"What are you talking about?" demanded Basdon, half in worry and half in annoyance, rubbing hard at his eyes which were paining mercilessly.
"This," said Jonker, pulling a small ball of translucent green from his robe and placing it carefully on the rock. "And this!" He tapped a protuberance on the support of the light, which flicked out immediately.
But there was no darkness. Whiteness was everywhere. Not whiteness to see by. In fact, Basdon's surroundings were totally invisible to him. There was just whiteness . . . in front of his eyes, above his eyes, below them . . . in back of them . . . everywhere whiteness . . . that kept getting whiter.
The location of the whiteness, he realized, was in his mind. And there, in the midst of all that brilliance, pictures began to race fleetingly past. He recognized none as being events from his life, but he sensed they were all experiences his spirit had known somewhere in the vastness of time:
He was confronting a huge spear-bearing gladiator who (for some unseen reason) it was absolutely vital that he slay. But before he could set himself with sword and shield the enemy had plunged the spear through him. He was dying, but could not let himself die. Defeat was unthinkable. Thus, in his agony, his identity suddenly twisted and shifted to become the spearman and victor.
Ah! he thought in the instant between the vanishing of that scene and the appearance of the next. So that is why I foolishly thrust with my sword, as if it were a spear, when I should slash! In his fight with Laestarp's weredogs and again in the battle with Vishan, that habit had nearly gotten him killed. He realized it would not happen again.
The scenes flashed by, too numerous to count, often too hurried to be clearly defined. Then:
Whiter than white, the glowing form of a woman . . . Eanna? . . . Belissa? . . . She was both and neither, a composite of all feminine beauty. But she was not his; rather, he was hers! Her property. Her worshipper, along with dimly sensed legions of others. He lusted for but could not touch her perfection, and his lust was her excuse. The arm of the goddess reached down, and two fingertips, hotter than all the suns, touched and seared his eyes. He fled into blind, pain-filled darkness.
The bitch! he cursed. But . . . but . . . He grunted with the realization. She hadn't been a woman at all! She was a hypnotic construct, a product of outrageously advanced and depraved magic, used to enslave through false beauty!
Shortly thereafter the whiteness faded to gray, then went black. Basdon was aware of the girl stirring in his arms, and of fumbling sounds from Jonker. Then Vishan's light came on.
The swordsman looked down at the girl's face, and saw her eyes were open and looking at him. He smiled at her, wondering why, if she were conscious, she was not pulling away from him.
"Your eyes are blue and white," she said wonderingly. "They used to be red."
He had not noticed before. The burning was gone. That did not seem of any importance. "Your eyes are also blue and white, and beautiful," he replied.
"Do you know you hurt me, out in the hall?" she asked.
"Yes, I know. I'm very sorry. I won't do that to you again, I promise."
"You will, too," she contradicted him. "Or you better. I'll get mad at you if you don't."
She pulled herself up to him and kissed him on the mouth, then giggled.
In delighted wonder, Basdon threw Jonker a questioning look.
"All geases are broken for both of you," said the magician, looking regretfully at a small pile of greenish ash on his makeshift table. "I wonder how many thousands of years will pass before that can be said of any other human beings."
5
Basdon and Eanna would have dallied endlessly along the return route to Nenkunal, but for the pressing anxiety of the magician.
"We may run out of time at any instant," Jonker warned and pleaded. "I fear that They Who Own All have learned by now that Vishan met with disaster in Oliber-by-Midsea. And doubtless they are trying to learn or guess the cause of it. So far we have survived, but only because Vishan's soul was too inturbulated to tell of us. Surely they will guess soon, and raise the countryside against us. Let us hurry!"
So they pushed their mounts hard, through the days and long into the moonlit nights. But the farms and villages of the worshippers remained calm, the people obviously unaware that they no longer had a living god. The Hif Hills loomed in the gray distance ahead of them.
"I'm puzzled by some things, magician," said the swordsman as they jogged along one morning. "Most of all by the geas-breaker you used on Eanna and myself in Oliber."
"That was a device for the production of spiritual energy in its purest form," explained Jonker. "It supercharges any spirit within range of its radiance, and enables the spirit to shatter all the geases that bind it, even those imposed on it a thousand lifetimes ago."
"Very well. My question is this: With that kind of a defense on earth, how did it happen that the necromancers from between the stars enslaved us?"
Jonker lowered his face. After a while he said, "Our world has known no perfect age, swordsman. The age of magic was our most glorious, but it had its failings. As you know, we had our own black-spellers. And even honest magicians were selfish, as all men are. Thus, we restricted very tightly the fabrication and use of the white-energy generators, so that our own geas-making would not be compromised. When the universal necromancers made their assault, we were . . . we were too late in mending our ways."
Basdon nodded. "My other puzzle is this: The souls of each of the three of us will be taken upon our deaths by They Who Own All, will they not?"
"Yes," said the magician.
