The Almost Complete Short Fiction

by Don Wilcox

  XXXVIII

  Low rumblings of sound seeped through from what now seemed far below him. Voileen might be back that way.

  He retraced his steps for a short distance downward. Where was she? It was not like her to strike on ahead. Had he really heard her calling, or were those far-away notes only echoes of his own voice?

  He paused, shocked to discover that at this particular point he was apparently weightless.

  This curious sensation had passed over him before at this same point. He remembered it with a definite association. Something a few paces to his left had appeared to be hanging in midair, and he remembered feeling as if he, too, were floating without support.

  Now he observed this phenomenon more carefully. Against the black background he could not see what, if anything, supported a cluster of stones. They were bunched much like the petals of a huge blossom.

  Farther on, he remembered, there was a white rock that resembled a human skull and backbone with white ribs. Yes—there it was again.

  He made his way across to the shelf of rock where this white landmark hung.

  It was a human skeleton.

  Weightlessly it rolled at his touch.

  Its dry, decayed bones tended to shake apart. But not to fall, for at this level of the cave everything seemed strangely balanced. There was no tendency to fall in any direction.

  For Hajjah, however, there was a pronounced tendency to climb—in any direction. He groped nervously. The torch dropped out of his hand and floated leisurely through the mysterious space.

  He scrambled along the ragged surfaces to recover it, and hugged it as if it were a precious jewel.

  Hajjah knew, as he retraced his steps, that the skeleton he had seen was someone who had lived long ago. Half-forgotten legends of a crazy man’s mysterious life and death came back to him.

  So here was the famous Madman Hill!

  XXXIX

  Hajjah hurried back over the path by which he had come. The rumbling noises led him back toward the mouth of the cave. He kept wondering if he had somehow passed Voileen—but that was impossible in this narrow tunnel.

  The return climb seemed to take seasons of climbing. But here at last was the wall with the tools leaning against it. The entrance was only a little farther up the grade.

  Brrrrmmm! The rumbling noises suddenly took on meaning. The mouth of the tunnel was being filled.

  Already the light of the entrance was blacked out.

  “Voileeeen!” He called. “Lee-eenie!”

  She was not back here.

  Hajjah paused for only a moment. Had he any proof that she had returned to this entrance? No.

  But had he any proof that she was still in the cave?

  She had been here. Her boot-tracks had penetrated the cavern of stalactites at some recent time. But whether she was still on this side of the stone barrier that Ecker’s men were building, Hajjah couldn’t be sure.

  If she weren’t already in the tunnel, then it was certain Ecker and her father would never let her come in.

  And when they learned that Hajjah was in, they would certainly never trouble themselves to dig him out. Not even for a public hearing.

  Hajjah hurried down the steep way for a second time. The long climb had sapped his energies. He should have stopped for a bite from the package of dried meats he had brought. But now he was frantic to know about Voileen.

  Again he was in the natural cavern, where the up and downs of his feelings changed sides. He hesitated, uncertain which of several conflicting impulses to obey. The natural tunnel had numerous branches, all of them inviting him to explore—at his own peril.

  And again there was that white skeleton, fascinating him with its mystery. Here was the last of the sensational legend.

  He crept over to the white heap of bones. He touched the dome of the skull. It floated leisurely away from his hand and back again, like a bubble in a faint breeze.

  Near the floating skeleton were several miscellaneous objects—likewise hanging close to the wall, though with no particular means of support. Little discs of metal—scraps of wearing apparel—a small knife—and a finely-woven little book with writing in it.

  Hajjah took the book in his quivering fingers, opened it.

  What mysterious characters. Did they hold secrets—or were they only crazy, little pictures with no meanings?

  Through the first part Hajjah could recognize nothing. But here and there were sprinklings of familiar symbols. Toward the latter part of the book the passages were almost entirely legible.

  At once Hajjah was engrossed.

  XL

  Hill’s notebook: The gravitational system of this hollow planet is a headache. It cannot be, and yet it is. Maybe King Witfessal could have explained it.

  As I discovered during my earthquake fall, there is a level within this planetary shell toward which all things fall. From the outside they tend to fall “down”—that is—inward—toward this level. From the inside, the tendency is to fall “down’ ?—that is—outward—toward said level.

  Naturally, all things would fall toward the center of the planet, if it were solid. But it is a well-known fact of gravitational action that a mountain will pull a plumb line out of its vertical direction. The mass of the mountain offers an attraction competing with that of the center of the planet.

  In this planet the proximity of the mass directly under one’s feet—whether he stands on the outside of the planet or on the inside—evidently causes it to act with greater force than that of the center of the planet—which, in this case, is empty.

  This phenomenon interests me so much that I have secured a pledge from Crassie. More of this later.

  XLI

  Hill’s notebook: We have excavated through this central layer of gravity.

  I have now given up the hope, however, of returning to the outside. I am in my last days, and I wish to remain with Crassie. I am convinced that his restraint in forcing these foreign facts upon the people is a wise policy. At present a break to the outside would shock them terribly. I’m sure they would be insulted and enraged to rash action.

