Northwest Smith

by C. L. Moore

  After a long time he thought he felt a dim response, somewhere from far off. He called harder, eyes turned apprehensively toward the rosily pulsing flame in the shrine, wondering if this voiceless summoning might not impinge upon the entity there as tangibly as speech. But Yvala’s satiety must have been deep, and there was no changing in the blaze.

  The answer came clearer from the woods. He felt it pulling in toward him along the strong compulsion of his call as a fisherman feels a game fish yielding at last to the tug of his line. And presently among the leafy solitudes of the trees a little mist-wraith came gliding. It was a slinking thing, feline, savage, fearless. He could have sworn that for the briefest instant he saw the outlines of a panther stealing across the moss, misty, low-slung, turning upon him the wise black gaze of Yarol—exactly his friend’s black eyes, with no lessening in them of lost humanity. And something in that familiar gaze sent a little chill down his back. Could it be—could it possibly be that in Yarol the veneer of humanity was so thin over his savage cat-nature that even when it had been stripped away the look in his eyes was the same?

  Then the smoke-beast was hovering over the prone Venusian figure. It curled round Yarol’s shoulders for an instant; it faded and sank, and Yarol stirred on the moss. Smith turned him over with a shaking hand. The long Venusian lashes quivered, lifted. Black, sidelong eyes looked up into Smith’s pale gaze. And Smith in a gush of chilly uncertainty did not know if humanity had returned into his friend’s body or not, if it was a panther’s gaze looking up into his or if that thin layer of man-soul veiled it, for Yarol’s eyes had always looked like this.

  “Are—are you all right?” he asked in a breathless whisper.

  Yarol blinked dizzily once or twice, then grinned. A twinkle lighted up his black cat gaze. He nodded and made a little effort to rise. Smith helped him sit up. The Venusian was not a fraction so weak as the Earthman had been. After a little interval of hard breathing he struggled to his feet and helped Smith up, apprehension in his whole demeanor as he eyed the flame that pulsed in its white shrine. He jerked his head urgently.

  “Let’s get out of here!” his silent lips mouthed. And Smith in fervent agreement turned in the direction he indicated, hoping that Yarol knew where he was going. His own exhaustion was still too strong to permit him anything but acquiescence.

  They made their way through the woods, Yarol heading unerringly in a direct course toward the roadway they had left such a long time ago. After a while, when the flamehousing shrine had vanished among the trees behind them, the Venusian’s soft voice murmured, half to itself.

  “—wish, almost, you hadn’t called me back. Woods were so cool and still—remembering such splendid things— killing and killing—I wish—”

  The voice fell quiet again. But Smith, stumbling on beside his friend, understood. He knew why the woods seemed familiar to Yarol, so that he could head for the roadway unerringly. He knew why Yvala in her satiety had not even wakened at the withdrawal of Yarol’s humanity—it was so small a thing that the loss of it meant nothing. He gained a new insight in that moment into Venusian nature that he remembered until the day he died.

  Then there was a gap in the trees ahead, and Yarol’s shoulder was under his supportingly, and the road to safety shimmered in its tree-arched green gloom ahead.

  Song in a Minor Key

  Beneath him the clovered hill-slope was warm in the sun. Northwest Smith moved his shoulders against the earth and closed his eyes, breathing so deeply that the gun holstered upon his chest drew tight against its strap as he drank the fragrance of Earth and clover warm in the sun. Here in the hollow of the hills, willow-shaded, pillowed upon clover and the lap of Earth, he let his breath run out in a long sigh and drew one palm across the grass in a caress like a lover’s.

  He had been promising himself this moment for how long—how many months and years on alien worlds? He would not think of it now. He would not remember the dark spaceways or the red slag of Martian drylands or the pearlgray days on Venus when he had dreamed of the Earth that had outlawed him. So he lay, with his eyes closed and the sunlight drenching him through, no sound in his ears but the passage of a breeze through the grass and a creaking of some insect nearby—the violent, blood-smelling years behind him might never have been. Except for the gun pressed into his ribs between his chest and the clovered earth, he might be a boy again, years upon years ago, long before he had broken his first law or killed his first man.

  No one else alive now knew who that boy had been. Not even the all-knowing Patrol. Not even Venusian Yarol, who had been his closest friend for so many riotous years. No one would ever know—now. Not his name (which had not always been Smith) or his native land or the home that had bred him, or the first violent deed that had sent him down the devious paths which led here—here to the clover hollow in the hills of an Earth that had forbidden him ever to set foot again upon her soil.

  He unclasped the hands behind his head and rolled over to lay a scarred cheek on his arm, smiling to himself. Well, here was Earth beneath him. No longer a green star high in alien skies, but warm soil, new clover so near his face he could see all the little stems and trefoil leaves, moist earth granular at their roots. An ant ran by with waving antennae close beside his cheek. He closed his eyes and drew another deep breath. Better not even look; better to lie here like an animal, absorbing the sun and the feel of Earth blindly, wordlessly.

  Now he was not Northwest Smith, scarred outlaw of the spaceways. Now he was a boy again with all his life before him. There would be a white-columned house just over the hill, with shaded porches and white curtains blowing in the breeze and the sound of sweet, familiar voices indoors. There would be a girl with hair like poured honey hesitating just inside the door, lifting her eyes to him. Tears in the eyes. He lay very still, remembering.

