The Iron Breed

by Andre Norton

  The others had loosed him. Jony reached up to jerk the band around his neck. Loose as it was, its very weight made him sick and somehow ashamed. Voak, the others, turned away as if Jony was no longer any concern of theirs. He followed them, suddenly struck by a second and worse fear: that he would be left here forever in a place where that cage of bones stood as a dire warning against enslavement of the People.

  He ran his fingertips around and around that ring, seeking whatever catch Voak had found to open it. But the secret eluded him. Now Jony realized that the clansman meant exactly what he had signed: the boy was to wear this symbol of servitude as a warning. If he tried to return to the place of stones, even worse would follow.

  Having set their shaming bondage on him, all three of the People appeared to lose interest in Jony. They did not look back as once more they crossed to the top of the steps and started down. Jony had a feeling that to Voak and the others he was no longer of the clan; he had ceased to exist as an equal.

  His numb surprise gave way to a beginning flash of anger. The judgment of Voak and the rest had been given without a chance for Jony to defend himself. What had he done? Entered the stone place, come out again with the twins—that was all!

  If, perhaps, he had brought with him the red rod Geogee had found . . . Then—

  Jony stopped. His dream! In his dream this had been the way he had felt. With the rod in his hand he could have given orders and had them obeyed—or else. He felt his fingers curl now and glanced down to the hand held out before him. In his mind there for a moment he did not imagine himself holding a staff, but the rod. Had that been so, in his hot anger for the burden Voak had laid upon him, he might have raised the alien weapon and used it.

  No! Jony shook his head vigorously, as if by strong denial he could drive out that momentary wish.

  What would he have done to the Big Ones in the past had he had the power to be stronger and greater than they? In his fear for the return of the bondage of his people was Voak any different?

  Yes, but Jony in the ship had faced those very ones who had caged Voak and his people, and had set upon most of them the terrible fate of the mind-controlled. While now Jony had not threatened Voak and the rest . . .

  Their feeling for him must have begun because he physically resembled those others: the ones painted on the walls and the stone woman. Yet how did Voak know that? Unless for all their aversion, the People had explored the stone place, had seen those pictures, the waiting woman. Still Jony was almost convinced that the clansmen had not. This whole country was new to the clan. Then—how did Voak and the rest know that Jony resembled those ancient enemies? Memory, relayed through folktales and myths, could be passed down through generations. But if Voak and the others remembered their former masters with hatred, then why had Yaa ever come to Rutee's aid? If there were an ancient hatred of Jony's own species dictated by form alone, Yaa would have ignored the fugitives, even as Voak, Otik, and Kapoor now did him, leaving woman and child alone to die on a strange and hostile world.

  Yet, until he and the twins had ventured into the place of stones, the People had accepted them placidly, without question—or seemingly so—as living creatures not unlike themselves. Did Voak believe that going into the stone place awakened in Jony a desire for that power which the ancients had commanded?

  As Jony thought of one possibility after another, trying to explain actions he could not understand, his flare of anger died. Voak was wrong to fear him, but he, Jony, could not tell what long-dreaded terror ruled the People. To Voak and the rest he might now seem to be the enemy, or at least one who must be watched.

  If Jony trailed back with them to the clan camp, what would follow? He did not believe they would launch any attack against him. But, with a growing desolation of spirit, Jony began to guess what might happen. As they had last night, the clansmen would treat him as one who was not. He had never known such a punishment before. Usually their justice was swift, then forgotten. But to be with the clan and yet not of it . . . And what of Maba and Geogee? If they showed sympathy toward him, might not the same blighting non-existence be laid on them?

  Jony dropped on the top ledge. Already the clansmen had reached the bottom of that descent. Not once had they turned to look back or showed any interest in him. He felt more alone even than he had on the night he crouched beside Rutee, unable to ease her pain. His hand rose to that shameful ring about his neck. He was in a cage again. As long as he wore that he was caged within himself, even if he had the whole country free before him.

