by Maurice Gee
They’re not going to. Their minds don’t work like ours. Trust them. Lo’s all right. They said he would be.
She wanted to believe him, but she had heard Lo’s pain, felt it inside her. She had seen white bone gleam in his leg. She needed a word – and would not get one.
Duro put his arm around her. ‘Xantee,’ he said, speaking aloud for intimacy. ‘Leave him now. Leave him with the people. They’ll cure him. Know it, Xantee. He’s theirs and you’re with me.’
After a while she said – but could not speak aloud: Yes, I know it.
Then come on. One more jungle. Let’s just follow them.
The singing began as soon as they moved. The globe of light enclosed them when night fell. The people left food in their resting places. They found dry ground for them to sleep. A natural bridge made the way across one river. A dugout canoe waited at the next. Passing a swamp at the foot of a cliff, Xantee caught a faint smell of – not swamp water or mud, not something dead . . .
Gool, she said.
Yes, Duro said.
A gool we found before it grew, the people said. We wrapped it in our thoughts and it can’t break out. When the mother dies it will die.
Are there any more?
Many, held in our traps. But those that have grown can’t be stopped, they’re too strong.
Are there any more big ones?
One by the sea coast. One in the pitted place in the western mountains. Others you have seen – two. But there are more in places we can’t go.
How can we stop them? Xantee whispered.
The people did not answer.
Again Xantee and Duro went on – rivers, swamps, howling animals, shrieking birds. They slept and woke and had little idea of day and night.
We’re turning west, Duro said.
Two more sleeps, two marches, the people answered. Then we reach the open forest, where we do not go. After that the dry plains and the city.
Where’s the Dog King?
Somewhere, they said. You will find him.
One more river to cross, one more swamp to wade through. They burned off ticks that fastened on their legs – the people’s singing had no effect on ticks. Then the land began to rise and the ground was firmer. There were fewer trees, with outcrops of grey rock here and there.
We must leave you, the people said.
How do we find him, the Dog King? Xantee said.
Travel in the silver trees, toward the setting sun. That is where he rules. Listen for his dogs, but beware of them. Make yourselves safe where they can’t go.
How –? she began, but the people were gone.
We’ll never see them, she said.
They wouldn’t be the people if we did, Duro said.
The rock outcrops grew more numerous, the jungle thinned. They broke through ferns and creeping vines into wide clearings where animals had dragged their prey. Gnawed bones and skulls lay here and there. Walking was easier but watching, listening, without the people, tired them. By nightfall the jungle lay behind and the silver trees, widely spaced, rustled their leaves in the evening air. They climbed a rock outcrop and found a warm basin near the top. They ate, then slept, taking turns to watch, Duro first.
In the morning Xantee said, Before we go I want to listen.
They’re not here, they’re in the jungle, Duro said.
I don’t mean the people. Remember the voice you heard last summer. I’ve heard it too, only once, saying my name. I want to hear it again.
I think we should leave that voice alone.
Pearl hears it. Hari hears it. Pearl heard it first in a dream, then with Hari out in a boat. Now it speaks whenever they want. She told me just to wait.
Then wait.
Pearl and Hari hear it, Xantee said stubbornly.
Pearl and Hari are better people than us.
You needn’t try, she said, but I’m going to.
She made herself ready, emptied her mind. Perhaps she should take her clothes off and be naked – but she put that thought aside, with Duro watching. Why though, should she care if he saw? He saw her swimming.
Angry, she turned away from him. Now her mind was cluttered and she must empty it again. Deliberately she set about it, and when it was done had no consciousness except a ghostly one of self – Xantee – but not a self able to get in the way.
She had first heard the wind and sea and forests and mountains breathe her name silently inside her diminished self one morning as she walked alone on the beach. It said nothing more, just Xantee, yet those two syllables united her with the thing that spoke – took everything from her, gave everything back, increased in all its cells by its oneness with the voice.
