The Best of Hal Clement

by Hal Clement

  “Very well. We’ll keep him warm, and quiet, and feed him if he awakens. But Marc, my own”—her hand reached out and gripped his arm, as firmly as any man’s hand ever gripped it—“you must find a way. You believe it can be found. I am not so sure, so you must do it—you must—he is all we have—” She let go and knelt beside Kyros again. Marc nodded.

  “I will. What I can do, I will.” He thought briefly, and spoke to the girl, who had been listening intently. “Elitha, have food ready at all times. We ourselves must eat, however little we want to, and the boy will need it when he awakens.” The girl silently set about obeying, though her eyes were as often on Kyros or Judith or Marc as on her work. Marc seated himself at a little distance from the others and thought. He never knew how many hours passed.

  He was brought back to awareness by Elitha’s voice.

  “You must sleep, Mistress. I will watch.”

  “I can’t leave him.” Judith’s voice was drowsy.

  “You need not leave him. I have brought your bed here. I will watch while you sleep, and call you if there is need.”

  Marc expected an argument, but the mother silently went to the blankets her maid had spread. That was a relief. He had been afraid to leave before, unsure of what Judith might need; while she slept, he could work. He made his way to the cavern where his materials lay, sat down before the workbench with the funnel and tube in front of him, and resumed his thinking.

  Elitha, as she well knew, had been right. Sleep is a necessity.

  He awoke abruptly, aware of two things. The girl’s voice was sounding in his ear and her hand pulled frantically at his shoulder; and the funnel was gone from the bench top.

  “Master! My lord! Come—come quickly!” He snapped to his feet, took one look at Elitha’s face, and preceded her to the main cave as fast as his still slightly numb muscles would carry him. He need not have hurried.

  Kyros lay as he had. Judith was crouched beside him; she neither spoke nor moved as Marc approached. The funnel of gold lay beside the child’s bare arm. The quill had been cut off at an angle, and its end was stained. A cut had been made inside the boy’s elbow at the same point where Marc had withdrawn his own blood for the test which had failed. The fang was not in sight.

  He picked up the cut quill. There was no blood in it, and no sign that there had been any. Blood would be of no use to Kyros now.

  For long minutes Marc and Elitha stood silent as the older woman. She seemed unaware of them; but at last she spoke. She uttered only three words, and Marc had no answer.

  “I did it.”

  Slowly she rose to her feet. Her husband tried to lay a hand on her shoulder, but she shook it off silently and disappeared into their sleeping cave.

  And the next noon, when Marc came back from the fourth grave, she had disappeared from there as well.

  The discovery cleared the numbness which had gripped him ever since seeing the body of his last child. He suddenly realized that there was still something to live for.

  “Elitha!” His voice sounded faintly in the garden, but the girl heard it and came running. As he heard her footsteps in the tunnel, he called, “When did you last see her?”

  “Not—not since she went to the sleeping room last night, sir,” the girl answered breathlessly. “What has happened?”

  “I don’t know. She’s not here.”

  “She is not in the garden, I am sure. I called her when you took the little one there, but there was no answer. I hoped she was asleep, and didn’t call again or look. Have you tried the workshop? Or she might have gone to wash.”

  “Not yet. You look in the workshop; I’ll go down to the river. Hurry!” He was back in minutes, to find Elitha waiting. The girl reported that there was no sign of Judith, but that one of the lamps was also gone.

  “Then she must have gone into the gardens of stone,” said Marc. “You wait here to help her if she comes back; I’ll search the way to the entrance first. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

  “But, sir—” Elitha started to speak, but paused.

  “Yes?” he asked impatiently. The girl hesitated a moment longer, as though gathering her courage.

  “I might have missed her if she went through the garden quietly. Maybe she went to—to the other place.”

  “What other place?”

  “The one you used to visit late at night.”

  “How do you know about that?”

  “I saw you, many times.” Marc wanted to ask further, but managed to bring his mind back to the immediate problem. “Did you ever tell her?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Then I don’t see how she could be there—she couldn’t know about it. I’ll search there if nothing else works, but the entryway is more likely. Wait.” He disappeared from the girl’s view into the passage that led through the “gardens of stone.”

  He traversed it at reckless speed, more alert for a glimmer of light ahead than for any of the dangers of the way. Time and again only a combination of subconscious memory and luck saved him from a bad fall. There were places where the floor was wet; these he examined eagerly for footprints, but he had found no trace of his wife when he reached the entrance.

  Here he sought carefully for the missing lamp, which would presumably have been left behind if Judith had gone outside, but there was no sign of it. He looked in and around the gully for footprints and other traces in the brush. He was not an experienced hunter or tracker—what little he knew was a relic of his early childhood—but when he had finished he was almost certain that Judith had not left the cave that way. When his mind was made up on this point, he instantly began to retrace his path to the living caves.