  Voak and the others vanished, treading purposefully back the way they had come. Jony made no move to descend and follow. Putting his elbows on his knees, he rested his head in his hands and closed his eyes. He had to think!

  There was no purpose to be gained by his being angry. Voak, the others, they must have acted as they thought best for the clan. Jony could not judge their actions, not when he knew so little of what lay behind all this. He tried now to recall, in what detail he could, that picture on the wall, the one in which the People had been shown tied and led about, or caged.

  But he had hurried past it so fast he had now only a jumbled impression. The one fact being that the People, as pictured there, were slightly different in form from the clan. None of them had been depicted as walking erect, rather all had been using both hand-paws and feet against the ground. That was the main difference he could now recall.

  Had the People changed after they won their freedom? Or had they been forced by their captors to remain animal-like? Jony shuddered. The Big Ones had done such things with the mind-controlled at times. Rutee had told him that the Big Ones had not considered humans as more than animals; animals to be broken, controlled, used for their own purposes. The horror which this had meant for her had been passed on to him, young as he was. Even if he could not know how life had been before the Big Ones had taken over the colony, he realized he was an intelligent being.

  Had the People been mind-controlled also? Or did they remember, with all of Rutee's horror, being “animals” to contemptuous aliens? Were the people of the stone place from off this world?

  They must have lived here a long time to build that place. And where did the river of stone run? From this stone place to another such, standing at a more distant site? They had had sky ships—those had appeared in the pictures.

  Jony's head ached; he was both hungry and thirsty. But he could not shift off the feeling of burdensome weight on his shoulders. In these moments of confusion and despair, he knew that he was not going back to the campsite, at least not now. Voak had set on him the badge of the owned. Somehow he must be free before he returned; free of the collar in such a manner that Voak and the rest could not place it upon him again.

  He sat up straight. The world spread out below him seemed very wide, wide and empty! Since the night Yaa had found them, he had never been aloof from the People. Before that, even though their cages had been separated, there was always Rutee. To think of himself as utterly alone was a realization which brought fear—not of anything he could sense or touch, but, in a strange way, of the land, the sky, the whole world about him.

  To sit here was no answer to his problem. And to return to the place of cage—if he could return now—was none either. He must find food, water, a—a staff. His hands seemed so empty and useless without a staff.

  Unbidden, unwished, once more the thought of the red rod flashed across his mind. Power greater than any staff . . . NO! Jony's lips moved to shape that word. He must prove to Voak that he was not one with the stone people—he had to prove that!

  Food, water, a weapon-tool, they came first and foremost. With those he was himself again. Once given those he could think—plan—find some way to free himself of the metal band so cold and heavy about his throat. In time he might be able to discover the secret of its lock and so get rid of it. But he needed, most of all, to return the collar to the clan with their clear understanding that this was not his to wear.

  He descend
ed the steps carefully to the way by the ridge. The campsite lay to his left. Jony turned sharply right.

  EIGHT

  Perhaps this stream he had chanced on was the same one that farther back fed the falls where Maba and Geogee had splashed and played. Only now matters were different. As he went slowly, Jony hunted under upturned, water-washed stones for enough of the small, shelled things to satisfy his hunger. He drank his fill from his cupped hands. At length, with hunger and thirst in abeyance, he looked about him for his third need: a staff.

  Traveling along the sand of the stream's lip, he chewed at a handful of tart leaves from one of the plants he knew well as a part of the clan diet. For the moment he had pushed all questions far to the back of his mind, determined to be occupied only by the here and now, though he was unable to forget the weight about his throat, or what it meant.

  Foraging proved so good along the stream that Jony disliked leaving the water's edge. But, though he had found pieces of drift caught among the rocks which might have possibilities for a staff, he vaguely mistrusted their smooth, bleached lengths. No, he would have to head outward toward a real stand of trees to locate what he wanted.

