Wyst: Alastor 1716

by Jack Vance

  “It seems a tremendous project.”

  “True, and quite beyond my understanding. But then I am Lemiel Swarkop, hireling, while Shubart is Grand Knight and Contractor, and there the matter rests.”

  Swarkop dowered the barge to the base of the causeway. Throwing open the cab door, he leaned out to inspect the countryside. The air was cold and still; Lake Neman lay flat as a black mirror. “The day will be fine,” declared Swarkop with a heartiness Jantiff refused to find infectious. “Trudging the Sych in the rain is not good sport. Good luck to you, then! Fifty miles to Balad: two days’ easy journey, unless you are delayed.”

  Jantiff’s ear discovered alarming overtones in the remark. “Why should I be delayed?”

  Swarkop shrugged. “I could lay forth a thousand ideas and still fall short of reality. Giampara[33] will dispose.”

  “Is there an inn along the way where I might rest the night?”

  Swarkop pointed to the shore of the lake. “Notice that tumble of milk-stone; it marks a grand resort of the ancient times, when lords and ladies dallied up and down the lake in barges with carved silver screens and velvet sails. Then there were inns along the road to Balad. Now you’ll find only a roadmender’s hut just past Gant Gap; use it at your own risk.”

  ‘“Risk’?” cried Jantiff. “Why should there be risk?”

  “The roadmenders sometimes set out traps to startle the witches. The witches sometimes leave hallucinations to startle the roadmenders. Build four blazing fires against the gaunch; lie down in the middle and you’ll be safe until morning. But keep the fires flaming high.”

  “What is a gaunch?” asked Jantiff, looking dubiously along the edge of the forest.

  ‘ “That question is often asked but never answered. The witches know but they say nothing, not even to each other.” Swarkop mused a moment. “I suggest that you put the matter out of your mind. You’ll know the gaunch when you meet him face to face. If you do not do so the matter becomes moot. Fire is said to be a deterrent, if it blazes higher than the creature cares to step, and there is my best advice.”

  Swarkop bundled up what remained of his provisions and thrust the pack upon Jantiff. “You’ll find plums, kakajous and boneybuttons along the way. But don’t steal so much as a turnip from the farmers: they’ll take you for a witch and hunt you down with their wurgles. Once again: good luck.” Swarkop backed into the cab and closed the door. The barge lifted and slid off across the lake.

  Jantiff watched until the barge disappeared into the distance. Swinging around, he scrutinized the edge of the forest but found only dark foliage and darker shadows. He squared his shoulders to the road and trudged off south toward Baled.

  Chapter 11

  Dawn, rising into the sky, projected Jantiff’s shadow along the road ahead of him; as in Arrabus the light seemed to shimmer with an over-saturation of color. In these middle latitudes half around the curve of Wyst, the effect if anything seemed emphasized, and Jantiff fancied that if he were to examine one of the light spatters, where a ray struck down through the foliage, he would find innumerable points of color, as if from ten million microscopic dew drops… He recalled his first wonder at the light and the stimulation it had worked on him; small benefit had he derived! In fact, to the contrary: his sketches and depictions had set in motion those events which were the source of all his troubles! And the end not yet in sight! At least from. Baled he could telephone the cursar, who would certainly provide him transportation back to Uncibal and safe access through Uncibal Space-port. And Jantiff, marching south at a brisk stride, began to take an interest in the landscape. When eventually he returned to Zeck, what wonderful tales he would be able to tell!

  The road led up a long slope through sprawling heavy-holed trees, then breasted a low ridge. Ahead lay forest and yet more forest: trees indigenous and exotic, some perhaps tracing a lineage back through the Gaean Reach, all the way to Old Earth itself! Jantiff’s imagination was stirred; he imagined himself arriving a Alpha Gaea Space-port on Earth, with fabulous cities and unimaginable antiquities awaiting his inspection! How much would it cost? Two or perhaps three thousand ozols. Where would he ever gain so much money? One way or another; nothing was impossible. First: a safe return to Zeck!