She had told no one, but Hari and Pearl knew, just as she had known when Duro heard. Don’t go chasing after it, Pearl said. Wait and one day you’ll hear it again. But you don’t need to.
Xantee waited on the rock above the forest. I need you now, she thought – and that let in a part of herself, and nothing came, no whisper, no name. Tears ran on her cheeks, and soon she felt Duro’s arm around her.
Go away, she said – but did not want him to. They sat until the sun warmed them through a gap in the trees. Xantee dried her face. I was stupid, she said.
Yes, you were.
I think we need the Dog King, not anything else.
We need more food. We need water.
I know.
You’ll hear it again when you’re not expecting to. It was like that with me. I think I fell over.
You would.
They climbed down from the rock. Water was easy to find; streams ran everywhere. Food was more difficult – berries that must be climbed for, fern roots that must be dug. They found enough, then went on through the trees. Soon they saw deer, too shy to be approached.
The dogs must hunt them, Duro said.
What dogs?
I’ve seen their scat, haven’t you?
Old scat, fungus on it.
It means they hunt here.
They stood and listened but heard only the rustle of wind in the trees and the coughing of a stag far away.
The next day it was the same. They kept on towards the setting sun. There was no dog sign and only the sounds of trees and birds and deer.
I think the Dog King’s just a story, like Barni, Duro said.
No. He’s Hari’s father, Xantee said.
Your gran’daddy.
Shh, Xantee said.
What?
Something touched me.
She meant in her mind: something that asked a question – Who? – and sniffed at her and gave the answer – Meat. She saw a flicker of black in the silver trunks.
Dog, she said.
Small one, Duro said. A scout. He’ll go for the pack.
He had found dogs on his solitary trips over the mountains and knew how they hunted.
He’ll bring them back and follow our scent. We can’t get away.
We don’t want to, Xantee said. I’m going to stop him. We’ll send a message.
She glimpsed the dog again, running through the trees, and sent the command: Stop, dog. Come here.
She heard its yelp of surprise and felt its fear.
I won’t hurt you. Come here.
Slowly it approached – a small, long-eared dog, heavy in its jowls. A dog, she supposed, skilled at following scent and finding prey. It fought against her command, writhing its hindquarters, snarling weakly. Xantee did not stop its advance until it was close enough to touch.
Dog, she said, lie down. Can you speak?
It made no reply, sent no image, but lay as she had told it and kept its teeth bare.
It can’t speak, Duro said. Just tell it what to do.
Xantee was disappointed. If Tarl was able to talk with dogs she had supposed that dogs were able to reply. But perhaps he had a way of reading them. And this one, like all animals, must project images – of place, of food, of water, of prey. She had met with that in farm dogs and wild animals in the forest. Only the gool sent no images.
>
Dog, she said, tell me about Tarl.
The animal curled its lip back more.
Tell me about the Dog King.
It doesn’t understand, Duro said. Let it go. It’ll bring the others.
But will it bring Tarl?
We’ve got to take that chance.
Duro, if it doesn’t they’ll kill us. We can’t hold off a whole pack. I’m going to let this one go, but hold him and follow him. He’ll lead us to the others. We can feel if Tarl’s there and if he’s not we’ll make this one forget and sneak away.
They’ll scent us. You can’t fool dogs.
Tell me a better way.
Duro shrugged.
So, Xantee said. She told the dog to stand, ordered it to stop snarling, reached out her hand and patted its head.
It hates me, she said. It’s trying to bite me but it can’t. All right, dog, take us to your pack. To the Dog King.
It turned from her and ran, but she slowed it to a walk and followed with Duro at her side.
They kept on till late in the afternoon, the dog in front as if unaware of the humans half a dozen steps behind. Then Duro said, I smell dogs. It’s worse than a swamp.
I can hear them, Xantee said. They’re in those rocks. Stop, dog.
The soft yelping, subdued barks, reminded her of children lined up at the village school. She patted the dog.
Now dog, you’re free. Forget you ever saw me. And forget him – pointing at Duro. Have you forgotten? Good. Now go or you’ll miss whatever it is they’re feeding on.
