by M. A. Foster
The eratzenasters moved about beyond the perimeter of the temporary camp, looking for suitable places to settle, and folded to the ground, one by one, resembling irregular, long rocky outcrops. The large beast Tenguft rode continued to walk on its unseen limbs, slowly and carefully, into the camp. As it came closer, Meure began to see just how large a large one might be, and what an odd form it had; it was about thirty meters long, with the larger rear pair of wings extending outwards less than half that, although they were not fully extended now for flight. As it moved on the ground, the whole body flexed somewhat, as if the whole of the creature were partially rigid. At the ends of the wings, at the points, were stubby, clawed appendages, whose function Meure could not fathom. On its walking legs the spine rode higher than the height of a man, even a Haydar, and the wings drooped almost to the ground.
Meure felt lightheaded, but he felt no fear. This one was obviously under control. He approached it, while the others stood respectfully back; save one Haydar, who came carrying a long robe for the rider of the eratzenaster.
It was almost complete night; details were difficult to make out. Meure looked closely, eyes straining; the front of the eratzenaster was just a front. It narrowed down to a bony point. No mouth, nose, nothing. Farther back, there were eyes, four of them that he could see, gleaming an oil black. Set in the middle of what he would have called a forehead was another eye, this one dull and with a suggestion of insect-like faceting. The creature now towered over him, turning slightly to perceive him; Meure felt an odd prickling on his skin, a vibration, and the faceted eye began pulsing, glowing with a deep red light from within. Meure felt heat on his face. The light faded, and facing him, the creature stopped. He was close enough to hear its breathing, a sighing, rushing noise emanating from somewhere under the wings; he could also smell its odor, an odd compound of something pungent, and also musty, like old fur. He felt the prickling on his skin again, and the eratzenaster folded itself to the ground, forward end first, followed by the rear. Settling, it arranged its wings as the others had done. Tenguft swung a long, slender leg over the spine of the beast and slid to the ground, where the hunter awaited her with her robe. This she tossed overhead with the minimum possible movement, and strode off to meet the other Haydars.
There was a stir beside him: Clellendol. The Ler youth said, softly, “A fearsome beast, that one.”
Meure thought a moment, and questioned, “Which?”
“A-ha. Very good, very sharp. And you are to be the innocent one, yet you ask me which . . . well, I answer, both, or either.”
Meure said, “I fear both, this horrible flying nightmare with my instincts, and she with my mind.”
“The former—that can be overcome, overridden, or utilized as a goad unto excellence; but the latter . . . we have spent much time overcoming instinctual fears, so much so that we have neglected the latter.”
“Yet what I fear about her is that she’s probably not the worse I will meet, here, on . . . Aceldama.”
“Do you know the word?”
“No. I am no student of arcana, ancient or modern.”
“It is from very ancient times. It means, so Morgin the Embasse tells me, ‘A place to bury strangers.’ Its usage is traditional; as are the words used to signify humans, or rather, beings of human origin.” The difference in Clellendol’s phrasing did not escape Meure. Clellendol continued, “They call all menlike creatures by the old word, ‘Klesh’; and humans that have managed to retain human ways they call ‘Ksenosi.’ Strangers. An ancient discipline is operative here, one both your and my people have sidestepped, avoided, not resolved.”
“Say on.”
“In the ancient times, humans, Starmanosi, the old people, entered an ecological niche on the homeworld in which they effectively had no competition. Therefore they competed among themselves at a certain critical population level. This is basic principles. At the time the Lermanosi came into being, we would have done the same, but we blunted the issue in two ways: we avoided competition with you by leaving the area....”
Here Meure interrupted, “Which postponed but did not solve.”