  But Crassie will devote himself to the job of paving the way. For the time will come when these people must make contact with the outside world or perish.

  If the famines which I have predicted should come soon, Crassie will have less trouble persuading his pupils that this outward exploration is desirable.

  And now—Crassie’s pledge to me. When I die he will place me in this tunnel.

  I’m yielding to the inevitable. My feebleness is increasing. But I still relish my old spirit of exploration. Perhaps I’m a trifle eccentric—the people here think I’m mad. But for my final resting place I’ve decided upon that cavern from which there is no falling. Crassie has agreed simply to let me return to the elements. In the cavern of “gravitational equilibrium” I’ll come to rest.

  XLII

  Hajjah’s torch flickered out.

  Tenderly, almost reverently, he pressed the finely-woven book back against the wall.

  His trembling fingertips accidentally passed over the surface of the skeleton. The dry bones floated away at his touch, then came together again with a quiet tapping. All was silent.

  Hajjah took a deep breath. He was scarcely aware of the pitch blackness, which might have been terrifying to some of his friends under these circumstances. The deep impression held sway over him. Through this little book he had talked with a truly great man.

  He groped through the blackness, scraping past the rough rocky walls. Everywhere he seemed to see a blob of white that his eyes tried to make into the clean well-shaped skull he had just looked upon.

  But the blackness was absolute, and all his sense of direction was gone. Though he was now determined to go on, he couldn’t be sure he was making any progress whatever—

  Until he heard the low vibrating noise that came humming down from one of the invisible passages above him.

  The sound was utterly unlike anything Hajjah
had ever heard before. It was like the shrill song of a wind through a thousand dead plant stalks. But it was also like the mad rush of water under a footbridge. Hajjah plodded toward it, slowly at first, then more swiftly as his tunnel path became smooth and straight.

  The sound grew clearer. The musical buzzing was punctuated loudly with the staccato clatter of rocks.

  Hajjah was advancing rapidly now. The path was a steep upward climb, but there were no sidetracks. Only a narrow tunnel with barely room enough to crawl along on hands and knees.

  Louder—louder—a continuous zzzooommmm! On and on like an unending roar of thunder.

  So loud it came that Hajjah slacked his speed. The sound seemed to be right before him, and yet there was nothing ahead for his hand to touch. All was blackness and mystery and everlasting climbing.

  Occasionally the tunnel would bend, and sometimes it was so steep that Hajjah would spread his elbows to keep from sliding back. He would dig his toes into the round walls and hurry on. By now he was sure this terrible noise must be the roar of another world.

  XLIII

  It would have been highly entertaining to a certain man-about-planets named Randolph Hill if his spirit could have peered into the mind of Hajjah. Grotesque pictures were being conjured by the excited young Wanzuuran. But Hajjah couldn’t make his mental pictures fit those awful sounds.

  Such a strange clattering, humming sound, to one who has never seen or heard of power machinery of any kind, could not help being an ominous experience. But Randolph Hill would have credited Hajjah with great courage, no doubt, for moving ahead.

  Hajjah’s brain and heart were fired with a blast of emotion that was far more than sheer courage. If this were the roar of a new world, it would be a double victory. Hajjah’s old world, his own Wanzuura, would suddenly discover him. The Agents would bow to him and brush the dust from his boots—

  Or would they? Or would that sly, jealous Ecker contrive to take the credit away from him?

  But what would this new world be? Another Wanzuura? With hungry people? Hajjah tried to picture it. He visualized the inside of a vast sphere, with rock walls. Perhaps there would be little patches of blue lakes high overhead.

  ZZZZOOOOMMMMMM!

  Now there were sparks of light ahead. Nervous, jumping light. Light that splashed like rain dashing down on stones. Flying fire!

  A moving shadow blocked out that spray of light, now, and again, seeming to move from side to side. The silhouette of that moving shadow gradually took form.

  The form was crawling along on hands and knees, following in the path of that zooming, clattering something.

  “Voileen! Voileen!”

  Not until Hajjah caught up with her and tapped the sole of her boot did she turn. She was startled. Her eyes danced with excess excitement.

  “Hajjah!”

  Against the roar he couldn’t hear her words, but the light of the sparks showed her saying them, her frightened expression changing to an eager smile.

  She struck a projecting arm of metal that hung to the rear of the noisy instrument. The roar died away. The tunnel echoes faded to silence. The sparks ceased to fly.

  At the touch of another finger of metal a soft white light appeared in a little semicircle on the upper edge of the machine.

  By this glow Hajjah could see the speechless happiness in Voileen’s face. And when she reached her hand out to him and said, “Haj—you did come,” Hajjah felt his eyes go watery.

  “Of course I came. I’ve been trying to find you all this time. But how did you ever find your way here? What is that thing? Where are we? Why didn’t you wait for me?” Hajjah couldn’t ask the questions fast enough.

  “Wait—one at a time, Haj,” Voileen protested. And before she could answer anything she fainted away in his arms.

  For a few moments he was deathly scared. For all he knew, that instrument could bring on sudden death. Was it not lightning he had seen?

  But soon after he had applied his flask of water to her face and lips she returned to consciousness, smiling weakly.