  Beguiling himself with fancies and prospects, Jantiff put miles behind him, walking with long steady strides. When Dwan reached its zenith, little more than halfway up the sky to the north, Jantiff halted beside a rivulet and ate a portion of his provisions. For the moment, at least, the forest seemed placid and devoid of menace. How far had he come? Ten miles at least… Fifty yards along the road a group of eight folk emerged from the forest. Jantiff tensed, then decided to sit quietly.

  Three of the folk were women in long gowns, and three were men, wearing black vests over pale green pantaloons; one was a child and another a stripling. All were blond; the child’s hair was flaxen. Upon spying Jantiff the group came to a wary halt, then, neither speaking nor making signals, they turned and went off along the road to the south, the stripling and the child bringing up the rear.

  Jantiff watched them go. From time to time the child looked back, whether or not by reason of instruction, Jantiff could not determine, since the child made no comment to its elders. They rounded a bend and were lost to view.

  Jantiff immediately jumped to his feet and went to that spot where the witches had emerged from the forest A few yards off the road he saw a tree burdened with plump purple fruit. Jantiff restrained himself. The witches might or might not have been eating the fruit; perhaps it carried a venom which must be dispelled by cooking or other treatment… Jantiff proceeded on his way, and at his previous gait, unconcerned whether or not he might overtake the witches. They had shown no hint of hostility, and surely, they could apprehend no threat from him. But when presently he commanded a view along the road the witches were nowhere to be seen.

  Jantiff ,walked steadily onward, his strides becoming slower and his legs beginning to ache as the afternoon waned. As Dwan angled low into the northwest the land heaved up ahead in a line of stony juts and retreating gullies. On a promontory overlooking the road the ruins of a great palace lay tumbled among a dozen black tzung trees: a dolorous place, thought Jantiff, no doubt a rendezvous for melancholy ghosts. He hastened past with all the speed his legs could provide: up a gulch where a small river bounded back and forth between rocks—Gant Gap, Jantiff decided. It was a place dark and cold; he was pleased to emerge upon a meadow.

  Dwan almost brushed the horizon. Jantiff looked in all directions for the shed Swarkop had mentioned, but no such structure could be seen. Lowering his head he set off once more along the road, as the last rays of Dwan-light played across the meadow. The road ,entered a new forest, and Jantiff hunched along in the gathering darkness, assured that he had passed the shed by.

  A waft of smoke reached his nostrils: Jantiff stopped short, then walked slowly forward and presently saw a spark of firelight fifty yards ahead.

  Jantiff approached with great caution and looked out upon a small meadow. Here, in fact, was the shed: a crude structure set thirty yards back from the road. Around the fire sat eight folk: three men of widely disparate age; three women, equally various; a boy of four or five and a girl somewhat past her adolescence. These were evidently the folk Jantiff had seen earlier in the day: how had they arrived so soon? Jantiff could not fathom their speed; they clearly had been at rest for at least an hour. He studied them from the shadows. They seemed neither uncouth nor horrid, after the reputed witchling style; indeed they seemed quite ordinary. Jantiff recalled that their far ancestors were the nobility whose palaces lay shattered across the Weirdlands. All were blond, their hair ranging from flaxen through pale brown to dusty umber. The girl in particular seemed almost comely. A trick of the firelight? Perhaps one of her hallucinations or glamours?

  None spoke; all stared into the fire as if deep in meditation.

  Jantiff stepped forward. He attempted a hearty greeting, but achieved only a rather reed
y “Hallo!”

  The small boy troubled to turn his head; the others paid no heed.

  “Hallo there!” called Jantiff once more, and stepped forward. “May I join you at your fire?”

  Certain of the folk gave him a brief inspection; none spoke.

  Accepting the absence of active hostility as an invitation, Jantiff knelt down beside the blaze and warmed his hands. Once again he essayed conversation: “I’m on my way to Baled where hopefully I’ll take passage offplanet. I’m a stranger to Wyst, actually; my home is Zeck, out along the Fiamifer. I spent a few months in Uncibal but had quite enough of it. Too many people, too much confusion… I don’t know if you’ve ever visited there…” Jantiff’s voice dwindled off to silence; no one seemed to be listening. Odd conduct, to be sure! Well, if they preferred silence to conversation they were well within their rights. If these were truly witches, they might know mysterious means to communicate without sound. Jantiff felt a tingle of awe; covertly he inspected the group, first left, then right. Their garments, woven from bast and dyed variously green, pink or pale brown, were serviceable forest wear; in the place of hats the men wore kerchiefs, the women’s hair fell loosely over the ears. Each had gilded his or her fingernails so that they glinted in the firelight. Otherwise they displayed no ornaments, talismans or amulets. Whatever mysteries they controlled, their methods were not obtrusive. Apparently they had supped; a cooking pot rested upside down on a bench, and also a platter with fragments of skillet cake.

