by E. C. Tubb
"Embira?"
"Yes." She glanced at the limp figure. "A fit? A seizure of some kind? But what triggered it? If I thought Sufan was responsible I'd kill him."
A cold statement of fact, the more chilling because spoken without emotion.
"He wasn't," said Dumarest. "She must have caught his face by accident. Perhaps she'd lowered her guard. She was afraid of something lying within the city. I told her to blank it out if she could, but she was asleep and maybe couldn't maintain her defenses." He glanced at the girl as she stirred. "Have those sedatives ready, Pacula. She might need them."
"You could do her more good than drugs, Earl. She needs you."
"Perhaps-but so does Usan."
She lay like a broken doll, her breathing ragged, her face flushed with an unhealthy tinge. As Dumarest touched her she stirred, her eyes opening, the corners crusted with dried pus, her lips spotted with dried saliva. Incredibly she smiled.
"Earl! I was dreaming-how did you know?"
"Know what?"
"That I'd want you beside me when I woke." Her voice was husky. "A drink?"
She gulped the water he fetched her, leaning hard against his supporting arm. With a damp cloth he laved her face and cleared her eyes. The stench of her breath signaled inner dissolution. Aware of it she turned her face.
"Here." He handed her the open locket. "You'd better take something."
"For the pain?" Her smile was a travesty of humor. "I'm getting used to it, Earl. You don't have to worry about me." Her eyes moved, settled on where Pacula knelt beside Embira. "What happened to the girl?"
"A fit, maybe. She screamed and went into convulsions."
Without comment she rose and climbed to her feet, to stand swaying for a moment, gaining strength with a visible effort. Beads of sweat stood on the sunken cheeks and droplets of blood showed beneath the teeth biting her lower lip.
"You're ill, Usan. You should rest."
"I'm dying, Earl, and we both know it. When the drugs are gone I'll be in hell and they won't last much longer. Maybe you should do me a favor. A bullet, your knife-you know how to do it."
"Kill you, Usan? No."
"Why not? Would you deny me that mercy?" Her voice was hard. "Would you?"
"If it was necessary, no." His voice was equally hard. "But you've too much courage to plead for death. What's happened to your spirit? The determination to survive? Have you forgotten that young and lovely body you hope to gain?"
"A dream, Earl and one that's fading. If I leave this place it will be only because you carry me. And then there is the Cloud and the journey to Pane and how will I pay the surgeons? With mist?"
"There could be something."
"Under the mist? Perhaps." Her fingers fumbled at the locket and she lifted pills to her mouth. "Water, Earl?" She drank and waited for the drugs to take effect. It had been a heavy dose, too heavy for safety, but what did that matter now? "Sufan, when do we search?"
He looked up from where he sat, a container in his hand, a spoon lifted halfway toward his mouth.
"Later, Usan, when we have eaten. Then I-"
"Not you, Sufan. Me. I must be the first. You'll not deny me that?"
Dumarest said, "It could be dangerous."
"If so the more reason I should go first. What have I to lose? Earl, arrange it." Then, as he hesitated, she added quietly, "Please, Earl. At least let me be sure there is hope."
The danger lay in the unknown. The mist thickened toward the center of the area, forming an almost solid wall of writhing fog, and once within it orientation would be lost and the woman could wander until she dropped. The ground, too, could be treacherous. At the outer edge it was firm, but deeper in the mist there could be soft patches, holes, anything. And, if treasure did lie in heaps, it alone could provide hazards.
All this Dumarest explained as they stood on the floor of the wide colonnade.
"I know, Earl." Usan was impatient. "I know."
"Go in, find out what you can and return. This will guide you." Dumarest lifted the coil he held, a thin rope he'd made of plaited strands taken from a thicker coil. "I'll tie it around your waist. When you want to return take up the slack and follow the line. You understand?"
"Yes." She sagged a little, then straightened, her breathing harsh. "But hurry, Earl. Hurry!"
The line attached she stepped from the colonnade and beaded toward the mist. The line snaked from where it lay in a coil on the floor, the other end fastened to Dumarest's wrist.