  Even as Jony made to turn away from the bank, he caught sight of a bright glint from among the rocks just ahead. Curious, he went to see what had been caught there. Another bit of drift? No, for along the side of this piece a length of caked coating had flaked away, to release that gleam which the sun had betrayed to him. He knew of no wood resembling this.

  In fact the shaft could not be wood at all. For, when Jony drew it out of the crevice into which it had fallen or been jammed by flood water, the straight length was heavier than any staff he had ever lifted. That coating around the bright slash appeared to be hardened clay, combined with a red substance which powdered off on his hands. Squatting down, Jony chose a stone and began to scrape at his find, his persistence revealing more and more of what he was now sure was metal. This was longer than the deadly red rods of the stone place, and not the same color at all. A little of his old curiosity kept him to the cleaning, first with stone rubbing, and then with handfuls of sand. At last he held something which was not unlike the staffs of the clansmen, though shorter. It even possessed a curve at one end, though that did not altogether resemble those crooks which were such useful tools. This curve (Jony held a cut finger in the flow of the stream) had a sharpened edge which was far more dangerous than any point a clansman could put on his weapon-tool.

  The metal sides were pitted with small holes. However, when Jony lifted the rod high, to bring it crashing down on the nearest large rock with all his strength, the length did not snap or bend. Instead, the rock itself was scarred by that stroke. He rubbed it again, this time with leaves, cleaning off the sand and the last of the red powder. What he had was, he was sure, a tool which had been purposefully made, probably by those people of the stone place. However, the thing carried no taint of power as the red rods did. In form it was plainly such a staff as he could never hope to make for himself.

  Jony sat fingering the pole resting across his knees. The feel was good, fitting to his hand smoothly in spite of the pitting. He liked the weight of it. And that cutting, edged part at the top—there were many uses to which that could be put. He had not taken this from the storehouse of the stone place, so it did not seem forbidden. Long ago it must have been lost, or discarded as useless. Therefore, Jony made his decision.

  Right or wrong, this was his. He had found and cleaned it. If he must go a long way through this world for now, then he would have the best protection he could lay hand upon. He—

  Only that shadow across the sand came as a warning! Jony had been so absorbed in his find that he had not posted the sentry of his mind which was his most important defense. He did not even have time to get to his feet to meet an attack launched from the sky.

  There sounded a scream, so high and shrill, as to hurt his ears. The vor screeched aloud its triumph as it dropped, talons spread, its head weaving back and forth. Jony swept the staff upward with a frenzied hope of beating off that plunge. He could see above the first attacker, two others of that noisome species sailing about, perhaps the half-grown young of the first.

  His wild sweep of the staff connected with the plunging predator. Only by chance, and no real thought, had Jony used the end with the curved blade. The jar of his blow landing sent him sprawling back, while fear closed in. For he was now totally defenseless before the death strike of the vor.

  However the bird had been beaten out of line when his blow fell. It screeched again, not in triumph, but in rage and agony. One of the great taloned legs flopped loosely. Blood spurted from a deep wound opened by the sharp edge.

  Up the vor soared with a strong beat of wings. Jony scrambled to his feet, set his back to the nearest rock. The other two birds were plunging down to meet their fellow. He had not escaped, he had only earned a breathing space.

  Blood trickled down the length of the staff, was sticky on his fingers. He momentarily transferred hold of the staff, wiped his hand on the side of his kilt. Three vors, and, once they went into combat, they would not sheer off. He had no chance at all.

  The wounded one screamed in on a second dive. But this time Jony was ready. He thought now he knew a little of what the staff could do. Only it would be very good fortune if he were able to land another telling blow. He forced himself to wait until the last moment of that strike, then brought the staff around in a sweep into which he put all his strength, aiming to connect it with the long, twisting neck of the raging creature.

