hand, is stunted and undeveloped, a remnant, a vague genetic memory of an organ
long discarded in its evolution. Among the lefts, too, were, here and there,
tiny salamanders, they, too, white and blind. Like the lefts, They were, for
their size, long-bodied, were capable of long periods of dormancy and possessed
a slow metabolism, useful in an environment in which food is not plentiful.
Unlike the lefts they had long, stemlike legs. At first I had taken them for
lelts, skittering about the rafts, even to the fernlike filaments at the sides
of their head, but these filaments, in the case of the salamanders,
interestingly, are not vibration receptors but feather gills, an external gill
system. This system, common in the developing animal generally, is retained even
by the adult salamanders, who are, in this environment, permanently gilled. The
gills of the lelt are located at the lower sides of its jaw, not on the sides of
its head, as is common in open-water fish. The feather gills of the salamanders,
it seems, allow them to hunt the same areas as the lelts for the same prey, the
vibration effects of these organs being similar, without frightening them away,
thus disturbing the water and alerting possible prey. They often hunt the same
areas. Although this form of salamander possesses a lateral-line set of
vibration receptors, like the left, it lacks the craneal receptors and its
lateral-line receptors do not have the sensitivity of the lelt’s. Following the
left, not disturbing it, often helps the salamander find prey. On the other
hand, the salamander, by means of its legs and feet, can dislodge prey
inaccessible to the lelt. The length of the stemlike legs of the salamander,
incidentally, help it in stalking in the water. It takes little prey while
swimming freely. The long lees cause little water vibration. Further, they
enable the animal to move efficiently, covering large areas without considerable
metabolic cost. In a blind environment, where food is scarce, energy
conservation is essential. The long, narrow legs also lift the salamander’s head
and body from the floor, enabling it, with its sensors, to scan a greater area
for prey. The upright’ posture in men delivers a similar advantage, visually, in
increasing scanning range, this being useful not only in the location of prey,
but also, of course, in the recognition of dangers while remote, hopefully while
yet avoidable. But it was not the lelts nor the salamanders, which explained our
interest in the waters.
“There!” cried the man. “There it is again!” But then it was gone. I had not
seen it.
In the pits there is no light, save that which men bring there. Without light,
there cannot be photosynthesis. Without photosynthesis there cannot be the
reduction of carbon dioxide, the formation of sugar, the beginning of the food
chain. Ultimately, then, food is brought into the pits, generally in the form of
organic debris, from hundreds of sources, many Of them hundreds of miles
distant; this debris is carried by the fresh-water feeds, through minute faults
and fissures, and even porous rock, until it reaches the remains of the ancient
seas, now sunken far beneath the surface. On and in this debris, breaking it
down, are several varieties of bacteria. These bacteria are devoured by
protozoons and rotifers. These, in turn, become food for various flatworms and
numerous tiny-segmented creatures, such as isopods, which, in turn, serve as
food for small, blind, white crayfish, felts and salamanders.
These latter, however, do not stand at the top of the food chain. Sometimes one
picks up the lelts and salamanders in the cones. It was not these that had
excited the interest of the men.
“Is it the Old One?” asked one of the men.
“I cannot tell,” said another. The steersman stood ready with the lance.
“There!” cried one of the men, pointing.
I saw it then, moving in, slowly, then turning about. The lelts and salamanders
vanished, disappearing beneath the water. The thing disappeared. The waters were
calm.
“It’s gone,” said one of the men.
“Was it the Old One?” asked one of the men.
“I do not know,” said the steersman, with the lance. The Old One had not been
seen in the pit for more than a year.
“It is gone now,” said another of the men.
“Look!” I cried. This time it was close, surfacing not ten feet from the raft.
We saw the broad, blunt head, eyeless, white. Then it submerged, with a twist of
the long spine and tail.
The steersman was white. “It is the Old One,” he said. On the whitish back, near
the high dorsal fin, there was a long scar. Part of the dorsal fin itself was
rent, and scarred. These were lance marks.
“He has come back,” said one of the men.
The waters were still.
At the top of the food chain in the pits, a descendant, dark-adapted, of the
terrors of the ancient seas, stood the long-bodied, nine-gilled salt shark.
The waters were calm.
“Let us gather salt,” said a man.
“Wait,” said the steersman. “Watch.”
For more than a quarter of an Ahn we did nothing.
“It is gone,” said a man.
“We must make our quotas,” said one of the harvesters.
“Gather salt,” said the steersman.
Again we took our ropes and cones, and bent to the labor of dredging for salt.
“The lelts have not returned,’’ said the steersman to me.
“What does this mean?” I asked.
“That the Old One is still with us,” he said, looking at the dark waters. Then
he said, “Gather salt.” Again I flung out the rope and cone.
It was growing late.
The oil in the lamps, on the poles at the comers of the raft, grew low.
