by Andre Norton
Farree kept out of what he believed to be the line of fire. Who still defended a place which had seemed deserted for generations by all the signs he had so far seen?
The slit window through which that light had come was deep as well as narrow and he caught no sight of anything—or anyone—within, although he now discovered the sensation of peace within the garden disturbed. Certainly he had no wish to go exploring in the dark pile again. However, he selected a place where he could fit himself under the cover of a tree if he remembered to keep his wings well folded. There Farree busied himself with some tall grass he had wrenched out of a bed at the foot of the terrace. He began to knot the lengths together into a kind of net, with a care which seemed to draw into his fingers skills he did not know he had.
Sunset was already just ahead as he tied the last knot. He allowed himself a long drink at the pool and established a rude nest of leaves he had scooped up from under the largest tree. To sleep here was perhaps rank folly, but his flight outside had showed him no place better and he was very wary of ever entering the castle again. Having nearly gorged himself he settled down, not to sleep as yet, though the sun was lost behind the heights, but rather to test once more his ability to search by mind sense.
Surely it reached farther now! He fastened upon the far end of the tangled garden as his goal and went slowly, ready at any moment to snap back into hiding within himself if any danger arose. There were flutters of life, birds, and perhaps the small creatures that had raided the fallen fruit. Neither of those showed any trace of another purpose. He thought of trying to reach the tower and then decided quickly that there would be little profit in perhaps drawing upon himself once more the notice of the various owners of those voices he had not been able to answer.
Once he started up as a cry of one of the ragged birds sounded near, was even echoed back by the walls. His body was tired and longed for rest but his mind was like another creature, alert, prying a little here and a fraction there. He found another life form, ground dwelling, which was a night ranter and fastened a thread of search upon that.
As the thread spun out, he grew excited. The barrier about him must be either gone at last or worn thin. This creature he so accompanied scuttled along what could only be one of the inside hallways of the dark deserted bulk behind him. If only Togger were here! It was hard to keep in touch with a small mind which seemed to wander in and out at the lowest range he himself knew.
It was in the castle—and it was hunting, though what other life form could be discovered there he had no idea. The stone-set walls were too bare—there would be none of the possibly edible refuse which might be available if the castle were inhabited. Up—the creature was going up and the runway was a tight one. It managed to squeeze through places where it must flatten its body to half size in order to pass.
There was nothing in its mind but hunger and the anticipation of finding food. Also it was very sure that there was that food only waiting to become prey. As a fisherman might play some sea life larger than himself, allowing it to run fruitlessly, keeping only the thinness of a line upon it, so Farree followed where that night hunter went. There was excitement in the creature now; it was nearing its favored place for finding what it sought. He did not have Maelen's power or Vorlund's; he could not see through the hunter's eyes or even gain a picture of what it pursued.
It was slowing, showing more caution, advancing by short spurts which carried it apparently from one spot of cover to the next. Then—
Farree loosed his touch, whipped it back, hoping that he had not been detected. There had been another mind—not that of any of the creature's kind—powerful, overwhelmingly so, though Farree had only brushed lightly against it. Someone was on watch. He pulled himself to his feet, his wings compressed as tightly as he could hold them, and strove to look inward to the east—toward the tower which was only the faintest of shadows in the swiftly fallen darkness. Were there any windows on this side? He could not remember. His mouth was dry, and he felt his hands sticky on the heavy branches he had pulled into place before him. This was fear again, perhaps the stronger because the object from which it spread was unknown. He forced the barrier of mind nothingness on himself and waited—for what he could not tell.
Time passed. The throb he had fully expected to feel did not come. Still he dared not try such a search again. Togger– he longed fiercely for the smux. They had played games before, those which took the two of them for the playing. Still he waited for an assault, although there had been no light in the tower, no sign that anything but the creature was there.
At last Farree settled down once again in his leaf nest. His only defense could be to keep strictly away from any more such experiments. Scent from newly opened night flowers was heavy and there were insects in plenty which gathered around each of the large blooms now giving off a pale glow.
Glamorie—that strange word which Zoror had used. Farree thought he detected a new softness in the night air, a kind of defense against the harshness of the stone which walled in this place. Slowly he studied what lay around him, half expecting to see some change strike this spot.
His initial wariness was fading and with a start he recognized what danger might lie in that. He might be under the edge of some control which had not alerted him as it came. He loosed the mind send because he had to know—
He could sense the small lives of the garden, and there was no fear, no uneasiness in those. If something was striving to move him now, it was narrow-beamed to touch him alone. He looked up once more, sweeping aside a flower-studded branch to try and see again the tallest tower, for he was sure that all he sensed as intelligence must be located there.
Then he saw a round coin of blue, the same blue as had marked that beam which had swept the bird from the sky. This was not fixed, for, even as he watched, it swung a little to the right. Not an eye in reality, of course, it was too large. But that it performed for someone that function, yes, of that he was sure.
