House of Zeor

by Jacqueline Lichtenberg

  “Klyd!” Valleroy was amazed. “He’d have done to you just like they did to Feleho!”

  “Yes. And he had to die. It is good that he is dead. I am honored to be the instrument of that death. But still I can respect him and the battle he fought. That is a difference between Sime and Gen.”

  Valleroy shook his head, baffled.

  The channel studied that bafflement for a moment and then rose. “My ancestors would have died in poverty and misery long before the first channel was born if it hadn’t been for the Raiders and the pens. The juncts established our civilization. That’s not something we allow ourselves to forget. I was born out of the deaths of others. I can’t blame those who still kill merely because there aren’t yet enough channels for everyone.”

  “So what are we going to do with him?”

  “Leave him here. Runzi will be sending parties out to collect the dead. Somebody will check on the cabin soon. They’ll take care of him. Come on.”

  Klyd started off down the side of the hill, and Valleroy followed. “Where are we going?”

  “Back to the cabin. We can’t go home until that battlefield is cleared, and I think I have this cylinder’s combination figured out.”

  Valleroy followed in silence. It seemed that every time he thought he had Klyd figured out, some new facet of his personality came to the surface to confuse things. Revenge was something that Valleroy understood. He wanted his share of it, too. Pride was innate, in him despite his humble upbringing. Loyalty, dedication, ideals. All seemed comprehensively enough, until Sectuib Klyd Farris got through twisting them into the Sime mold. But after a while that bizarre Sime point of view became quite comfortably familiar. He made a mental note to read some Sime philosophers if his Simelan ever became good enough.

  Back in the snug building, Klyd set about opening the dispatch case using a hot poker from the hearth to score one of the lines of the pattern that went all the way around the cylinder in a graceful S curve. Then he took the cylinder in hand and applied pressure at eighteen points simultaneously, a trick no Gen could master.

  The cylinder fell neatly into two halves, which Klyd laid out on the table. Within, several documents were clipped to the cylinder wall. Very gingerly, the Sime removed them. He shoved the cylinder aside and spread out the papers, scanning quickly. Two were in code, but the third was a handwritten letter.

  Looking over the channel’s shoulder, Valleroy said, “Read it aloud. I can’t read handwriting very well.”

  “It’s from Andle. To the man in charge of the main Runzi encampment, Tellalian. It’s...about Aisha, I think. How do you spell her last name?”

  “R-A-U-F. What would that be in Simelan?”

  “I think this must be her, then. Seems a reasonable transliteration.”

  “What does it say?”

  The channel read silently for several moments, while Valleroy strained to decipher the spidery scrawl of Andle’s handwriting. At length Klyd said, “You’re not going to like this, Naztehr.”

  “I don’t like not knowing either.”

  “They have her. They apparently know who she is and what she can do. She’s refused to help them despite the entire repertoire of Runzi persuasions. She must be quite a person!” He paused, bracing himself against Valleroy’s emotions. “Andle has ordered her reserved for his personal need.”

  “He’ll kill her? When?”

  “I’ve no idea.”

  “We’ve got to get to her. Where are they keeping her?”

  “At their main camp, somewhere near here.”

  “The messenger must have been heading there. He could have told us where—”

  “Never. Even truth drugs don’t work on the Runzi. They have hypnotic conditioning against revealing the camp’s location.”

  Truth drugs, thought Valleroy! Some of the stories about Simes were true then! “We’ll have to search for the camp. You must know these mountains pretty well. Where would the most likely place be?”

  “You can study a map when we get home.”

  “Home? Oh...damn.”

  “You want to go now? I’ll release you from all ties to Zeor.”

  “Release me? You mean, ‘Get out and don’t set foot in my house again!’ “

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “But that’s what you meant. A Companion is nothing unless he’s trustworthy.”

  Klyd didn’t answer and somehow that hurt Valleroy more than an angry ultimatum would have. He yelled, “All right! Have it your way. We’ll go to Zeor first. The worst that can happen is that she’ll be killed. At least that won’t hasten Zelerod’s Doom any more than the death of any other Gen.” He leaned over and pounded the table so that the halves of the cylinder danced a tattoo. “Not that you care!”