  Elitha had food waiting when he got there; she offered it to him in silence and he accepted it the same way, thinking furiously as he ate. Considering Judith’s state of mind when last seen, there was an all too likely explanation for her disappearance; but Marc preferred to consider possibilities which offered not only hope but a line of action.

  “I don’t see how she could have known of the other place, or why she should have gone there,” he said at length, “but I’ll have to look there, too.”

  “I have already looked there, sir. She is not there,” said Elitha quietly. Marc frowned.

  “How did you know where it was?”

  “I know most of the ground above, for a long way around the garden. The second night I saw you go, I followed—I will tell you why later. I saw you go to the other hole and climb down.”

  Angry as he was, Marc had control enough not to ask whether she had seen what he had done there; he kept to the problem of his wife’s disappearance.

  “Then she has simply gone out into the caves.”

  “I’m afraid so, sir. I should have watched her.”

  “Now you’re sounding like Judith herself. If anyone should have watched her, it should have been I. It is not important to fix blame; what we must do is find her.”

  “And if she does not wish to be found?”

  “She must be found anyway! Even if what happened to Kyros drove her to madness she must be found—she mourned each of the others, just as I did, but she recovered each time.”

  “But how will you find her? Even you do not know all these caves and passages. If she simply started walking with no plan, the gods alone know where she might be now. And if you did find her, how would you get her to come back if—”

  “I have persuaded her before. She will come back when I find her. Wait here, and keep food ready; I will come back to rest—I don’t say every day, because I won’t know when the days are over, but when I have to.” Elitha looked at him thoughtfully.

  “But I should help, Master. She should be found quickly, since she is without food; two of us can search more places before it is too late.” He pondered that point, and finally nodded.

  “Very well. You search the caverns closest to here. Mark your way, and start back while there is still enough oil in your lamp—”

  “I understand
, Master. I will not lose myself.”

  But the search could not be continuous. Food and sleep were necessities; oil had to be replenished—sometimes from the distant village. Elitha did this errand once so that Marc could keep on looking, but she was not able to carry nearly as much as he; more time was lost than gained. Marc made the trip thereafter.

  At the end of the first week, Marc was pointing out that there was water in the caves, so Judith could still be living. At the end of the second, his tune was, “At least she won’t be moving around now. We’re more likely to find her.” Elitha made no reply to either theory, even when the third week had passed and no sane person could have expected to find the woman alive. Marc, at this point, was not sane. The girl knew it, and spoke and acted accordingly.

  On the twenty-third day he came back from one of his searches to find her waiting. This was not too unusual, but the bowl of food she handed him did catch his attention.

  “Why did you take time to cook?” he asked. “Have you stopped searching?”

  “Yes, sir. Since yesterday. Finish your food and I will explain.” Somehow she dominated him as he had dominated Judith in similar circumstances, and he emptied the bowl, never taking his eyes from her face. When he had finished and set the bowl down, she took up one of the lamps.

  “Come, my lord.” He followed dumbly. She led the way along the tunnel to the garden for a short distance, and then turned off into a narrow passage to the right. Marc could see that the route was marked with soot, as they wound their way into a region which even he scarcely knew, close as it was to the home cave. He commented after a few minutes.

  “Did she leave this trail?”

  “No, sir. I marked it during my search yesterday. I had not come this way before.”

  “Then you found her?”

  “You will see. Follow.” He obeyed, and for half an hour the pair made their way through the unnoticed beauties of the cavern.

  At length the way opened into a space some fifty feet across. The girl stopped at its center.

  “Look,” she said, pointing to the floor.

  Marc saw a clay lamp at her feet. It was dry, and the wick had clearly been left to burn down as the oil disappeared. He looked down at it briefly, then turned to the girl.

  “You found this here?”

  “Yes. It had been left where you found it now.”

  “You mean she left it here when it went dry and just wandered off in the dark?”

  “No. I think it was burning when it was put down. Look again, Master.” She gestured toward the far side of the chamber, and led the way toward it.

  A pit, a dozen feet long and half as wide, lay before them. Elitha walked around one end of it to the wall on the farther side, where a cluster of finger-thin stalactites grew. She broke one of these off, and tossed it into the hole.

  There was silence for several heartbeats, then a clatter as it struck. This was repeated several times, and terminated in a sound which might have been a splash, though it was too faint for Marc to be certain.

  Elitha pointed to another broken stalactite, a few inches from the one she had used.

  “She could have used this to find whether—whether this was deep enough,” she said gently. She regretted for a moment being on the far side of the hole, but reflected that Marc liked to be sure before he acted. She was right.

  He stood looking down into the blackness for what seemed a long time, while the girl stayed where she was, almost without breathing. Then he turned and walked back to the place where the lamp had been set. Elitha took the opportunity to round the pit again, and followed him. She waited behind him while he stood looking at the empty lamp once more, wondering whether the heartbeats she could hear were her own or his. Then he turned and began to walk slowly but purposefully back toward the pit.

