well, a little the worse for the snow, but still mushrooms.”

  “I hope you know which are edible and which kinds are poisonous.”

  Mildly offended, Klyd said, “I served an exacting apprenticeship in Zeor’s pharmacy. Do you think I’d poison you?”

  “Maybe by accident. I’ll be honest. I wouldn’t know a mushroom from a toadstool.”

  “Trust me?”

  “If you trust you, yes, I guess so. What have we got to lose, anyway?”

  Stripping off his wet clothing, Klyd wrapped himself in his blanket and then bent to sort his mushrooms. “Some of these are good for Gens, some are good for Simes. I’ve got enough to make each of us a pot of soup. I wonder how it would taste with some apples added?”

  “To me, it doesn’t sound very appetizing.”

  “That’s a Gen for you. No imagination.”

  Valleroy reared back in indignation, but before be could launch a protest, Klyd laughed. “The Sime taste is as different from the Gen taste as the Sime metabolism is from the Gen metabolism. The Householding kitchens strive to please all and rarely please anybody. That’s why Wednesday night is always a party night.”

  Valleroy thought hard. Wednesday. “Oh, yes!” He snapped his fingers. “I remember. On Wednesday, the Simes eat at the first shift, and the Gens eat at the second. You mean the menu is different?”

  “Right. Some of my favorite dishes would send you to the hospital within the hour. Take this little item, for example.” He held up the mushroom. “It’s a mutant that seems to have appeared at about the same time the first Simes were being born. A good third of the kitchen gardens at Zeor are planted in vegetables essential in the Sime diet, but pure poison to Gens. Their existence makes a good argument for the theory that the Simes were an artificially induced mutation that got out of hand.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “Of course, one can make an equally strong case for the theory of spontaneous mutation in reaction to the increasing environmental pollution of an overpopulated world. The books of the Ancients provide a great mountain of data that is reliable right up to the appearance of the first Simes. After that, all that can be learned is that nobody could figure out, officially, where the mutation came from. So we just don’t know.”

  “What happens if you don’t get these poisonous vegetables in your diet?”

  “Enormously shortened lifespan.”

  “So cultivation and culinary art also contribute to Zelerod’s Doom?”

  “You are so right, Naztehr. Have some soup. I think the apples are ready.”

  They slept that night huddled together under both blankets, skin to skin, leaving their clothes on the rod to dry. Valleroy woke during the night. Unable to get back to sleep, he watched the sharp shadows cast by the waning moon as it arced across the cave entrance. He was keenly aware of the warm body beside him.

  Thinking back to that first night out of Zeor, he remembered how stiffly he’d lain beside the Sime. His awareness of Klyd was different now. The channel was a man dedicated to a job he’d inherited, not chosen. The job had a grip on his soul stronger than the steely tentacles of an attacking Sime. If it hadn’t been for their first encounter, Valleroy would truly believe Klyd physiologically incapable of harming a Gen.

  It was only now that Valleroy was able to realize how traumatic an experience inflicting that injury had been for Klyd. Comparing some of the remarks he’d heard about Klyd’s behavior right afterwards with things he’d learned at Imil, a picture began forming in Valleroy’s mind.

  Lying
there watching the shadows of drifting clouds, Valleroy assembled that picture as he would one of Stacy’s composite drawings. It was an image of a man whose responsibilities were larger than his abilities. A man whose primary asset was an invincible self-confidence. A man whose self-confidence had been shattered by one miscalculation on a cold rainy night...a night haunted by need.

  Slowly, as Valleroy had recovered from that injury, so had Klyd. Since only a Companion could overcontrol a channel in transfer, Klyd had to convince himself that Valleroy’s talent as a Companion had allowed him to wrench control of the selyn flow away from the channel. In response to Klyd’s rationalization, Valleroy thought, he had indeed developed some rudimentary skills, especially the sort of quiet confidence that allowed him to share a blanket with a Sime almost in need. He wondered what his mother would have thought of that. His hand sought the starred-cross that still hung around his neck beneath his undershirt, and he fell asleep wondering.