  Chin propped on clasped hands, Klyd endured the tirade with closed eyes. “You’re hurting me, Naztehr. It’s cold in here. Why don’t you build up the fire.”

  “I ought to clear out and follow those Raiders who captured all my people this afternoon, not that you care about their fate.”

  “I doubt if they are taking the captives to the Runzi camp. Considering that they are all trained soldiers, it would be foolish to attempt to detain them so near the border, or to reveal to them the location of the camp. No, the Ferolis Choice Auction would be the more probable destination. It’s far enough in-Territory that escape would be of no avail. The security at Ferolis exceeds that at Iburan. And the price will be higher there.”

  “You...cold...unfeeling...snake!”

  Klyd continued, eyes still closed, tone level. “As soon as I get back to Zeor, I’ll have a watch put on Andle. We’ll know when he approaches need, and we can follow him. The Householdings aren’t totally without influence in the halls of the mighty. If we can prove that Andle used his position to set up the Runzi to supply him with personally chosen Gens, we can destroy him once and for all.”

  “And Zeor’s prestige will triple. But what about Aisha? What if he’s headed there right now?”

  “I can’t hold you here against your will. I don’t want you here...against your will.”

  Valleroy hit the table again. “Damn!”

  “Naztehr, will you please do your emotional agonizing outside? This is beginning to irritate me.”

  Valleroy’s frustration exploded into a red rage at the impassive Sime. He grabbed Klyd’s shirt front and half lifted him out of the chair, trying to provoke some sort of reaction...any sort.

  What he got was more than he’d bargained for. Steely tentacles closed on his wrists. The spare Sime body became all muscle under his hands. Valleroy’s full strength couldn’t hold against the Sime. He suddenly found himself pinned against the wall breathing the warmth of the Sime’s breath. “Naztehr, it is you who have no feeling! Or is it that you so hate what I stand for that you want to force me to attack you in the kill mode? You could do it, you know. A Companion has that power. But if you do, you’d better be ready!”

  Klyd released him then, and Valleroy felt like a discarded rag doll left to collapse. Turning his back, Klyd strode to the fire and began to add wood. He asked conversationally, “I don’t know about you, but I feel hungry.”

  “I thought need suppressed appetite.”

  “I lost a lot of blood. The body demands replacement material.”

  Still fighting the wildly cashing emotions within him, Valleroy was unable to answer. He wanted to apologize for his behavior, and he wanted to pick up and leave. He could understand that Klyd was desperately trying to act normal, but he almost wished Klyd had attacked and gotten it over with.

  The channel turned, a ruefully perceptive grin cocking his lips...those terribly expressive Farris lips. “Naztehr, what’s for lunch? It’s almost dinnertime.”

  That did it. “You haven’t had any breakfast yet. I’m sorry, Sectuib. I’ll put the kettle on.”

  “Good. I wouldn’t want you to leave on an empty stomach.”

  “Do you still want me to leave?”

  �
��Not if you can learn to behave yourself.”

  “This cracked buckwheat makes a nice cereal with the apples.”

  “Why haven’t you told her how much you love her?”

  “How did you...?”

  “Know you’re afraid of losing her? Gen psychology is one of my specialties. I wasn’t very professional a few minutes ago.”

  “That’s what happens when you get personally involved with a patient!”

  “I’d like to make up for it. I’d like to save her for you. But I can’t right now.”

  “You know,” said Valleroy, sitting down opposite his partner, “I wasn’t very professional either. I forgot about Yenava. She’s just as good a reason to go to Zeor as Aisha is to go to the Runzi camp. I’d never be able to do anything if I did find that camp...not by myself. So we’ll head for Zeor soon as we eat.”

  “No. We’ll sleep over here. The valley will be flooded with Runzi tonight. They should be gone by morning though. We could still make it by sundown tomorrow with luck.”

  “But every hour we stay here means Andle....”