"Then how will we hide that talisman you are carrying in your saddle-pack?" Basdon demanded. "Can they not probe the truth out of our spirits, and discover the hiding place?"
Jonker grinned. "Not if we do not know the place ourselves. Are you familiar with the River Heralple?"
"I've heard of it, while in Nenkunal, but I have not seen it."
"It flows down swiftly from the Fogfather Mountains to the Eastern Ocean. But before emptying, the main stream divides into thousands of rivulets that move sluggishly through a vast swampy deltaland. There the River Heralple's burden of mud and silt is dropped. I propose that there, too, will the talisman of favoring destiny be dropped. I've thought long on this matter, swordsman. If the talisman is thrown into the swift portion of the river above the delta, no man nor magician will be able to guess which of those thousands of rivulets will receive it, nor where along their windings it will come to rest and be covered, as the centuries pass, by layers of the earth of Nenkunal. It will be safe from everyone's knowing, including our own."
Basdon could see no flaw in the plan. "Then all we need do is reach that river," he remarked. "For that reason, I hope the storm over the Hif Hills gentles before we reach them."
"Storm?" asked Jonker, peering suddenly ahead. "Yes . . . yes . . . I see. My eyes are less sharp than they once were."
Eanna said, "I see it. Big black clouds, and lightning shooting out."
"It is most unseasonal," Jonker commented with a worried frown.
The clouds, hanging low over the hills ahead, roiled and twisted with a velocity Basdon had never before observed in any storm. And their coloring was a peculiar yellow-gray, rather than white, where sunlight struck their upper edges. Below, they were an impenetrable purple-black.
The farmers the riders passed along the way were viewing the distant turmoil with dumb alarm. If the storm moved down on them, now in early harvest season, its havoc could leave them to starve in the months ahead.
However, the clouds seemed to be holding their position over the hills, neither advancing nor retreating.
* * *
That night the travelers camped short of the hills, with gusts of wind flapping their tents and making a fire impossible to maintain. The darkness was filled with noise, loud even at a distance, of the roaring wind and clashing thunder. Several times they felt the earth quiver beneath them.
With the dawn the f
ury abated somewhat. The horses were mounted and the journey resumed. Soon the Hif Hills were reached, and the riders stared about in shocked dismay.
It was plain to see that the storm had brought no rain. The clouds had been dust and dirt, a pall of which still lingered in the fitful morning gusts. And the hills, desolate before, were now a tumbled ruin. Trees were splintered or uprooted. Hardly a shrub had its roots in soil. In places the wind had scrubbed away everything, down to bedrock. In other places, logs and brush were piled in high, dusty drifts. Here and there, smoke rose from a lightning-set fire.
"That was no natural storm," murmured Jonker.
"I can see that," replied Basdon.
Nothing more was said as they made their halting way over the broken land. Going was slow and difficult, and kept them too busy watching their horses' steps to brood over the question which, Basdon guessed, had occurred even to Eanna:
If the hills bordering Nenkunal had been tormented thus, what had happened to Nenkunal itself?
They learned the answer when they reached the highest crest.
Here the air was clear of dust and they could see ahead for tens of leagues across the valleys of Nenkunal . . . across, but not down into, because all was dust below.
The storm the travelers had seen over the Hif Hills, they now realized fully, was only the blunted edge of destruction. All the wide land of Nenkunal had been shaken, lashed, and scoured by awesome forces. Indeed, the fury was now only partly abated. Cubic leagues of earth were still windborne over what had been green and happy landscapes.
"Sand," muttered Jonker. "I knew it to be Nenkunal's destiny to lie its full length under waterless dunes, but I never dreamt it would come so soon, so suddenly."
"I suppose we know why," said Basdon.
"Yes . . . They Who Own All have struck."
"But why didn't they strike us instead?" asked Eanna her eyes wide with horror.
"Because, being what they are, they assumed wrongly," said the magician. "They guessed that we, like Laestarp, wanted to use the talismans of Oliber that would give us power to dominate—talismans that I found and destroyed as objects of more potential harm than good in the new age. With those talismans we could have traveled more swiftly, and would have been here in time to be included in this ruin. And to make doubly sure that earth-magic would never rise against them, they destroyed the entire country which would be the base of operations for such magic."
"Then we're to blame," whispered Eanna.
"Child, everyone and no one is to blame," Jonker retorted crossly. "The question is, what do we do now?" asked Basdon.
"Forge ahead, as best we can," the magician said, with meager hope in his tone. "Try to reach the River Heralple."
Basdon nodded and started his horse moving down toward the swirling dust storms. It was futile to assume, he knew, that the Heralple still flowed, but it would serve as a meaningful destination.
"And where from there?" he asked over his shoulder.
"Probably south," hazarded the magician, "into the tropical wilderness. That, I suppose, is where other survivors of Nenkunal will try to go."
* * *
Late the following day they passed the site of Haslil's cottage. No trace of the house remained, and Eanna permitted herself to find relief in tears as they pushed on toward the lowlands.