  He missed that mark. But the curved blade hit hard on the near wing about where it met the vor's body. The force of that blow hurled the flying thing away. Now the attacker could only use one wing, beat that frantically, its screams making a din in the air. Unable to continue airborne, the creature fell among the rocks on the other side of the stream, where it flopped and cried, blood spattering far from its two wounds. Jony, hardly able to believe in his escape, had no eyes for it. He strained upward to watch the two above. At that moment he also unleashed his concentrated sense of command. As with the People, he could not enforce his will on the brain of any creatures of this world. But he might be able to confuse them—a little.

  The pair continued to circle over his head. So far he could detect no signs that either was preparing to strike. Perhaps because they were young, they were more puzzled, wary, than an adult vor would be. Jony edged back between two rocks. In the open he felt naked. Though these stones rose to only about his shoulder height, he gained a small sense of security when standing between them. Staff in hand he waited.

  Then he tensed. One of the vors had made up its mind. Jony caught the slight change in flight pattern which meant attack. Though smaller than the wounded one yet flopping and shrieking across the water, the creature was still a very dangerous opponent. Jony gripped his staff, knowing that again he must wait. Only his superior weapon had saved him so far, of that he was convinced. But he could not rely on that good fortune to continue. He must be ready to—

  The vor dropped, this time silently, without warning. Jony readied himself for a swing. He thought he had little chance of striking the neck, but his success in catching the wing of the other had given him a lead as to the best way to meet any attack. He swung again vigorously.

  Once more the blow hit home. The vor squalled. The creature seemed unable to halt its downward swoop, and hit the sand beyond the rocks, flopping. Jony took a chance. He burst from his rock defense and lashed down with several blows. One hit the darting head, smashing it.

  Breathing hard, Jony backed into his poor refuge, looked up for the third and last vor. Unlike its fellows, it was not of a mind to carry on the battle. Instead, after circling twice and hooting mournfully, it flapped away. Jony stared at the still twitching vor near him, that other which tried to deny death on the other side of the water. Two vors! He was dazed at the fact of his escape. His staff was sticky with blood, more was splashed on him, on the rocks
about. But he was safe! Weakly he leaned back on the stones which half-supported him.

  Clansmen killed attacking vors, yes. But only when working as a team with a thought-out defense plan. Jony had never known one of the People alone who had finished off two of the great predators.

  Near his feet the second one had gone limp at last. While that on the far side of the water was moving only weakly, loss of blood bringing death. Jony forced himself a stride or two forward, used the blade end of his staff to prod the near body. There was no sign of life.

  The fetid stench of the creature, together with the blood about, made Jony queasy. He moved further upstream. There he not only scrubbed his new weapon with sand and water, but washed his own sweated body and stained kilt, so that no possible taint of his kill remained.

  There was movement downstream. He saw some of the scavengers that were always quick to find any kill dart out of the rock's shade and scuttle toward the body. By tomorrow there would only be well-cleaned bones left. Jony eyed the vicious talons of the dread creatures. Those had uses. He might stay near enough to claim them as trophies when the feasters were done.

  Suddenly he smiled grimly. Though the People did not adorn themselves with anything but their food gathering nets, he had a sudden idea. Those talons he might hang from the collar. If he ever returned to the clan and was able to loosen that yoke they had laid upon him, it would please him greatly to have added this proof of his own ability to survive the burden they had put on him as a punishment and warning.

  This staff—never had there been one like this! His hands slipped back and forth along the surface, avoiding the sharp hook at the end, caressingly. Jony took time now to study that edged hook with great care. It was shaped not unlike a fang, a giant fang. He had no such natural fighting equipment of his own, as the People carried in their jaws. But now he could boast of a fang in his hand, use it well . . .

  Prudence dictated a withdrawal upstream. Those dead vors would draw more than these small scavengers already busy. Also Jony wanted to get away from the stench of death and blood. He would find someplace near where he could make a night nest. Only, never again must he relax to the point he was unaware of life about him. His own foolish mistake had nearly provided him as fodder for the flying death. He must learn how to use his sense wisely. However, not with such a power of induced concentration that he would not also be conscious of what lay immediately about him. For here there was no one of the clan to give him the illusion of safety while he freed his mind for questing ahead.