“Exactly. Translated the problem into a different arena, larger scale in both space and time. Within ourselves, we made the avoidance of internal competition a cult essential by incorporating it into our family structure, always striving to better systems to ingest socially the outlander, the stranger, the Ler from steadily farther away. You, in turn, borrowed in part from us and made homogenization of population one of your goals. And in both cases, these things have worked to greater or lesser degree. To the contrary, here, these mad klesh have not sidestepped the issue, but have leaped directly into it—and chosen the path of internal competition. Selfness, sense of self, here will be extremely strong, more than you or I have ever seen. That the Haydar did not mark us prey comes from that: no one here will assume ignorance of this basic tenet on our part. It is much as Flerdistar has said—they think our sense of self, our confidence, if you will, is too great to fear them, and without fear, there is no game. That we came on a starship, which they saw, is of no moment whatsoever. They know other creatures live in the universe, but they think it’s just like here on a larger scale: murder, mayhem, massacre, and the weak in selfness gather into masses.”
“Why do you tell me these things?”
“I will be candid. I mean no offense. You are an innocent. That is not a bad thing of itself. But you are also active, you move around, see things, peek into things, get involved. As here.” Here Clellendol gestured behind him toward the wagon. “Those two, the boy who came with you, and the slender girl; do you think either of them would walk here to see an eratzenaster up close? You know it’s virtually helpless on the ground, regardless of what it does when airborne. You can see it directly. But they wait in the same place they were left this morning. And the woman with whom you seem to have formed an association . . .”
“Seem to have is correct. We have had little together.”
“Just so. She is shocked, but you will recover and adapt. Mind, if she lives here fifty years, she won’t like it, but she’ll manage. That is her nature. But these three are not going to upset anything. You may. Before the landing. Flerdistar was the key member of this group; this was her project, her thesis, if you will. Now the thesis is unimportant.”
“I understand that.”
“I know you do. You are the only one who does. And the things you will do here are pivotal. You, sooner or later, are going to upset some balance point. I see it as my task to retard your entry into events beyond your capabilities.”
“You see this, Clellendol, and do not want the position for yourself?”
“It can’t be mine. This is, all appearances to the contrary, a Human planet, in the most ancient sense of the word. All the old demons are alive and well here, walking about naked and proud. I know many things—to what you would say a point beyond my age in years, but when it’s all said and done, I remain, after that, a Ler thief. I have no instincts for the job and I have no knowledge of the internal field. But you do. And are active enough to learn to use them. These people, these Haydars and these halfbreed embasses and their servants, and all the others, they are all innocent, too, in a sense. You and they fit each other.”
Meure said nothing. Clellendol let that sink in, and then added, “Of course, there is the matter of Flerdistar as well; there will have to be those who integrate her into their deeds despite herself. She, for all her disagreeable nature, is like yourself, an innocent activist, only she has purpose, and if unrestrained, could awaken things here I do not wish to see awakened.”
“Understandable, that. With her pursuit of history she will reawaken legend-memories of the Warriors. They are gone, but I would suppose to a klesh it would make little difference . . .”
“Although not the whole of it, that is enough for now. So, then: let us for the present associate and please listen to me.”
“So that I can be . . . retarded, until the m
oment for release?”
Clellendol spoke more sternly, “You are not an arrow, but a disturber of equilibriums. My wish is that we survive here.”
“Until the Ilini Visk comes?”
“You know little of the Spsom?”
“Very little. A little, from school. I have seen them, heard some tales. I know more of what I have seen.”
“Meure Schasny, I must enlighten you in this regard: the Spsom are possessed of an elaborate sense of humor, of which we see little. They find many things amusing, that we would find terrifying, or sorrowful. You may recall, back on the hill before the ship blew, that Vdhitz thought it was funny that Shchifr had set the power system to explode. Well, so it has been with the tale of the Ilini Visk.”
“In what way?”
“Flerdistar does not know them as well as she thinks she does. She knows the Spsom language well enough, but she knows very little about them. That is why I am here. I know, for example, that the Ilini Visk is a ghost ship from the Spsom past . . . all people have such legends, and humans are particularly rich in them, The Wandering Jew, The Flying Dutchman . . . Ilini Visk is such a vessel of legend among the Spsom. Vdhitz told Flerdistar that, and she had spread it to us all. What Vdhitz was actually saying . . .”