"I did not know there was so much sand in the world," muttered Basdon when they reached the first valley.
"Perhaps there wasn't until now," replied Jonker.
All next day they journeyed southeastward over the dry gritty earth, often having to dismount when the horses floundered in a loosely packed drift. There was little breeze, or the going would have been more difficult by far.
When they stopped, they shared their supply of sweetroot with the horses, since forage was nonexistent. Fortunately, Jonker's water-purification charm had survived the universal geas, and they could make use of the muddy, rapidly stagnating pools they occasionally discovered.
The next day was different in that the heat was becoming stifling. They stopped frequently to rest and cool their mounts, and were glad when night brought a swift chill to the air.
They were awakened by a rising wind at dawn.
"Shall we try to travel through this?" yelled Basdon, holding his arm in front of his face to shelter his eyes and nose from the painfully cutting grit in the air.
"Our supplies are not plentiful enough for us to wait out the blow," replied Jonker. "We have to move on."
So they walked, leading the horses, throughout the day, cloths over their noses and mouths, and eyes open only enough to glimpse what lay ahead. All day the dust swirled so densely that visibility was limited to a few yards.
"I hope you know which way we're going!" the swordsman yelled once.
"I do, within a reasonable margin of error," answered the magician. Basdon did not want to take more dust into his mouth by asking what a "reasonable margin of error" amounted to.
As the growing darkness of the sandstorm finally spoke the coming of night, they found themselves, rather to their surprise, in the sheltering bend of a low cliff thrown up by one of the earth tremors.
"We had better stop here," said Basdon. "Eanna and the horses can go little further."
"Very well. Get the girl settled in what comfort you can find for her while I unload the mounts," said Jonker.
Basdon led Eanna into the narrowest niche in the bend of the cliff, seated her, and helped her remove the cloth which had been protecting her face. Her bare feet and legs looked near to bleeding from the abrasion of the sand, and he hoped Jonker had some quick healing for them.
"You shouldn't treat me like I'm a baby," she protested. "Go help Jonker. I'm a grown-up woman."
He smiled at her. "So I know." He kissed her and turned to go just as Jonker came waddling up with a look of consternation on his face.
"Basdon! My saddle is gone!" he exclaimed.
"Oh?" Basdon frowned thoughtfully. None of them had ridden that day, but the saddles had been on the horses. "I suppose all this blowing sand worked between the straps and gradually wore them through," he surmised. "Well, you can use my saddle when we can mount again. I can ride bareback."
"But that's not the point!" sputtered the magician. "The talisman . . . it was in the saddle-pack!"
Basdon sat down, feeling tired at the very thought of trying to cover the day's back-trail in search of the saddle and its contents. "We'll never find it," he muttered. "We'll never even find our own trail, more than ten yards back from this spot!"
"I admit it appears hopeless," replied Jonker, sounding stubborn, "but we've got to try. Although the way this sand is blowing, the saddle could well be concealed by now. And we'll have to wait until morning, but then we'll search very carefully . . ."
"It's hopeless!" Basdon bellowed angrily. "We could spend days hunting that thing without finding it! And look at my poor darling's legs! Do what you wish, magician, but I'm getting her out of this deadly land as soon as possible!"
Jonker looked from one to the other, and his heavy old shoulders slumped. "It is hard to accept defeat, after coming so close to success," he muttered sadly. "But you are right, swordsman. I fear the talisman is hopelessly lost."
"But isn't that what you wanted it to be?" asked Eanna.
Jonker blinked and stared at her. "By my long-suffering spirit!" he exclaimed, "So it is! The talisman of favoring destiny now lies beneath the earth of Nenkunal! And I, who lost it, haven't the foggiest notion within twenty leagues of where it lies!"
"The sand will keep piling up?" asked Basdon.
"Yes! It's safe!"
"And good riddance!" said Basdon. He moved to Eanna's side and hugged her closely. "In the morning, then, we can turn toward the south, to see what hope and comfort the wilderness has to offer."
Jonker nodded and heaved the sigh of a man suddenly at peace. "Yes . . . but our real hope lies somewhere under the sand in a saddle-pack . . . and twenty thousand years in the futur
e."
Forever Enemy
Renson broke warp a proper five million miles from Nexal. The radiation of the planet's Sol-class sun felt pleasantly warm on his exposed face, chest and limbs, and momentarily opaqued his eyeball shields until he turned his head away from the glare.
The shields cleared immediately, and he had no trouble spotting the gleaming disk of the planet, the capital world of the Lontastan Federation. He went full-inert and promptly streaked toward the planet, feeling a touch of satisfaction with his astrogational skill. His warp-exit coordinates had placed him where his inert momentum would carry him precisely to his destination.
He tongued his toothmike and messaged: "Calling Nexal Arrivals Control. This is Fait Linler of Stemmons arriving with due prior notification. E.T.A. two hours. Please ack."
The Creatures of Man Page 34