  Emboldened by the acceptance of his presence, Jantiff put forward: “I am very, hungry; I wonder if I might finish off the skillet cake?”

  No one seemed to care one way or another. Jantiff took a modest portion of the cake and ate with good appetite.

  The fire began to burn low; the girl rose to her feet and went to fetch logs. She was slender and graceful, so Jantiff noticed; he leapt to his feet and ran to assist her, and it seemed that her lips twitched in an almost imperceptible smile. None of the others paid any heed, save the small boy who watched rather sternly.

  Jantiff ate another piece of skillet cake, wondering meanwhile whether the group planned to sleep in the shed… The door was closed; perhaps they feared the roadmenders’ tricks.

  The fire glowed warm; the silence soothed; Jantiff’s eyelids drooped. He fell asleep.

  By slow and fitful degrees Jantiff awoke. He lay on the ground, cramped and cold; the fire had burnt down to embers. Jantiff peered through the darkness; no one was visible: the witches were gone.

  Jantiff sat up and hunched over the coals. A spatter of cold rain fell against his face. Laboriously he rose to his feet and stood swaying in the darkness. Shelter would be most welcome. Dubiously he considered the shed; it should be in yonder direction.

  Groping through the darkness, he found the plank walls, and sidled to the door. The latch moved under his hand; the door creaked ajar. Jantiff’s heart jerked at the sound, but no one, or nothing, seemed to notice. He listened. From inside the hut: silence. Neither breathing, nor movement, nor any of the sounds of sleep. Jantiff tried to step forward, but found that he could not do so: his body thought better of the idea.

  For a minute Jantiff stood wavering, every instant less disposed to enter the hut. There was something within, said a mid-region of his brain; it would seize him with a horrible babbling sound. So in his childhood had gone a remembered nightmare, perhaps, an anticipation of this very moment. Jantiff backed away from the door. He stumbled off to where he and the girl had gathered firewood, and presently found dead branches which he brought to the embers. After great effort he blew up the fire and finally achieved a heartening blaze. Warm once more he sat down, resolved to remain awake. He turned to look at the hut, now visible in the firelight. Through the open door nothing could be seen. Jantiff quickly averted his gaze, to avoid giving offense… His mind wandered; his eyes closed… A creaking sound brought him sharply awake, Someone had closed the door to the shed.

  Jantiff jerked up to his knees. Run! Take wild and instant flight! The hysterical animal within himself keened and raved… But run where? Off into the darkness?’ Jantiff fetched more wood and built up the fire, and no longer was he urged to sleep.

  A dank light seeped into the sky. The meadow took on substance. Beside the guttering fire Jantiff was like a figure carved from wood. He stirred up the fire, feeling ancient as the world itself, then rose stiffly to his feet and ate the last of his bread and meat. He turned a single incurious glance toward the shed, then trudged somberly away toward the south.

  Halfway through the morning the overcast lifted. Lambent Dwan-light burst down upon the landscape and Jantiff’s spirits lifted. Already the events of the previous night were sliding from his mind, like the episodes of a dream.

  The road crossed a river; Jantiff drank, bathed his face, and ate berries from a low-growing thicket. For ten minutes he rested, then once again went his way.

  Gradually the land altered. The forest thinned and sheered back from stony meadows. At noon Jantiff encountered a lane leading away to the right, and thereafter similar lanes left the road every mile or so. Jantiff walked across a wild stony land, grown over with coarse shrubs and land corals. To his left the forest continued into the southeast dark and heavy as ever.