  “We can’t travel by night, even with three quarters of a moon. Also, Andle doesn’t know that we know his plans for Aisha. I want to reseal the dispatch case and leave it by the messenger’s body. Knowledge is often the decisive advantage in a contest of wills.”

  With his own will divided against itself, Valleroy was unable to answer that. He used a dull table knife to gouge out pieces of apple and drop them into the porridge. He was hungry and weak from days of short rations. Tomorrow wouldn’t be much better.

  It took Klyd several hours to close the cylinder so that it looked as if it hadn’t been opened. There was a delicate trick with the heat-sealing substance that caused it to regain its former decorative pattern. Valleroy marveled at the steady-handed patience that Klyd could summon at will. The man worked like a watchmaker without a care in the world while Valleroy paced, cataloging all the pressures converging on them from different directions.

  After a few hours of this, Valleroy flung himself onto his blanket. As much as he wanted to be off and running after Aisha, he knew that Klyd was right.

  But being right didn’t make it any easier to take. He fell asleep and dreamed fitfully of Aisha’s execution.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CAPTURE

  Valleroy knew it was a dream. Yet it was also real.

  Aisha stood before him draped in filmy white, collar and chain a glowing red against an infinite night. Her dark hair flowed back into a rising cloud around her fear-blanched face as if she floated in water. Without his volition, his own arms reached toward her. He saw his arms as if for the first time...tentacled!

  He felt a tangible, pulsating aura around her, drawing him in. He knew it would kill her, but he had to consume that aura. His fingers touched her arms. His tentacles ached for contact. But as they touched....

  Flick. He was himself...watching Klyd kill Aisha.

  Flick. No, it was Enam killing Aisha, wide-eyed and vividly terrifying. She was struggling to control her fear...and losing.

  He ran, struggling against a leaden fatigue...to save Aisha...losing her because of his body’s weakness. He refused to stop. He refused to give up, no matter how much effort it took to gain an inch.

  He saw tentacles wound about her arms. He struggled, chest aching, face twisted into a painful grimace, though what he’d do if he reached her, he didn’t know.

  Flick. Again it was he, himself killing Aisha. He couldn’t stop it. He could only watch himself do it.

  Suddenly the Gen arms under his tentacles writhed. They became Sime arms, tentacles lashing out to join his own. Their mutual grip drew them closer. Her face loomed larger and larger, flushed and smiling now. He knew that smile. It wasn’t invitation...it was triumph. Their lips met.

  He twisted free and sat up, throat constricted about a scream that couldn’t get loose. His arms ached all the way up to his jaws with the effort to extend tentacles he didn’t have. He shook himself, gasping, and lay back. He pulled the blanket back up to his chin.

  It took him some time to orient to the real world, relegating the nightmare to its place. He chided himself for the lingering sense of horror. Nightmares are what you get, he thought, for wanting something too much...and not being sure exactly what it is that you want.

  He pulled his arms under the blanket and rubbed the aching muscles. Realizing he was imitating one of Klyd’s unconscious mannerisms, running his fingers along forearms reveling in the pure sensation, Valleroy forced his hands to his sides.

  He didn’t remember covering himself before falling asleep. Klyd must have done it for him, thought Valleroy. He tried to visualize the Sime in the act. It helped to dispel the aftertaste of the nightmare.

  Propping himself on one elbow, Valleroy saw that the cylinder lay whole again on the table. The channel’s face seemed deeply lined in the ruddy light from the fire embers. As he watched, Klyd tossed from side to side as if trying to escape from something. He moaned incoherently, breathing in shallow gasps. He began calling feverishly for Denrau just as he had when he first awakened to the torture of disorientation.

  Alarmed, Valleroy caught one of the Sime’s hands. “Sectuib! Klyd, wake up! It’s just a bad dream. Wake up! You’re safe...here.” He said it over and over in both languages until the tossing subsided and the channel’s eyes opened.

  “Naztehr”—drawing a ragged breath, Klyd repossessed his hand—“Hugh. For a moment I thought Denrau….”

  He sighed deeply, fully awake now. “Thank you. I should know better than to sleep.”