Now it had circled so far to the right that he could sight only the edge of it. Again it must have moved on for there was nothing suddenly. Could he, during the time it might be turned away, wing to the west and away? It might be possible but to him at that moment the chance was too thin. Instead he watched as now the eye appeared to his left and moved on until once more he could see the disc in its entirety. Then it did not shift any longer but remained fixed in the blackness of the night sky.
That it could look down to where he hid well below its level was another thing he could only guess at. Any moment he expected to be caught in some unknown trap. His presence here could have been sensed from the first moment that he had climbed out of the depths of the earth into that foul lower chamber. Surely he had been at least noted when he had taken wing out over the dead forest—
He had—What he had expected so long came—not with the force of a blow—but rather of a greeting. There was no danger—
Farree slipped out of his nest and reached the terrace before he took to wing—then as he arose above the scent of the night flowers a picture came full envisioned in his mind as to where he had been summoned. It was there—that landing place firm and square on a roof at the tall tower's base.
Furling wings again he went to a door which was a little ajar as if to greet him. He was only aware that there was need that he do this and as time passed that need grew more demanding. Once more he mounted stairs that wound around within the tower, the treads just wide enough to give him foot room, his furled wings brushing against each wall.
He hurried faster, a kind of breathlessness plaguing him. The need—he was needed! Time was so short—
Time for what? queried a deep-buried part of his mind. He was unconscious of the desire for any answer.
Light spilled down the last part of the stair—not the red-yellow of flame nor the glow from ship's walls, nor any other he could call to mind. Blue—as the watching eye. He stepped out into the room which must form the whole of the tower at top level.
She sat there in a chair of brilliant crystal which caught and reflected the light until it seemed that her resting place was formed of gems. Her full sleeves had fallen back from hands which were together so that her forefingers touched her lips, the arms braced with elbows on the arms of the chair.
Farree's wings trembled, half spread. He stared and met her stare eye to eye. She was certainly as tall as Maelen, and she wore no wings. Hair, which in this light was palely blue, must be really silver, fine spun. It lay loose on her shoulders, rippling down until it formed a shoulder cape above her robe.
Jewels as brilliant as the flashing throne on which she sat glittered here and there among the strands as if they had been threaded on her hair itself. And there was a device on the breast of her robe—wide wings of glitter outspread.
Farree stared. One hand went uncertainly to his head where the pain once more built up swiftly. His sight clouded and his other hand went out in protest.
"So—the wheel has indeed turned." The words dripped through the pain into him. "What went down to defeat in darkness struggles to arise again. But not wholly, is that not so, small one? Fragon's seal is not easily broken. Tell me now—who am I?"
Farree's mouth felt as dry as if it had been scrubbed with desert sand. He whispered:
"Selrena—"
She moved her hands so that those forefingers no longer stayed at lip level but pointed straight at him as if to impale his body on their pointed nails.
"So—" She nodded and the jewels spun into her hair danced to dazzle him. But the pain was lessening, and he could see her clearly once more. "And what am I, little one?"
For that he had no answer. The wall within his head was as intact as ever.
"I—I do not know."
She did not frown but he sensed a momentary impatience in her.
"Fragon!" She spat that word and then appeared to school herself into patience. "At least you are Langrone. Look!"
So impetuous was that command, the pointing of her finger, that he immediately stared floorward to see that between them was a circle of the blue shining surface. The eye—but—?
She appeared to catch his thought. "Eye? Yes, it is something of an eye. However, we must make sure—"
He was invaded. There shot before and about him fleeting pictures. Once more he relived what he knew of his life. Then, feeling as if he had been caught up and sucked so that most of the strength in him was stolen, he stood again, swaying, at the edge of the blue disc.
Selrena had not moved out of her chair but she had placed her hands on its arms and for the first time there was real expression in her calm face.
"From off-world"—it was as if she mused to herself– "and those with you—What is planned can be changed when there are new strands for the weaving. Now—" There was the same force in her voice as had been in the command which had been given for that brief return to the past. "Look—reach—"
He went down on his knees, mainly because he could no longer stand erect, and he leaned over to stare down into the disc even as he had stared at her upon their meeting.
There was nothing to herald the scene which flashed instantly into sight. He was almost as much a part of what he saw as if he did stand in the control cabin of the ship. Zoror sat in the pilot's place, but Maelen and Vorlund were on their feet and now both their heads swung around and they looked in his direction, but their expressions were puzzled. There was another will uncoiling inside of him. Even as he had used the creature from the garden for a chance to seek out what might be of danger, so now he was being used in the same way.
Vorlund continued to look puzzled, but Maelen held up her hand and the fingers moved. Farree was shaken by a sense of surprise—that which was using him did not expect such a response. Beneath the surprise was now a thread of uncertainty.
Farree's mind sense was commandeered, thrust at Maelen, and flattened so against a wall. Then he was hurled against Vorlund and found entrance, but only momentarily. There came a wry twisting and he was once more outside. The Zacanthan then—
Again the defense was too much for him to hold.
"Farree!" Maelen had returned the sense. "Farree– where—" She did not complete that question.