Marek said, "A woman of courage, Earl, but as she said, what has she to lose? How long will you allow her to search?"
"Not long."
"Earl!" Sufan frowned as Dumarest looked toward him. "If anything happens to her, what then?"
"It hasn't yet."
"But if it does? She's old and ill and near collapse. She could die out there, but if she does we must continue to search. I insist on that."
Marek said, "She's gone."
The mist had closed about her, streamers and coils writhing, drifting, reforming as they watched. Dumarest felt a tug at his wrist and looked at the line. It was extended, taut as it vanished into the mist. Gently he tugged at it, again, the cord dipping to lie on the ground.
"How long will you give her?" said Marek. "An hour?"
"More," said Sufan. "We must give her a chance to search. The more we learn the better, and if-" He broke off, but there was no need of words. If danger lay within the mist and she should fall victim to it her death would at least warn the others.
All they could do now was to wait.
Pacula came to join them. She said, "How long are you going to leave her out there? It's been hours."
Hours? Dumarest said, "Get back to Embira."
"She's resting. Asleep. The sedatives-"
"Get back to her!"
Dumarest looked at the line. It lay thin and straight without movement of any kind. If Usan had found something and was examining it the line would present that appearance. If she was moving a little from side to side or returning it would be the same. But too much time had passed. She could have fallen to be lying unconscious or dead.
Marek said, "Hours? Earl, that doesn't make sense. But Usan-you'd better bring her back."
Dumarest was already at work. Quickly he drew in the line, feeling no resistance, continuing to pull it back until the end came into sight.
"She's gone!" Sufan's voice was high, incredulous. "Earl! She's vanished!"
"She untied the line." Marek stooped, lifted it in his hands. "See? No sign of a break. Maybe she saw something she couldn't reach and undid the knot. Now she's lost." He stared at the mist, the vast, shrouded area. "Lost," he said again. "Earl, what happens now?"
Dumarest said, "I'm going to find her."
Chapter Sixteen
The line had been extended and was firm about his waist. The others were watching, aside from Embira who was still asleep, but Dumarest didn't turn to look at them. Marek held the line and a loop was attached to a pillar. Sulfan had been full of instructions, heard and ignored. Dumarest would operate in his own way.
Beneath his feet the ground held a gentle slope, checked by a glance at the colonnade to one side. A saucer like depression, not a hemisphere or the ground would have held a sharper gradient. A shallow bowl then, why hadn't he noticed it before?
Around him the mist began to thicken.
It held a trace of pungency, an odor not unpleasant, slightly reminiscent of the fur of a cat, the tang of spice. It filled his nostrils as he breathed and stung his eyes a little, a discomfort which passed as soon as noticed. He had expected to be blinded by the mist but always, as he walked, it seemed to open before him. An area of visibility a few yards in diameter. The ground was smoothly even, yielding like a firm sponge beneath his boots, which left no trace of their passage.
"Usan!" The mist flattened his call. "Usan!"
She could be anywhere and finding her would be a matter of luck. Already he had lost all sense of direction, only the line offeri
ng a guide.
"Usan!"
A woman, old, sick, dying, but with greater courage than most. Kalin had been like that. Kalin, who had gained what Usan most desired, a new and healthy body, living as a host in another's shape. Using the secret he carried, the one given to her by her husband before he died, passing it on in turn.
Kalin-could he ever forget her?
And then, incredibly, she was before him.
"Earl! My darling! My lover-I have waited so long!"
She came from the mist, tall, her hair a scarlet flame, eyes wide, lips parted, hands lifted to grasp his shoulders. Against his chest he could feel the pressure of her body, her sensual heat.
"Earl, my darling! My darling!"
He felt the touch of her lips, her hands, the swell of breasts and hips, the long, lovely curve of her thighs. All as he remembered-but Kalin was dead. Kalin, the real Kalin-not the beautiful shell she had worn.
"Come with me, Earl." She took his hand and led him to a room bright with sparkling color. A wide bed rested on a soft carpet, flowers filled vases of delicate crystal, perfume hung on the summer air. From beyond the open window came the sound of birds. "Rest, my darling, and talk to me. But first-" Her kiss was warm with promise, her flesh inviting to his touch. "Again, my darling. Again!"