  With the first dawn light, they packed up the remaining apples and struck out across the valley floor. Klyd warned of a concentration of Sime riders off to the west, but calculated that they’d be safely up the far ridge before the horsemen got close enough to spot a field-gradient. As a channel, Klyd could control the “show gradient” nager to a certain extent. He hoped it would be enough to get them past the end of the cordon.

  Valleroy found himself still weak from the previous day’s exertion. Spending two weeks in bed and two more as an invalid hadn’t kept him in condition for cross-country marathons. But he was no longer ill, so as the day progressed he was able to draw upon inner resources for strength. A few more days at this, a decent meal or two, and he’d be back in shape.

  It was the meals that were worrying him most. Klyd kept insisting that approaching need had already destroyed his appetite, but Valleroy felt that even a Sime body would benefit from a few solid calories. He wanted to stop and set some rabbit snares, but he knew that Klyd would be so revolted at the thought of eating animal tissue that he’d probably just go on alone.

  Denrau was the channel’s goal now, and on his twenty-sixth day since his last transfer, Klyd was in no mood to pause for any reason. Valleroy understood that well enough. He didn’t even complain when they reached the other side of the valley and Klyd started up without slackening pace.

  Silently, Valleroy tried to follow the trail the channel picked among the tumble of boulders. He could see they were trending toward a deep cut in the ridge that appeared to be a pass of sorts. If the weather held, they might make the crest before nightfall. He began searching for likely looking cave areas but had found none by the time he noticed that Klyd had drawn ahead out of sight.

  Concentrating on his climbing, Valleroy strove to close that widening gap. He caught occasional glimpses of the Sime, always farther ahead, scampering effortlessly up the treacherous slope, apparently making no concessions to Valleroy’s slower pace. Almost wondering if he’d been abandoned, Valleroy picked his own trail toward the cleft in the mountainous ridge.

  Then his self-pity turned to anger, and he stepped up his pace recklessly. From the top of this ridge, he expected to see both Hanrahan Pass and the river. He could be in Gen Territory and safe by noon tomorrow if Klyd decided not to wait for him. After all, he’d suggested that himself, and it still seemed like a reasonable course.

  Thus sunk deeply into his own thoughts, Valleroy failed to notice the lithe shadow that softened the outline of one towering boulder. As he passed beneath, that shadow detached itself and plunged downward with a blood-curdling animal scream!

  Whirling, Valleroy caught one glimpse of gaping cat jaws, needle fangs, and wet red tongue. The fetid breath of the animal filled his nostrils. He thrust his hands out to fend off the attack. Wicked claws slashed at his jacket. He threw the animal off. It landed hard against some sharp stones. It was stunned for a moment, but not giving up.

  Valleroy cursed the Zeor ruling that decreed members travel unarmed. Pride was fine, but there were limits. Circling the crouched cat, Valleroy grabbed a fist-sized stone from the ground. It would have to be a good throw. He wouldn’t get another chance. But as he hefted the missile, he felt his arm trembling uncontrollably. Yesterday’s fatigue was compounded by today’s exertions. Gritting his teeth, Valleroy continued to circle uphill. If he fell backwards, he didn’t want to roll all the way down. The fall might not quite kill him.

  He watched the cat gather for the spring. The lean muscles were clearly outlined under the tawny skin. Bracing his foot against a firm rock, Valleroy hurled his weapon with all his strength.

  But in that instant, the cat sprang into the air. The missile whizzed past through empty space. Valleroy took the impact of the predator’s weight on his arms, heedless of the sharp claws. For a moment, he had a grip on its neck, but his hands slipped. The cat squirmed loose, leaving Valleroy sprawled helpless against the slope of the mountainside. He expected those dripping jaws to close on his throat any second.

  But it didn’t happen. Gasping, Valleroy rolled over. He gathered his feet under him, looking uphill. There, silhouetted against the late afternoon sky, stood Klyd.

  As the cat seemed to sense his presence, Klyd threw a fist-sized rock at the animal’s head. The rock grazed its skull, opening a long gash between the ears. Screaming its rage, the cat leaped at the Sime!

  Valleroy saw fingers and tentacles curve firmly about the cat’s neck. He heard the blunt snap of breaking vertebrae that finished the animal. But the cat’s body carried enough momentum to throw Klyd back several steps. His footing gave way and he fell backwards, the cat on top of him. The cat’s death spasms raked its claws across Klyd’s torso, its hind legs braced against Klyd’s thighs, ripping deep. Valleroy heard a dull thud when Klyd’s head hit something solid.