Between his eyes and the disc a white hand passed, fingertips brushing the surface. The scene which had been so sharply clear was erased. Slowly he lifted his head to look again to Selrena. She was one of the Darda and they were always set to keep their own council. To them the winged ones were as children: this was another weight of knowledge from the past.
She was standing now, towering above him, no longer looking down but at a narrow opening in the wall to the west. Her lower lip was sucked in between her teeth, and a lesser person might have been thought to be in a state of indecision.
He felt as tired as if he had gone for days without any rest, and he had to fight to keep his eyes open.
"New one—with power!" Selrena said slowly. "And not come against us but—for you!" She swept her robe about her and went to a small table which stood a short distance away. Picking up a bowl which she cupped in the palm of one hand she shook into that the contents of two small boxes and added liquid from a tall bottle. In her two hands she tilted the bowl slowly from side to side and then brought it to Farree, stepping around the side of the disc.
"Drink!" she ordered sharply.
He found that he could do nothing else then but obey. The contents were thick but fluid, and the taste was tart, nearly fiery, so that he swallowed hurriedly to get it out of his mouth. Heat sped down his throat and suddenly he realized that the grim walls about had forced a chill not only on the room but into him so that he had been tense against it, whereas now he relaxed.
Selrena had reseated herself in the crystal chair and sat watching him with the expression of one striving to solve some problem. As he put aside the bowl she gestured again to the disc on the floor. He leaned forward a little, wondering if he were again to face his companions. The fatigue which had ridden him ever since he had come upward from the ways beneath had somehow vanished; neither did he feel as if he were under any compulsion. Perhaps this was more of Zoror's glamorie, but he had no desire to fight it.
"Who are these friends of yours?" She was direct and to the point.
Though she must have learned from her mind hold the major parts of his story Farree retold it again, partly by mind picture, partly in speech. Though he used the universal trade talk of the star lanes it would seem that she had no difficulty in understanding him any more than he found her words untranslatable.
When he talked of their adventures on Yiktor she stopped him several times, mainly to ask that he repeat something he had said concerning Maelen or those of the Thassa whom he had encountered.
"From whence did they come?" she again asked abruptly, "these who share thoughts not only with each other but also with the animals and other life of their present world?"
Farree shook his head. "I do not know—only that they are an old, old people who once lived in cities but who now travel over their world, having no true homes."
"Yet they have power." The hand resting on her knee clasped itself into a fist. "Now"—she switched to another subject—"tell me more of this Zacanthan—from whence did he come and why does he comb old legends? Does he hunt treasure as seems to be the goal of many races and species?"
"The Zacanthans hunt knowledge. In their own world they store all that they can learn—"
"For what reason?" she pushed him.
"I do not know, except that they find knowledge itself treasure. Sometimes they go off-world as Zoror has done– either to stay, as he does, on another world where many ships planet and where he can gather the news from many far places—or sometimes they explore ancient ruins to hunt there some clues as to who built them and when and why—"
"And it was this Zoror who told you of the People—who came with you seeking them—merely for the knowledge he could add to his gleanings? Or had he some other reason– perhaps to hunt for
the Doomland? Only death comes to those seeking there for any treasure. There are many stories of what can be discovered, but those are rightly distrusted. Death guards its own.
"However, that the People are still remembered and that someone seeks them"—again she was looking over Farree's head toward the wall of the round chamber—"that is something to think on."
"He does not hunt treasure—" Farree began and she laughed, though there was nothing but chill in that sound.
"No, he comes to return you to your kin. Is that his boast then?"
"He does not boast. Yes, he wished to follow the need which brought me here. And the Lady Maelen and her lord—they were of a like mind."
"A pretty tale." She laughed again. "So here you now sit in the hold which was once Fragon's and give me puzzles to be solved. I am always one needing answers, wingling. However, there is"—she tilted her head a fraction and eyed him intently—"this is just– Yes!" She brought her hands together with a clap of sound. "How better can you all play our purposes, wingling? Since you are here, be sure I shall make good use of you. Come—" She had arisen from her chair and beckoned. He got to his feet.
She waited for him to draw level with her and then laid one hand firmly on his shoulder, compelling him to walk with her. They were facing the wall when she halted to set her other hand to the stone. What she did there he could not tell, but a large portion of the wall fell outwards, providing a ledge open on three sides to the night.
Swiftly Selrena lifted the hand on his shoulder to touch his forehead between his eyes.
Farree lunged outward onto the platform. There had come a question—one only he could answer and that he must—now! His wings expanded and he leaped out and up into the night.
Chapter Fourteen
This was the same call which had drawn him earlier from the ship, and he could not do anything else but answer it. Under him the earth was dark; an evil greenish glimmer from the dead forest provided all the light except the very distant stars. No birds arose to fly with him or harass him during his flight. Farree tried to reach ahead, to pinpoint the source of the call but he could only learn that it lay to the west. While to the east—He thought fleetingly of the ship and those waiting for him there, but there was no way he could escape the urge which kept him flying directly away from what might be safety and help.