On the surface it would be dusk.
I wondered how one might escape from Klima. Even if one could secure water, it
did not seem one could, afoot, carry water sufficient to walk one’s way free of
the salt districts. And, even if one could traverse the many pasangs of desert
afoot, there would not be much likelihood, in the wilderness, of making one’s
way to Red Rock, or another oasis. Those at Klima, by intent of the free, their
masters, knew not the trails whereby their liberty might be achieved. I
remembered, too, the poor slave who had encountered the chain on its march to
Klima. He had been the subject of sport, then slain. None, it was said, had come
back from Klima.
I thought of Priest-Kings, and Others, the Kurii, and their wars. They seemed
remote.
It came very suddenly, from beneath the water, not more than five feet from me,
erupting upward. I saw the man screaming in the jaws. The head was more than a
yard in width, white pits where there might have been eyes. The raft tipped,
struck by its back, as it turned and, twisting, glided away into the darkness.
“Poles!” screamed the steersman. “Poles!” The poleman seized the poles, lowering
them into the water.
One of the lamps sputtered out.
I heard screaming now, far off, then silence. Because of the saline content of
the water the salt shark, when not hunting, often swims ha
lf-emerged from the
fluid. Its gills, like those of the lelt, are below and at the sides of his
jaws. This is a salt adaptation which conserves energy, which, otherwise, might
be constantly expended in maintaining an attitude in which oxygenation can
occur.
“I cannot touch the bottom,” cried one of the men, in misery. The raft had
drifted.
“Paddles,” cried the steersman, leaning on the sweep. The polemen seized up the
broad levers near the retaining vessels. Another of the lamps sputtered out.
Slowly the raft turned.
Only two lamps now burned.
“You others,” said the steersman, “take poles!” We did so. It was our hope that
the men with the paddles could move the raft sufficiently to bring it to a place
we could use the poles.
“It is gone now,” said one of the men with paddles.
“It is the Old One,” said the steersman. “It is dusk.” I then understood, from
his words, the meaning of the scarcity of food in the pit. When the hunting is
good, one hunts. One can return later to earlier kills, driving away scavenging
lelts. Further, I wondered at the salt shark, blind, living in total darkness.
Yet it hunted at dusk, and at dawn, driven apparently by ancient biological
rhythms. The long-bodied, ghostly creature, hunting in the black waters,
followed still the rhythms of its dark clock, set for its species a quarter of a
billion years ago in a vanished, distant, sunlit world.
“Make haste!” cried the steersman. “Make haste!”
The third lamp sputtered out. There was now but a single lamp burning, on the
port side, aft. Then it, too, sputtered out.
We were in darkness. Somewhere near, below us, or about us, moved the Old One.
We were in absolute darkness. There was no moonlight, not even starlight. In the
world in which we stood even a Kur would be blind. We stood waiting, alone, in
the world of the Old One.
When it came, it came swiftly, hurling itself upwards from the water. We, in the
darkness, felt the salt water drench us, heard the great body, more than twenty
feet long, fall back in the water.
Then, for a time, it was quiet again.
We heard the raft bumped, felt the movement in the wood. We then felt the body
of the Old One beneath the raft. The raft tipped, but fell back. We clung in the
darkness to the retaining vessels, the salt tubs. Twice more the raft tipped,
and fell back.
More than a quarter of an Ahn passed. We thought the Old One no longer with us.
Then the raft, on the port side, seemed to dip into the water. A man cried out,
in horror, striking with a paddle. The heavy head slipped back into the water.
The Old One had placed his head on the raft, sensing in the darkness.
We drifted for more than an Ahn in silence, in the darkness. Then, suddenly,
hurling itself from the water, the great body, thrashing, fell across the raft,
twisting, the mighty tail flailing and snapping. I heard splintering wood, the
retaining vessels, the salt tubs, struck and shattered, flung bounding and
rolling from the frame. I heard men scream, sensed men struck yards from the
raft, heard them strike the water.
I threw myself on my stomach into the remains of the splintered frame, clutching
at torn wood.
There was screaming in the darkness. I beard more than one man taken. “I cannot
see!” cried one man.
Four more times the great body threw itself onto the raft, thrashing.
Once I felt it roll over my back, my body protected by the remains of the frame.
Its skin was not rough, abrasive, like that of free-water sharks, but slick,
coated with a bacterial slime. It slipped over me, not tearing me from the
frame. Though it touched me I could see nothing.
“Where are you?” I heard from the water.
“Here!” I cried. “Here is the raft!” I knelt on the raft. I did not know if I
were alone on it or not. “Here!” I cried. “Here! Here!”