  “I didn’t know I was so tired,” she gasped. “So much of this roar has made me dizzy. But you’ve come—”

  “I didn’t have any other intentions, Leenie.”

  “Didn’t you?” Her eyes were wide. “Didn’t Moo persuade you to stay—and save yourself? He told me you were already on the verge of changing your mind, and that a word from him would wipe out the whole silly scheme.”

  “I’ll choke him, with pleasure. He dreamed all that. I had no intentions—”

  “I should have known,” Voileen sighed. “I tried to make myself believe you were calling—”

  “I did call.”

  “But I waited—and you didn’t come. What happened?”

  “That cavern—I stopped to see—” and Hajjah related his strange discoveries. To his amazement, he learned that Voileen had already known of these things through Crassie, but had faithfully kept them secret. As to the extended tunnel, that, too, had been one of Crassie’s secrets. Fearing that the people might disturb his father’s final resting place if they ever chanced to explore these depths, Crassie had devised a door to block off the larger part of the excavation.

  “So you were going off to the other world all by yourself, Leenie.”

  “I was desperate. I was afraid Ecker would come down and get me. I had to take a chance.”

  “Where did you get this odd contraption that pulls you along?”

  “It doesn’t pull me,” Voileen laughed. “It’s a digging instrument. It goes where you guide it, and it breathes the dirt and stones that it cuts through.”

  “It breathes? It’s alive, then?”

  “It acts alive, but Grandfather Crassie never could make me understand.

  He only showed me how to use it, and how to feed it. He watched his father build it, and together they fixed lots of food for it so that we could make it go on and on.”

  “It must be alive. How can I see the rest of it?”

  “There’s no way to see it until we find our way through to some space. But I’ll show you how to make it dig and turn stones into breath. First you press this arm. Grandfather called it the disintegrator. Then you press this one, which starts the teeth that bite through the stone—”

  “Teeth that bite? It is alive, Leenie. Did it ever bite you?”

  “No, I keep away from its nose when it’s biting.”

  “You mean its mouth?”

  “Nose,” said Voileen. “It bites with its nose.”

  Hajjah muttered with amazement. The Laws of King Witfessal had never told of anything like this.

  XLIV

  Gloomy consternation fell upon those persons who discovered that Voileen and Hajjah were missing.

  But this tragic rumor had not reached the palace. Likewise, it had yet to travel to the roadcrossings far and wide.

  Meanwhile Wanzuura, by and large, was in a flurry of excitements over the events which were thought to be in store.

  As soon as the bright season came around there would be a wedding.

  Soon, also, would be a public hearing on the grounds of the palace.

  These two events could not help but enhance the popularity of the brilliant Ecker, for he was to be the hero of both occasions.

  Ecker would marry the daughter of Nome, and, according to rumor, that magnanimous act on his part would completely restore her to the realm of respectability. After all, the people said, Voileen was really a very sweet girl. It was simply bad company—her grandfather and that young rebel Hajjah—that had hurt her reputation.

  As for the public hearing, that should make an end of all blasphemies. That, together with the filling of the tunnel, not to mention the much talked-of sudden death of Bolt, would cow all radical young upstarts for many generations to come.

  Some rumors anticipated even more startling results. The public hearing itself might bring about another violent death. Could King Witfessal withhold his wrathful lightning, once the b
lasphemies of Hajjah were exposed?

  At any rate, there would be a feast and a celebration in honor of the King as soon as these ceremonies were over. Already, the Agents were storing up a supply of fish for the feast.

  But all at once, like a flood chasing down the mountains after a cloudburst, came the upsetting news: Three persons were missing.

  Where were Voileen and her father? And where was Hajjah?

  Not one of the three had been seen since the rains began.

  The Witfessal Agents, always alert to extraordinary happenings, plowed through the mud toward the palace to compare stories. Some of them stopped to exchange news with beggars huddled in fandruff sheds or deserted fishermen’s huts.

  No one showed any greater surprise than Ecker over the reported disappearance of Nome. Ecker had just returned from a roundabout journey to visit some of the herders in the hinterlands, and as he was striding up toward the palace, an Agent turned to him.

  “You’ve heard who has been lost?”

  “Not Mombal,” Ecker said cautiously.

  “Not Mombal, indeed, but his assistant, Nome,” said the Agent.

  Ecker was caught by a momentary paralysis. His best acting abilities were required to break out of it. “How—how did that happen?”

  “No one knows,” said the Agent. “When last seen he was on his way to tell his daughter of his plans for her marriage. You know all about that, I presume.”

  “Well—did he talk with her? Does she know what happened—”

  “She—haven’t you heard?” said the Agent. “She’s missing, too. And her friend, Hajjah, as well. Yes, all three of them. Or course they may all have been trapped down in Crassie’s tunnel. People are saying that Moo, Hajjah’s friend, declares that’s where they are.”

  Ecker went into the palace, his face red with confusion. There was Mombal waiting to greet him.

  “It was very baffling, this disappearance of Nome and his daughter,” said Mombal, his eyes darting back and forth. “I lent Nome my robe just before he left to walk home in the rain.”