  Before the two limp forms had stopped moving, Valleroy was at the channel’s side. He put all his remaining strength into heaving the furry body aside. Hardly daring to breathe, he inspected those precious lateral tentacles. He sobbed a prayer of thanks. The only damage was on the upper arms and the thighs. They were deep, bloody gashes, but considering the Sime immunity to most infections, they ought not to be too serious.

  The head injury was another problem. Valleroy was no doctor, but he knew enough to be worried. He’d no idea what concussion could do to the channel’s nervous system.

  With trembling fingers, he tore strips off his shirt and bound the wounds tightly. A Sime could control bleeding by will power, but this Sime was totally unconscious. Night was approaching. They had to have a warm shelter.

  Decisively, Valleroy finished his first aid and stood up. He’d heaved the cat’s body far enough downhill so that scavengers wouldn’t bother Klyd. Now, he had to scout for shelter.

  Valleroy labored toward the pass that had been their goal. He was on the northern slope of the ridge, the deepest part of the afternoon shadow. He dared not go too far in search of shelter. Somehow, he’d have to transport Klyd’s unconscious body. And he was already too weak to haul himself along! One bad fall could be the death of them both...it was a long way down.

  Pausing to catch his breath, Valleroy scanned the eastern part of the mountainside. If there were no cave, at least some sort of pocket or recess must be near. Then he saw it.

  Not half a mile from them and only a few hundred yards up the slope...nestled snugly among the boulders and almost hidden from view by a screen of evergreens and shrubs...the regular shape of a building was just discernible in the gathering dusk.

  Marking the spot carefully, Valleroy scrambled back to pick up the channel. By leaving the backpacks, he managed to straighten up with his burden slung across his shoulders. Klyd was a tall man, but sparely built. He wasn’t as heavy as he looked. Still, it was all Valleroy could manage to make that climb along the sloping ground.

  He took his bearings, narrowed down his thoughts to the step he had to make next, and drove himself by pure determination. Before he’d gone a hundred yards, his left ankle was shot wi
th pain and his right thigh shook uncontrollably. He shifted his burden, gritted his teeth, and went on unaware of the sweat standing out on his face in the freezing wind. He knew that moving a concussion victim was bad, but he also knew that low blood pressure from shock could be fatal if the patient is not kept warm.

  What he didn’t know about moving an unconscious Sime didn’t bother him...yet.

  One step. Then another. And one more. Gasp the freezing air into parched throat. Another trembling step. And another. One more. He was alone on this mountainside. If either of them was to survive, it would have to be by Valleroy’s own efforts. Unaided.

  He fastened his thoughts on Zeor. A Companion was responsible for the well-being of his channel. Zeor was a Householding with pride, and he was a Companion in Zeor—at least as far as the outside world was concerned he was a Companion in Zeor. And he’d promised Grandfather that he’d take care of Klyd. Hugh Valleroy kept his promises just as well as any Farris who’d ever lived. He’d keep this one if it killed him.

  He repeated that over and over as he stumbled toward safety. Twice he fell, twice he picked himself up. Twice he shouldered his burden and stumbled on.

  And at long last, he fell lengthwise over the threshold of the refuge. For long, agonized minutes, he lay oblivious to his success. But then he raised himself on trembling arms and looked around.

  The heap of dark clothing on the floor in front of him resolved itself into Klyd’s unconscious form, alive and still bleeding. Beyond that lay a tiny cabin, hardly larger than one of Zeor’s washrooms. But there was a fireplace laid with dry wood. A striker hung from a chain beside it. Before trying to see the rest of the dark room, Valleroy crawled over to the fireplace and used that striker to squeeze hot sparks onto the waiting tinder. Too tired to use the bellows, he breathed gently on the tongue of flame until it seemed able to live alone.

  The warmth of it revived him enough so he could get to his feet. He dragged Klyd onto a pallet of straw covered with clean blankets that lay ready in the corner. There were no windows in the miniature cabin. He didn’t see the candles on the mantelpiece, so he set to work on Klyd’s bandages as best he could in the dimness.