Dumarest drew a long, shuddering breath. He was a man and within him was sensual yearning, little desires and hopes building into fantastic imagery, the biological drives inherent in any normal human. To love and be loved, to need and be needed, to have and to hold. And yet-
"Is something wrong, Earl?" The woman looked at him, her eyes filled with stars. "Earl! Don't you remember me?"
Too well and in too great a detail. The line of her chin, the tilt of her head, the little quirk at the corners of her lips. He studied them again, his eyes dropping to the gown she wore, short, cut low, shimmering emerald belted with a band of scarlet the color of her hair. All real as the room was real, the flowers. He picked one, the crushed bloom falling from his hand.
"Earl?"
"No," he said. "No."
And was again surrounded by mist.
It looked as before, a swirling, bluish gray fog, smoke in constant motion as if with a life of its own. The smoke of fires remembered from earlier days when as a boy he had crouched over smoldering embers cooking the game fallen to his sling. A lesson learned then never to be forgotten. Eat or die. Kill or starve. Survive or perish. Childhood had not been a happy time.
But Earth was his home. Earth!
The mist parted and he stood on a meadow. The softness of lush grass was beneath his feet and trees soared in ancient grace to one side. A moment and he was among them to walk among the boles of a natural cathedral. The trunks were rough to his touch, the leaf he thrust into his mouth succulent with juices, the little wad of masticated fiber falling to the soft, rich soil.
The trees yielded to a clearing slashed by a stream fringed with willows, the tinkle of water over stone a somnolent music in the warm, scented air. In the azure sky hung the pale orb of the Moon, a silver ghost blotched with familiar markings.
Home. He was home!
Not the one remembered from boyhood, the bleak area of ravaged stone and arid soil, the haunts of small and vicious beasts, of poverty and savage men, but the one he had always been convinced must lie over the horizon. Earth as it had been. Earth as it should be. Warm and gentle and filled with enchantment. A paradise.
The only one there ever was or ever could be. "You like it?" A man rose from where he had been sitting at the edge of the stream. His face was shadowed by the cowl of his brown, homespun robe, his hands thrust into its sleeves. His voice held the deep resonance of a bell. "You?"
"A friend. An ear to listen and a mouth to talk. Each man needs a friend, Earl. Someone to understand."
A need supplied as soon as felt. Dumarest said, "This is Earth? There can be no mistake?"
"This is Earth, Earl. How can you doubt? Your home, the only world on which you can feel whole. Can you understand why? Every cell of your body was fashioned and shaped by this place. It is the only planet on which you can feel wholly in tune, to which you can ever really belong. Look around you. Everything you see is a part of you; the grass, the trees, the creatures which walk and swim and fly. The water, the sunlight, the glow of the Moon. Only here can you ever find true contentment, Earl. Only on Earth can you ever find happiness."
And he was happy with a pleasure he had never before known or had even dreamed could exist. An intoxication of supreme bliss which caused him to stoop, to fill his hands with dirt, to lift them and let it rain before his eyes.
Earth!
His home now and for always.
The days would shorten and winter come with snow and crisp winds. There would be growth and harvest and the regular pattern of life to which he would respond. And there would be others, of that he was certain. Men and women to offer him a welcome. A wife, children, sons to teach and daughters to cherish. An end to loneliness.
"Earl!"
He frowned at the sound of his name. Who could be calling him?
"Earl. I need you. Please help me. Earl!" A woman's voice holding pain and terror, things which had no place in this ideal. It came again, louder, "For God's sake where are you? Answer me, Earl. I need you. Earl. Earl!"
A flash of movement. Derai? But the hair was gold, not silver, and the eyes were blind.
"Embira!"
She came to him from the mist, hands lifted, groping, her face dewed with sweat which carried the scent of her fear. A woman alone, blind, and afraid, walking into the unknown. The line firmly knotted around her waist trailed behind her. His own, Dumarest noticed, was gone. When had he freed himself from its restraint?