  Curious how vividly it all came back, though the house had been ashes for nearly twenty years, and the girl—the girl…

  He rolled over violently, opening his eyes. No use remembering her. There had been that fatal flaw in him from the very first, he knew now. If he were the boy again knowing all he knew today, still the flaw would be there and sooner or later the same thing must have happened that had happened twenty years ago. He had been born for a wilder age, when man took what they wanted and held what they could without respect for law. Obedience was not in him, and so—

  As vividly as on that day it happened he felt the same old surge of anger and despair twenty years old now, felt the ray-gun bucking hard against his unaccustomed fist, heard the hiss of its deadly charge ravening into a face he hated. He could not be sorry, even now, for that first man he had killed. But in the smoke of that killing had gone up the columned house and the future he might have had, the boy himself— lost as Atlantis now—and the girl with the honey-colored hair and much, much else besides. It had to happen, he knew. He being the boy he was, it had to happen. Even if he could go back and start all over, the tale would be the same.

  And it was all long past now, anyhow; and nobody remembered any more at all, except himself. A man would be a fool to lie here thinking about it any longer.

  Smith grunted and sat up, shrugging the gun into place against his ribs.

  More from C.L. Moore

  Black God’s Kiss

  Originally published in the legendary magazine Weird Tales in 1934, C.L. Moore’s Jirel of Joiry is fantasy’s first true strong female protagonist, as well as one of the most striking and memorable characters to come out of the golden age of science fiction and fantasy. Published alongside landmark stories by H.P. Lovecraft and Robert E. Howard, the five classic stories included in this volume prove that C.L. Moore’s Jirel is a rival to Conan the Barbarian and Elric of Melnibone, making BLACK GOD’S KISS an essential addition to any fantasy library.

  Doomsday Morning

  In the wake of a nuclear war, the totalitarian system known as COMUS has restored order in a shattered America. COMUS controls every aspect of American life, from
communications to transportation to law enforcement, but cracks are beginning to show: rumors of a rebellion in California are brewing, and COMUS’ leadership is aging. History is at a crossroads, and the man who will decide the outcome is a washed-up actor named Howard Rohan.

  Leading a troupe of theatre players to perform in the heart of rebel territory, Howard’s true mission is to gather intelligence on a device which could bring down COMUS. But Rohan finds himself slipping between his roles as a double agent and supposed revolutionary sympathizer, to the point where even he isn’t sure where he stands. As America edges closer to its reckoning, Rohan will need to decide who he’s been lying to: the rebels, COMUS, or himself.

  Jirel of Joiry

  With her red hair flowing, her yellow eyes glinting like embers, and her face streaked with blood, Jirel is strong, fearless, and driven by honor. Her legendary debut, BLACK GOD’S KISS, begins as her castle, Joiry, is overrun by invaders, but knowing that this is one battle she cannot fight, she summons her courage and cunning and descends into the castle’s hidden reaches, where she crosses through a doorway into Hell itself…

  JIREL OF JOIRY collects the classic tales of blood and vengeance that secured C.L. Moore’s place among legendary authors of sword and sorcery like Robert E. Howard and Edgar Rice Burroughs. Originally published in the magazine Weird Tales, Moore’s fantastic tales of warriors, gods, and magic are defined by a fierce, romantic vision that helped define the genre, earning her the title of Grand Master for lifetime achievement by the World Fantasy Convention.

  Includes BLACK GOD’S KISS, BLACK GOD’S SHADOW, JIREL MEETS MAGIC, THE DARK LAND, and HELLSGARDE.

  Judgment Night

  JUDGMENT NIGHT is a classic space opera, a tour-de-force from the golden age of science fiction.

  The Lens of Death was the most destructive weapon in the history of the cosmos. Now it will decide the fate of the Lyonese, whose galactic empire is crumbling before the assaults of a new, younger race, the H’vani. The champion of the empire and its home-world of Ericon is the daughter of the Emperor, Juille: a tall, fierce Amazon who will not see her dynasty end. But Juille could never have foreseen the twist of fate that turns her mortal enemy, the godlike H’vani warrior known as Egide, into her lover. As their races clash, the two are locked in a swirling embrace of death and lust that might end in the destruction of their peoples, the galaxy, and one another.

  All will be decided on Judgment Night.

  Shambleau

  Praised by H.P. Lovecraft as a “magnificent” debut, C.L. Moore’s first story is still one of the most famous and enduring tales in science fiction.

  Passing through the streets of Lakkdarol, the newest human colony on Mars, Northwest Smith witnesses a bizarre sight: a young woman, clad in scarlet, being chased by a mob chanting “Shambleau! Shambleau!” As beautiful as she is frightened, Northwest shields her from death at the hands of the mob, but alone in his quarters, she reveals how she intends to thank him and what lies inside the closely wrapped turban on her head...

  One of the strangest, and surely one of the most imaginative stories ever written, SHAMBLEAU was hailed by readers, authors, and editors as the debut of a truly gifted writer during the golden age of science fiction.

  The Best of C.L. Moore

  C.L. Moore broke new ground as one of the first female authors of science fiction, and was an undisputed pioneer of the genre. This stunning collection brings together her most imaginative and groundbreaking stories.

  With a special introduction by Lester Del Rey, one of the founders of the modern sci-fi/fantasy genre, this anthology includes C.L. Moore’s best-known and most beloved tales, including:

  SHAMBLEAU, Moore’s bizarre, imaginative, and wildly acclaimed debut, featuring space outlaw Northwest Smith and his meeting on Mars with a strange young lady whose turban hides a terrifying secret…

  BLACK GOD’S KISS, the debut of Jirel of Joiry, one of the classic heroes of sword and sorcery and fantasy’s first true strong female protagonist. As cunning as she is fierce, Jirel descends into a nightmarish land beneath her castle to find the instruments of her revenge…

  THE BRIGHT ILLUSION, one man’s journey to a mind-bending, terrifying planet of blinding colors and impossible angles, filled with unutterable horrors and strange temptations…

  Filled with ten stories that evoke the enduring spirit of sci-fi and fantasy’s early days, THE BEST OF C.L. MOORE is a treasure that belongs on the shelf of any reader of speculative fiction.

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