“. . . was that only ghosts heard us.”
“Was that only ghosts would come to rescue us. They heard us all right, but they won’t come. Those Spsom would think it humorous that Shchifr lost his ship against his own better judgment, all for the higher payment he’d get from a charter instead of tramping it around.”
It was completely dark, now, and Meure was certain that Clellendol could not see his face, but he was equally sure of what was showing on it. Marooned on Monsalvat. . . .
Clellendol said, “I think we’ll be rescued, despite all that. Spsom have their humor, but their civilization is older than ours, both Ler and Human put together. And they are not barbarians. My own feeling is that the warship will go down, for repairs, and come here. Less than a year. Maybe no more than a season. Moreover, I think Vdhitz knows it. It’s in character. He also knows I know. It’s his joke on Flerdistar and the perils of thinking you know more than you do.”
“Does she know?”
“No. Not yet. I am saving it for the proper moment. I suspect Vdhitz is also savoring punch lines as well and is waiting for the proper timing. As far as I am concerned, it can stay that way for the time. Now . . . let us join the others.” Clellendol looked to the small fire the Haydar had made, where tall shadows were beginning to stride back and forth, as if readying, preparing themselves. The Haydar seemed nervous, wishing for action, although none spoke a word, and their movements made no noise. Only one seemed to remain relatively still, one tall shape, graceful and slender, who stood facing the fire, directly opposite Meure and Clellendol, head bowed, her face deep in the shadows of her hood. Her hands fidgeted with what seemed to be a small bag made of leather.
There seemed to be more Haydar present now than had been gathered about the wagon during the day; they seemed to materialize out of the shadows. Meure thought they were the ones who had been gone through the day, but he did not speculate upon what they might have been doing. The Spsom were there, and their slave, and the Humans and Ler were also approaching the group about the fire, urged in part by Flerdistar and their desire not to be left alone on the plains of Ombur.
Flerdistar joined Meure and Clellendol, whispering excitedly, “The one who calls himself Morgin tells me that events have been so extraordinary today that they are going to call for a divination by the girl . . . what’s the more, they don’t care that we watch, which is something I wouldn’t expect in primitives.”
Clellendol commented, “Perhaps they’re not primitive. . . .”
The girl’s face clouded with a most unhappy expression and she answered, “Of course they are—the wildest sort of barbarians and anthropophages too!”
“On this planet, Human society is old, and was imposed upon the native life-forms. The Klesh were considered to have low potential for survival, yet they have survived, even prospered, after their own fashion, with no help from either of their would-be helpers. There is either something operant here which we don’t see yet, or can’t perceive, or there is a highly sophisticated system of order in force; perhaps all three.”
“I think you are reading data into random numbers.”
Clellendol responded mildly, conversationally, “You have been trained to realize the condition of the past through its shadows in the present; not the less have I been trained to be suspicious about that same present, to perceive traps and snares. Just so can I tell you that I know we have already set off several alarms and telltales during the course of the day and our landing here: an entity—whether creature, organization, or thing—has become aware of us and observes us. I have the suspicion that it may have known we were coming. This—if true—falls into patterns of risk-assumption I do not wish to follow yet.”
Flerdistar accepted the correction without retort, “Possible, possible, indeed. Talking to Morgin, I can sense something unnatural in their pasts.”
“An event?”
“No, a presence. The sense of it is . . . smeared out through time, that’s the way I’d say it. I’m only getting a little of it just yet, so I’ve had to allow for considerable error. That’s all I’d say now.”
“Remain alert, if you will, and share with me, as it was intended that we do.”
“So I will. Now hush; they are to begin their rite.”
The Haydars had ceased their pacing and settled into a loose circle about the small fire. Only the girl remained standing, still holding her head bowed, deep in thought, or trance. Meure also noticed, on the far side of the fire, that some non-Haydar had joined the tribal circle: Morgin and his party, and the Spsom.