“Help!” I heard. “Help!” I heard two men crawl onto the raft. One began
screaming. Another man crawled onto the raft and then, insanely, began to wander
about. “Stay down!” I cried. “Save yourselves!” he cried. He leaped into the
water. “Come back!” I cried. It is my supposition that it was his intention to
swim to the dock, more than four pasangs away. He did not turn back, even when I
warned him that his direction was false. “Poor fool,” said a voice. “Hassan!” I
cried. “It is I,” he said, near me.
“Help!” I heard. I felt for one of the raft poles, found it, and, extending it,
thrust it toward the voice. I pulled the man aboard. I tried to save a second
man, similarly, but he was taken from the pole, screaming, by the Old One.
I saw lights across the water, another raft, approaching. On its bow, lance
raised, I saw T’Zshal.
The two rafts gently struck one another. We boarded the other raft.
“There is another man in the water, somewhere,” I said to T’Zshal. “He swam that
way.”
“Fool,” said T’Zshal, “fool.” He looked upon us. “The Old One,” he said, not
asking.
The steersman nodded. He had lived.
“Let us go back,” said one of the polemen on T’Zshal’s raft.
T’Zshal regarded us. I and Hassan had survived, and the steersman, and the man I
had saved. I did not know if the man who had entered the water had survived or
not. I did not think his chances were good.
“Let us return now, swiftly to the docks,” said one of the men on T’Zshal’s
raft.
T’Zshal looked out over the dark waters. “The Old One has returned,” he said.
“And he has not forgotten his tricks.”
“Let us return swiftly to the dock,” said a man, insistently.
“A man of mine,” said T’Zshal, “remains in the water.” He indicated with his
hand the direction the men were to pole.
They moaned, but did not disobey the kennel master.
T’Zshal himself stood at the bow of the raft, the lance in one hand, in his
other a lantern, lifted.
An Ahn later he found the man. “Greetings,” said the fellow. “Greetings,” said
T’Zshal, drawing him from the water. “I have been swimming,” said the man.
“Yes,” said T’Zshal. T’Zshal put him on the planks of the raft. The man seemed
to have no recollection of the Old One, nor of what he was doing in the water.
He fell asleep.
“Return to the dock,” said T’Zshal.
The heavy raft turned, and began to move toward the docks.
Hassan and I looked at one another. We had decided that we would not kill
T’Zshal.
“Tomorrow,” said T’Zshal, “at dusk, I am returning to this area.”
“I shall accompany you,” I said. “And I, too,” said Hassan.
17 What Occurred in the Pit
I think there was no man on the raft that evening who bad not lost at least one
comrade, recently or long ago, to the Old One.
“We hunt the Old One,” T’Zshal had said. He bad visited various pits, some open,
some sheltered, the warehouses, the refining vats. “We hunt the Old One,” he had
said. And they bad followed him. Even in the shadow of Klima’s Keep itself, the
&
nbsp; squarish, stout, fortresslike building which houses the weaponry, domicile and
office of the Salt Master himself did we recruit our crew. On the height of the
keep I saw, tight in the bright, hot wind, under the merciless sun, defiant to
the pits and desert itself, the Rag of Klima, the whip and scimitar. None bad
been ordered; not one upon the raft had, under the uplifted whip coil, nor upon
the advice of unsheathed steel, been commanded. Many were older men, sober and
mature, many blackened by the sun. Each was slave, but each came not as a slave,
but came unbidden, as a man. “We hunt the Old One,” had said T’Zshal. He said
this in the pits, the warehouses, among the refining vats. “We hunt the Old
One,” he said. And men had followed him.
I think there was no man on the raft that evening who had not lost at least one
comrade, recently or long ago, to the Old One.
“Awaken me,” bad said T’Zshal, “when the lelts have gone.”
Far into the pit, distant from the salt docks, we slowed the raft, and steadied
it with the long poles, holding it as nearly as we could in place. He who bad
been steersman with us yesterday, during the attack of the Old One, held the
sweep that governed the movements of that open, sluggish platform which
constituted our vessel. Beside he, only Hassan, on the other side, and myself,
of yesterday’s crew, accompanied T’Zshal. At the comers of the raft burned four
lamps, mounted on poles. Torches, however, stood ready, to be lit from these,
and held over the water, should there be need.
“Awaken me when the lelts have gone,” had said T’Zshal. “I will sleep now.”
He had then lain down, behind the frame within which the salt tubs are stored,
aft, and had slept. Beside him lay the long lance, some nine feet in length.
“Will you not use poison on the blade?” had asked a man at the salt dock. No one
of those who accompanied T’Zshal had asked the question.
“No,” had said T’Zshal.
I wondered if he had once been of the Warriors.
I observed T’Zshal as he slept, the bearded head on one arm. I wondered why it
was that none killed him, to become kennel master in his place. How was it, he
holding the precarious sovereignty of our kennel, that he dared to sleep among
slaves, who might win his kaffiyeh and agal, though they were only rep-cloth, so
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