  “Can I get you something? Drink of water? Something to eat?”

  “No. Thank you.”

  “Maybe I should build up the fire....”

  “Hugh!” The channel sat up rigidly alert.

  “What...?”

  Casting back and forth as if homing on some unheard signal, Klyd muttered, “Must be a Gen. Recently established. Badly frightened and exhausted.” He finally settled on a direction, downhill from the cabin. “Headed this way, but slightly east of us. He’ll miss the cabin. Let’s go.”

  “Where?”

  Klyd flicked aside his blanket and pulled on his boots in one fluid motion. “To get him. Can’t let him wander down into that valley full of Runzi.”

  Not sure exactly why the channel was determined to risk their lives for one lost Gen, Valleroy followed him out the door. Whatever Klyd’s reason, Valleroy agreed with the necessity.

  But the recent snowfall had left patches of ice in spots. Even the bright moon didn’t reveal them all. By the time they’d spotted the desperate fugitive, Valleroy had collected a new assortment of bruises. He was very glad they’d decided not to travel by night.

  They crouched down behind a rock and watched. The tiny figure scrambling up toward them slid two paces back for every forward pace. But undaunted or desperate, he continued to struggle inch by inch up the slippery ice and gravel slope. The darkness kept the fugitive from seeing the easier path just a few hundred yards west.

  Klyd said, “If he spots me, he’ll probably try to run. That could be fatal on such gravel. And his fear would be like a beacon to the Runzi.”

  “Right. What do we do?”

  “I’ll give you their recognition password. You go down and meet him. Bring him to the cabin, but be sure you prepare him well for the sight of me.”

  “How come you know the recognition signal?”

  “Never mind. Address him as Thrino. But get him calmed down at all costs. His field is not so high, but the fear he’s already broadcasting is still too conspicuous.”

  “Anybody following him?”

  “Not within my range.”

  That range was considerable, so Valleroy said “Let’s go.”

  Klyd cupped his hands around his mouth and gave out the most perfect imitation of an owl hooting that the Gen had ever heard. He repeated the call three times, and then three times again in a pattern just a bit too regula
r to be quite natural.

  The scrambling figure stopped to listen. “All right Naztehr,” said Klyd. “Go.”

  As Valleroy stood up displaying his silhouette, Klyd moved back, using every scrap of cover to make his exit unseen. Valleroy picked his way methodically down toward the waiting figure, calling softly, “Thrino, you’ve missed the shelter. I’ll guide you in. This way.”

  Nearing the dark figure, Valleroy gestured westward toward the better footing. The figure made no move to approach. Valleroy bared his arms and held them out in the moonlight. “I mean you no harm.” He dared to approach a little closer. The other didn’t move, but it was the stillness of a frightened animal ready to bound away at the slightest threat.

  Valleroy tried to imitate Klyd’s reassuring manner. “Come to the shelter. It’s warm. There’s food. It’s safe there.”

  “How did you find me?”

  Valleroy was close enough now that he saw the rocks held by those youthful fists...arms tensed and ready. The fugitive’s voice was a half-whisper, but high like a child’s. “You were making a lot of noise in that loose gravel,” said Valleroy. “The footing is better over here.”

  “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

  For answer, Valleroy fished out the starred-cross and dangled it in the moonlight. “Ever see this before?”

  The answer was a gasp of recognition and a relaxation of the vise-like grip on the throwing rocks.

  Valleroy coaxed, “There’s one like this waiting for you in the shelter. Come.”

  Slowly, the child began to work over toward Valleroy dropping the primitive weapons behind. Valleroy pulled his jacket sleeves down and shivered. He was sorry he’d left his cloak behind.

  “Who are you?” The child’s voice trembled faintly.

  “My name is Hugh Valleroy. What’s yours?”

  “I have no name. I’m a Gen.”

  “I’m a Gen, too. But I have a name. Several in fact.” Closer now, the child examined Valleroy’s clothes with interest. Suddenly, he spat, “Householder! Pervert!” He jerked away, running back toward his original path.