  During the middle afternoon he came upon a farmstead of modestly prosperous appearance. A young man of his own age worked behind a fence whitewashing the trunks of young fruit trees. He stood erect at Jantiff’s approach, and came to the fence to secure a better view: a sturdy fellow with a narrow long-nosed face and sleek black hair tied in three tufts. Jantiff gave him a courteous greeting, then, not caring for the farmer’s expression of sardonic bewilderment, continued along his way.

  The farmer’s curiosity, however, was not to be denied. “Hola there! Hold up a minute!”

  Jantiff paused. “Are you addressing me?”

  “Naturally. Is anyone else present?”

  “I believe not.”

  “Well, then! You’re not of these parts certainly.”

  “True,” said Jantiff coldly. “I am a visitor to Wyst. My home is Frayness on Zeck.”

  “I don’t know the place. Still I daresay there are millions of chinks and burrows about the Cluster of which I know nothing.”

  “No doubt this is the case.”

  “Well then—why are, you walking the Sych Road which leads nowhere but to Lake Neman?”

  “A friend flew me out from Uncibal and put me down at Lake Neman,” said Jantiff. “I walked the road from there.”

  “And what of the witches: did you see many? I am told a new tribe just moved over from the Haralumilet.”

  “I encountered a group of wandering folk, yes,” said Jantiff. “They troubled me not at all; in fact, they seemed quite courteous.”

  “So long as they forbore to feed you their tainted[34] food you’re in luck.”

  Jantiff managed a smile. “I am fastidious about such things, I assure you.”

  “And what will you do in these parts?”

  Jantiff had prepared an answer to such a question: “T am a student traveling on a research fellowship. I wanted to visit Blale before returning home.”

  The farmer gave a skeptical grunt. “You’ll find nothing here to study; we are quite ordinary folk. You might have studied to better effect at home.”

  “Possibly so.” Jantiff bowed stiffly. “Excuse me; I must be on my way.”

  “As you like, so long as you don’t wander into the orchard among my good damsons, whether to study or to meditate or just to stroll, because believe you’re there to pilfer, and I’ll loose Stanket on you.”

  “I have no intention of stealing your produce,” said Jantiff with dignity. “Good day to you.”

  He continued south where the road skirted the damson orchard; he noted clusters of fruit dangling almost within reach. He marched resolutely past, even though he was apparently not under observation.

  The land became settled. To the west spread cultivated lands: fa
rmstead after farmstead, with orchards and fields of cereal. To the east the forest thrust obdurately south, as heavy, tall and dense as ever. Jantiff presently saw ahead a cluster of ramshackle structures: the town Baled. To the right a group of warehouses and workshops indicated the site of the space-port. The field itself was barren of traffic.

  Jantiff urged his weary legs to a final effort and moved at his best speed.

  A slow full river swung in from the—east; the road veered close to the Sych. Jantiff, chancing to look off into the forest, stopped short, on legs suddenly numb. Twenty yards away, camouflaged by the light and shadow, three men in black vests and pale green pantaloons stood motionless and silent, like fabulous animals.

  Jantiff stared, his pulse pounding from the startlement; the three gazed gravely back, or perhaps beyond.

  Jantiff released his pent breath; then, thinking to recognize the men of the night before, he raised his hand in an uncertain salute. The three men, giving back no acknowledgment, continued to gaze at, or past, Jantiff, as before.

  Jantiff trudged wearily onward, away from the forest, across the river by an ancient iron bridge, and finally arrived at the outskirts of Baled.

  The road broadened to become an avenue fifty yards wide, running the length of the town. Here Jantiff halted, to look glumly this way and that. Balad was smaller and more primitive than he had anticipated: essentially nothing more than a wind-swept village on the dunes beside the Moaning Ocean. Small shops lined the south side or the main street. Opposite were a marketplace, a dilapidated hall, a clinic and dispensary, a great barn of a garage for the repair of farmers’ vehicles, and a pair of taverns: the Old Groar and the Cimmery.

  Lanes angled down to the river, where half a dozen fishing boats were moored. Cottages flanked the lanes and overlooked the river which, a half-mile after leaving Baled, became a shallow estuary and so entered the ocean. A few pale dark-haired children played in the lanes; half a dozen wheeled vehicles and a pair of ground-hoppers were parked beside the Old Groar and as many near the Cimmery.