"Earl?" Her hands caught his own, the fingers closing with an iron grip. "Thank God I've found you! We waited so long and your line was cut and-Earl! Don't leave me!"
"I won't, Embira."
"It hurts," she said dully. "The pain, the hunger and fear. I'm so afraid. Take me back, Earl. Take me back."
Freeing his hands, he turned her, clamping his left arm around her shoulders, catching up the line with his right. He pulled, drawing in the slack and, when it was taut, jerked three times. An answering jerk and the line tightened, dragging at the girl's waist.
Marek was at the far end, Pacula and Sufan at his side. As Dumarest reached the edge of the colonnade and guided the girl into Pacula's waiting arms, Marek said, "So she found you. Thank God for that. I'd about given up hope. When we pulled in your line and found it cut-"
Sufan interrupted, his voice impatient. "What did you find, Earl? What is the treasure of Balhadorha?"
Dumarest answered in one word. "Death."
* * *
The food and water were getting low but Dumarest had no need of them and neither did the girl. The mist had taken care of them both, removing toxins, nourishing tissue, maintaining life in its own fashion. But while Dumarest had suffered no apparent ill effects the girl had collapsed. She lay on the floor of the far side of the chamber, her face drawn, stamped with signs of anguish despite the drugs which dulled her senses.
"She volunteered," said Marek quietly. "When you didn't return and we found your line cut she insisted on going after you. She said that she alone could find you."
"She was right."
"As events proved, Earl. Her talent, of course, it makes her something other than normal. But you were in the mist for a long time. Long enough for Sufan to make a circuit of the area."
"I found nothing." The man came forward, eyes darting. "And you, Earl?"
"I told you."
"Death-what answer is that? Did you find anything beneath the mist? Artifacts? Gems? Anything at all?"
"I found everything the legends promised. Wealth beyond imagination, pleasure unexpected, the answers to all questions, the solution to all problems. It's all there in the mist." Dumarest stared toward it, the swirling vapors edged by the openings set in the wall of the chamber.
"The rumors didn't lie. Everything you could hope for is there, but at a price."
"Death," said Pacula, and shivered."Earl, what is it?"
"A symbiote."
"Alive?" Marek was incredulous. "After so long?"
"Time is different within the mist. An hour becomes a minute. Perhaps the colonnade has something to do with it, or the city. It isn't important. But that mist is alive. It takes something, a little blood, some bone marrow, the aura of emotion, perhaps, but feeding, it gives. Each thought and wish becomes real. The host is maintained in a world of illusion. One so apparently real that it is impossible to escape."
"But you escaped, Earl."
"With Embira's help, Pacula. If she hadn't come looking for me I would be there still."
"And you long to return." She looked at him with sudden understanding. "Earl-"
"I must try it," said Sufan. "I must experience it for myself. If I am tied to a line I should be safe."
"You would free yourself from the line," said Dumarest. "Nothing would stop you. If you were locked in steel it might be possible, but we have no metal straps and chain. If you go in you'll stay in."
"Maybe it's worth it." Marek looked at the mist, his eyes thoughtful. "What more can life offer than total satisfaction? If what you say is true, Earl, then here we have found happiness."
"And Embira?"
"What of her?"
"She can't share that happiness, Marek. Do you want to leave her here, alone, blind, terrified? She needs us. We must take her back to the ship. And we need you to help guide us through the Cloud."
"Need," said Marek bitterly. "What is another's need to me?" But he began collecting the packs, the weapons and supplies.
Pacula said, "Earl! What of Usan Labria?"
"We leave her."
"Usan? But-"
She was at the heart of the mist, lying on the softly firm ground, tended by the alien organism in return for what she could give. The very substance of her body, perhaps, disintegrating after death to culminate the bargain. But while alive, she was freed of pain and locked in a world of fantasy. Perhaps she ran light-footed over emerald sward or acted the queen in some luxurious palace. Around her would be attentive lovers and, in mirrors, she would relish the sight of her lovely young body. Happiness would be here-what more could life offer?