The dog turned in a circle, as though chasing its tail, looked at them without seeing, then trotted away to the jumble of rocks where the pack was resting. It vanished as though through an open door.
Now, Xantee said, let’s find out if Tarl’s there.
They joined their minds and sent them after the dog, through the opening it had taken, and sensed, with disbelief, the size of the pack in the ring of stones – more than a hundred, more than two hundred. It was impossible to isolate one, except – they found the dog they had followed, but before they could fit themselves into his mind and see what he saw, they felt his blinding inrush of terror, heard him scream . . .
What? Duro said.
They’re attacking him. They’re killing him.
The screaming stopped but the hungry snarling and yelping went on.
You touched him, Duro said. He had your smell on him.
No, she wailed.
Let’s get out of here. They’ll follow his trail back.
I didn’t mean him to be killed.
Come on, run.
They were too late. Dogs boiled out of the opening in the rocks, sighted them, poured at them, some silent, racing, others barking wildly.
Tree. Into a tree, Duro yelled.
They had time only to reach the nearest, a scaly trunked silver tree leaning at an angle. Xantee shinned up, with Duro half-running like a monkey behind. The leading dog, a giant hound, jumped at him and ran two steps on the trunk before sliding to the ground. Xantee climbed until she was in the branches. Duro found a place on the other side. They sat and panted.
The dogs were frenzied at the base of the tree, shrieking, running in circles. They were every size and colour, all filthy, with matted hair, all scabbed and scarred from fighting and hunting.
If they had any brains they’d bite the tree and bring it down, Duro said.
What will they do?
Wait until we starve and fall out.
Duro, we’ve got to call Tarl.
There is no Tarl.
One of them’s in charge though. It’s that big black one.
The dog was huge, the size of a tree tiger. It was smooth-haired, square-jawed, wide in its chest. Half its tail had been bitten off in a fight. Yet it had the best food and as much as it wanted, that was plain from the muscles that shifted under its skin. It looked up at Xantee and Duro with yellow eyes, seeing them as food and knowing it only had to wait.
It gave a short bark and the dog-clamour stopped. It barked again and most of the pack trotted off towards the rocks, leaving only a dozen at the tree. The pack leader circled, watching them. Then it gave a growl and turned away.
Talk to it, Xantee, Duro said.
She was still sickened by the death of the dog that had found them, but she cleared her mind, examined the leader until she was sure, then said, Dog.
It stopped in its tracks, turned slowly, looked at her, with hackles bristling on its spine.
Dog, she said, I’m Xantee. I want Tarl. I want the Dog King. Bring him to me.
It came back a few steps, as if to see her better. She got no picture from its mind. There seemed to be no image, even of herself. Yet there was a disturbance, like something stirring underwater. The dog was confused.
Dog, she whispered, go for him. Go for Tarl.
It’s the name, she thought. It knows ‘Tarl’.
The dog growled deep in its chest. Its skin shivered, like a horse getting rid of flies.
Tarl, she repeated. Bring Tarl.
It remained staring at her – hot yellow eyes with nothing in them but hunger for prey. But still, in its mind, a disturbance. Xantee felt she was in a contest of wills, and the dog, simpler than her, would win – except that she had Tarl. She pronounced his name, sent it into the animal, heavy and hard.
The dog shivered again. Then it gave a whimper, almost puppyish, and hung its head.
Tarl, Xantee said.
The dog met her eyes. An image came fleetingly – she had the impression of something human, man-shaped at least.
Bring him, she said. Bring Tarl.
The dog turned, walked to the rocks and vanished through the opening.
Now what? Duro said.
It knows him. So we wait.
There’s only nine down there. We could put them to sleep one by one.
No.
We can’t stay here all night. I’m getting a sore bum.
Eat something. Drink something.
They shared berries and water, and had barely finished when another dog walked from the rocks. It was smaller than the leader, as thick in its chest but shorter in its legs. It was yellow and black. After a moment it gave a woof.