  She was in front of him instantly, barring his way. He stopped, and a faint smile crossed his face.

  “Don’t fear. You can find your way back,” he said softly.

  “I know I can. That’s not it, Master. You must come, too.”

  “Why? The only thing I had left in life is down there.” He nodded toward the pit.

  “No. There is something else.”

  He raised his eyebrows, Judith’s suggestion of a few weeks before crossing his mind. He chose his words carefully.

  “Can you say just what is left for me? My family is gone. My fight is lost.”

  “No!” she almost shouted. “You’re wrong! Your fight isn’t lost—it’s scarcely begun! Can’t you see? I can’t read or write—I haven’t her wisdom—but I can hear. I heard much of what you said to her, and I learned much from what I heard. I know what you are fighting, and I know that you have already learned more about that fight than any man alive. It is still your fight, even though your own children are lost.

  “My lord, I am a woman. I may never have children of my own, but I can speak for those who have or will. I know what your fight has cost—I know what you had to do in that other pit, where you had the child you stole from the village. I know why you couldn’t tell our lady what you had done or why it had failed, until the little one was hurt—”

  “I couldn’t even tell her then,” Marc cut in. “What I told her was not true. I did get my blood into that child, and my blood killed him. How could I tell her that?”

  Elitha’s eyes opened wide. “You mean one person’s blood kills another? That Kyros was killed by his own mother’s blood?”

  “No. He might have been—I can’t tell. But he wasn’t. I don’t know whether his mother’s blood would have helped or harmed him. He died before she had opened her own vein. She used the knife to go into his arm, then put the quill into the blood vessel she had opened; but she never put any of her own blood into the funnel. She must have seen he was gone before she could start. I don’t know what killed him; he may have been about to go anyway, or perhaps putting the empty funnel into his vein harmed him in some way I can’t imagine now. How can I learn the truth when so many things may be true? Maybe she was right—maybe the gods did curse us.”

  “Or her.”

  “No! No god that would curse a woman like Judith is worth a man’s worship.”

  “But a demon which would do so is worthy to be fought.”

  “That may be.” He pondered silently for a while. “But I don’t see how I can carry on the fight. Judith is gone, but even without her to help plan or—or hinder testing, I can’t work alone—I don’t know—I can’t think straight anymore—maybe she was right about not trying things on other people—”

  “She was wrong,” cut in Elitha. “She could not help feeling so, because she had children of her own. If I had children, I might be the same; but as it is, I can think of other women’s children, both now and in years to come. I loved your wife. I was her slave all my life that I can remember. I loved her children, though they were not mine; and because I loved children not my own, I can think of still others. I am not as wise as she was—”

  “I wonder,” he muttered inaudibly.

  “—but I am sure she was wrong and you were right about this. She could not think of your using other children, because she could think only of how she would feel if they were hers. You yourself could not use your own child. Now you would listen to her dead voice, and stop the struggle. Listen to mine, Master, and fight on—for the children and mothers of the years to come!”

  “You tell me to do what I have done—steal and kill children?”

  “I say what you once said to her. If you do not, this sickness will kill more.”

  “And you could bring yourself to help?”

  “Gladly. I saw your four sons die. I would do anything to stop that curse.”

  “But I can’t keep stealing children from this one village. Sooner or later our work would become known. Could you face what would happen then?”

  “If necessary, I could. But you need not stay here. Go back to the mountains where you were born—there must be many places where you could live and
work. If we are feared and hated, it will be worth it—though I think we can remain unknown if we move often enough.

  “You know I am right, Master. Leave her to sleep alone here, and come back to the fight.”

  The man nodded slowly, and spoke even more slowly.

  “Yes, you are right. And she was wrong. She thought the curse was her fault, and that Kyros’ injury and death were her fault, and could not forget it. I feel that her death was my fault—I didn’t tell her enough of the truth; but whether my fault or not, there is still the fight.” He looked down at the girl suddenly. “I even feel guilty for letting you join the work”—her eyes fell, and a faint smile crossed her face—“but I accept the blame. Come.”

  He stared to pick up the empty lamp, but she forestalled him. She took it, strode to the pit, and tossed it in. Heartbeats later its crash came back to them. After a moment he nodded, took the burning lamp, and led the way from the cave. Elitha, following in his shadow, allowed a momentary expression of relief to cross her features as she wiped oil from her fingers.

  Stuck with It

  I

  The light hurt his closed eyes, and he had a sensation of floating. At first, that was all his consciousness registered, and he could not turn his head to get more data. The pain in his eyes demanded some sort of action, however.

  He raised an arm to shade his face and discovered that he really was floating. Then, in spite of the stiffness of his neck, he began to move his head from side to side and saw enough to tell where he was. The glare which hurt even through the visor of his airsuit was from Ranta’s F5 sun; the water in which he was floating was that of the living room of Creak’s home.