The girl moved slowly around the fire, avoiding it while giving the impression that she was unaware of it, stopping before one Haydar who sat alone, separated from the others by a gap of respect.
Flerdistar whispered, barely audibly, “The girl now readies herself, and approaches the leader. Ringuid Coam Mallam. She will speak for the spirit world. This is a chancy time for us, for he will do what she says . . . Mallam has requested a divination, and he must abide by the oracle.”
The girl said something, to Mallam, but Meure couldn’t make out the words. An introduction, a preamble?
Flerdistar continued. “Now she makes the invocation; she mentions certain divine beings known to her, and others, possibly demons, or revered persons from the past. And at the end, she invokes a St. Zermille . . . now she holds the bag up, now she lowers it, and dumps it before Mallam, so that he may see the disposition of its contents . . . something white.”
Meure peered through the darkness, dazzled by the fire. What had fallen on the ground looked like bones.
“Now she speaks again . . . she enumerates the basic configurations, which Mallam knows as well as she. The objects are bones from the hand and fingers of a sacrifice, I think of one of their prey tribes . . . no. I hear it, now. The bones are of one of their people, her predecessor. Now she studies the positions. She points, and Mallam follows, agrees. They are to go on a hunt . . . tonight. The Spsom will accompany them; they are to be initiated. Under no circumstances must they leave this band, the Dagazaram. If they do, misfortune. Now she comes to the rest, and says as firmly that the others, which is us, must depart immediately, not to be harmed or hunted. Something about a talisman . . . I can’t make it out. Mallam concurs, and they discuss how to do it. The girl isn’t clear on this. Her reading only gives what to do, not how to accomplish it. Mallam presses her now. He wants to take us somewhere, a place I don’t know. She looks at the bones and says no. It’s not far enough. He mentions another place, Medlight. No. She is under some strain, now. She ventures a suggestion, another place I don’t know, something about flying. Mallam is angry, but controlled. It is resolved. She kneels to retrieve the bones, and the others stand . . . so
mething else is going to happen, something dark . . .”
Meure did not really wish to see anything dark, but he could not look away, either. Now the Haydar were getting to their feet, slowly, but still maintaining the loose circle. They were all staring intently at the girl, while she carefully retrieved the bones from their places. She finished, and sat back on her heels, as if exhausted, her head thrown back, her eyes closed. Then she seemed to come to herself again, and slowly got to her feet, carefully avoiding looking at any one of the surrounding group. They were all watching her intently as she replaced the bones in the little bag, and pulled the string. The divination was over.
Meure decided he’d seen enough, and slipped behind Clellendol and Flerdistar, to move to the place where the wagon had been left. He did not look at the fire, or the girl, or the tribe, but he could see out of the corner of his eyes that they were still standing motionless, silent. He moved through the dark, unseen. All eyes were on the circle.
He walked across the springy turf to the wagon, where the Sumpters were half-reclining in their harness, unconcerned. Meure wished to avoid the Sumpters, beasts who looked like men, or men who had become bestial. He didn’t know which. He stopped at the back of the wagon and looked out over the starlit plains rolling away to the east. Behind him, he could hear now fragments of conversation, motion. The firelight began to fade, as if it were being put out. He listened, despite his best intentions: nothing had happened. Meure breathed deeply. Now they were going to move again. Flying, Flerdistar had said. Probably a rattling fast run in the cart of Morgin, although it didn’t exactly look like it had been built for speed. . . .
He heard the Sumpters suddenly start, snorting, rattling their harness. The wagon moved a little, creaking against its hand-brake. There was a soft noise, and when he turned to look around the corner of Morgin’s wagon, he saw a darkness obscuring the dying fire, a tall, spare form approaching, one hand on the wagon’s edge to steady herself, and Meure Schasny felt his hair prickling along the back of his neck, and ice running in his heart. He stopped.