A second dog, almost identical, joined it in the open, and with it came something that might be a man. He walked half bent, as though to be level with the dogs, but rose to his full height as he approached the tree.
He’s not human, is he? Duro said.
Quiet, Xantee said.
Years of stooping had bent his back and lowered his head. Years of running with dogs had pulled his muscles askew and lengthened them so that they twisted like ropes across his limbs. His hair hung over his shoulders and down to his waist; grey hair, matted like a ram’s fleece. He wore nothing: hairy shoulders, hairy loins. Nothing except a knife in a belt at his waist. It saved him from being a dog – and his eyes saved him. Xantee had half-expected hungry eyes, yellow eyes, but these, watching from beneath a fringe of knife-hacked hair, were the eyes of a man.
The dogs at the foot of the tree moved out of his way. The pair with him, yellow and black, stood at his sides. Like the pack leader they were well fed; but greedy, always hungry, Xantee saw, in the way of dogs.
The man said nothing, simply looked at Xantee and Duro. He touched his hands on his dogs and one of them yawned. The other seemed to grin. Tarl – he had to be Tarl – had said something to them. Fat ones, was that it? Or had Xantee misunderstood? He could speak with dogs, Hari and Pearl had said, but not with humans, unless with his tongue. Hari had told Xantee, though, that several times he had caught an unspoken whisper from Tarl.
She had to be quick. But before she could speak, Duro burst out: ‘Say something, you. You’re a man, not a dog.’
Tarl rolled his head as though avoiding a punch. His eyes opened wide. ‘Ha!’ he said.
Xantee knew she could go into his mind and control him, and that it was the safest way, but Pearl’s and Hari’s lesson was to
o strong: never invade someone’s mind unless you do it to save your life. It hadn’t come to that, not yet. Instead she said, ‘How long since you’ve heard a human voice?’
‘Ha!’ Tarl said. He croaked and spat, then said, in a voice creaking with disuse, ‘Words. Man words. All poison. All shit.’ He loosened his knife.
‘Try it,’ Duro said. His own knife jumped into his hand.
‘Boy,’ Tarl said, his voice still creaking, ‘my name is Knife. You think you can beat me. Climb down.’
‘Stop,’ Xantee cried. ‘They’re Dweller knives, not made for killing.’
‘Dweller?’ Tarl said, making the name as though his tongue was hinged.
‘And your name isn’t Knife or the Dog King, it’s Tarl.’
‘Tarl.’ He closed his eyes, opened them, then dog-snarled with his lips, showing brown teeth, gapped and broken. ‘Only dogs know that name. How do you know?’
Now, Xantee thought. She wet her lips. ‘Hari told me. Your son.’
Tarl stepped back. The yellow dogs flanking him gave a yelp of dismay. Tarl shook his head, shaking something out – anger? pain? – and his knife, quicker than Duro’s, jumped into his hand. Xantee’s mind was faster. Now was a time to save her life.
Stop, she said. And said to Duro, who had raised his arm to throw: Stop, Duro. I’ve got him. Put your knife away.
Tarl’s eyes were burning. She was holding him only lightly – enough to stay his knife-hand.
Tarl, listen to me. I don’t want to be in your mind. I’ll speak to you in a voice you can hear when you put your knife away. But I’m going to tell you about Hari.
He shook himself, bent and groaned, trying to break free. The nine dogs about the tree slunk away to the rocks, and the yellow pair whimpered.
Tarl, put it away, she said. Then we’ll talk.
He was strong. His will seemed as strong as the gool’s, but she held him, and at last he slid the knife into its sheath.
Now, Tarl, I’m going to let you go. Then we can talk.
She released him, and he staggered and put his hands on the dog’s backs to feel their warmth. Then he looked at Xantee.
‘That’s a Dweller trick, getting in my head.’
‘I’m sorry. Can we come down?’
‘Tell the boy to keep his knife in his belt.’
‘Yes.’
‘Or I’ll kill him.’