The Murray Leinster Megapack

by Murray Leinster

  That night they hid among a group of giant puffballs, feasting on the loads of meat they had carried thus far with them. Burl watched them now without jealousy of their good spirits. He and Saya sat a little apart, happy to be near each other, speaking in low tones. After a time darkness fell, and the tribes-folk were shape­less bodies speaking in voices that grew drowsy and were silent. The black forms of the toadstool heads and huge puffballs were but darker against a dark sky.

  The nightly rain began to fall, drop-by-drop, drop-by-drop, upon the damp and humid earth. Only Burl remained awake for a little while, and his last waking thought was of pride, disinterested pride. He had the first reward of the ruler, gratification in. the greatness of his people.

  The red mushrooms had continued to show their glistening heads, though Burl thought they were less numerous than in the territory from which the tribe had fled. All along the route now to the right, now to the left, they had burst and sent their masses of deadly dust into the air.

  Many times the tribes-folk had been forced to make a detour to avoid a slowly spreading cloud of death-dealing spores. Once or twice their escapes had been nar­row indeed, but so far there had been no deaths.

  Burl had observed that the mushrooms normally burst only in the daytime, and for a while had thought of causing his followers to do their journeying in the night. Only the obvious disadvantages of such a course—the difficulty of discovering food, and the prowling spiders that roamed in the darkness—had prevented him. The idea still stayed with him, however, and two days after the fight with the hunt­ing wasp he put it in practice.

  The tribe came to the top of a small rise in the ground. For an hour they had been marching and counter-marching to avoid the suddenly appearing clouds of dust. Once they had been nearly hemmed in, and only by mad sprinting did they escape when three of the dull red clouds seemed to flow together, closing three sides of a circle.

  They came to the little hillock and halted. Before them stretched a plain all of four miles wide, colored a brownish brick-red by masses of mushrooms. They had seen mushroom forests before, and knew of the dangers they presented, but there was none so deadly as the plain be­fore them. To right and left it stretched as far as the eye could see, but far away on its farther edge Burl caught a glimpse of flowing water.

  Over the plain itself a dull red haze seemed to float. It was nothing more or less than a cloud of the deadly spores, dispersed and indefinite, constantly re­plenished by the freshly bursting red mushrooms.

  While the people stood and watched a dozen thick columns of dust rose into the air from scattered points here and there upon the plain, settling slowly again, but leaving behind them enough of their fine­ly divided substance to keep the thin red haze over the whole plain in its original, deadly state.

  Burl had seen single red mushrooms be­fore, and even small thickets of two and three, but here was a plain of millions, literally millions upon millions of the malignant growths. Here was one fun­goid forest through whose aisles no mon­ster beetles stalked, and above whose shadowed depths no brightly colored but­terflies fluttered in joyous abandon. There were no loud-voiced crickets singing in its hiding-places, nor bodies of eagerly for­aging ants searching inquisitively for bits of food. It was a forest of death, still and silent, quiet and motionless save for the sullen columns of red dust that ever and again shot upward from the torn and ragged envelope of a bursting mushroom.

  Burl and his people watched in wonder­ment and dismay, but presently a high resolve came to Burl. The mushrooms never burst at night, and the deadly dust from a subsided cloud was not deadly in the morning. As a matter of fact the rain that fell every night made it no more than a sodden, thin film of reddish mud by daybreak, mud which dried and caked.

  Burl did not know what occurred, but knew the result. At night or in early morn­ing, the danger from the red mushrooms was slight. Therefore he would lead his people through the very jaws of death that night. He would lead them through the deadly aisles of this, the forest of malignant growths, the place of lurking an­nihilation.

  It was an act of desperation, and the resolution to carry it through left Burl in a state of mind that kept him from observ­ing one thing that would have ended all the struggles of his tribe at once. Perhaps a quarter-mile from the edge of the red forest three or four giant cabbages grew, thrusting their colossal leaves upward toward the sky.

  And on the cabbages a dozen lazy slugs fed leisurely, ignoring completely the red haze that was never far from them and sometimes covered them. Burl saw them, but the oddity of their immunity from the effects of the red dust did not strike him. He was fighting to keep his resolution intact. If he had only realized the sig­nificance of what he saw, however—

  The slugs were covered with a thick, soft fur. The tribes-people wore garments of that same material. The fur protected the slugs, and could have made the tribe im­mune to the deadly red dust if they had only known. The slugs breathed through a row of tiny holes upon their backs, as the mature insects breathed through holes upon the bottom of their abdomens, and the soft fur formed a mat of felt which ar­rested the fine particles of deadly dust, while allowing the pure air to pass through. It formed, in effect, a natural gas mask which the tribes-men should have adopted, but which they did not discover or invent.

  The remainder of that day they waited in a curious mixture of resolve and fear. The tribe was rapidly reaching a point where it would follow Burl over a thou­sand-foot cliff, and it needed some such blind confidence to make them prepare to go through the forest of the million deadly mushrooms.

  The waiting was a strain, but the actual journey was a nightmare. Burl knew that the toadstools did not burst of themselves during the night, but he knew that the beetle on which he had taken his involun­tary ride had crashed against one in the darkness, and that the fatal dust had poured out. He warned his people to be cautious, and led them down the slope of the hill through the blackness.

  For hours they stumbled on in utter darkness, with the pungent, acrid odor of the red growths constantly in their nos­trils. They put out their hands and touched the flabby, damp stalks of the monstrous things. They stumbled and staggered against the leathery skins of the malignant fungoids.

  Death was all about them. At no time during all the dark hours of the night was there a moment when they could not reach out their hands and touch a fungus growth that might burst at their touch and fill the air with poisonous dust, so that all of them would die in gasping, choking agony.

  And worst of all, before half an hour was past they had lost all sense of direc­tion, so that they stumbled on blindly through the utter blackness, not knowing whether they were headed toward the river that might be their salvation or were wan­dering hopelessly deeper and deeper into the silent depths of the forest of strangled things.

  When day came again and the mush­rooms sent their columns of fatal dust into the air would they gasp and fight for breath in the red haze that would float like a tenuous cloud above the forest? Would they breathe in flames of fire-like torment and die slowly, or would the red dust be merciful and slay them quickly?

  They felt their way like blind folk, de­void of hope and curiously unafraid. Only their hearts were like heavy, cold weights in their breasts, and they shouldered aside the swollen sacs of the red mushrooms with a singular apathy as they followed Burl slowly through the midst of death.

  Many times in their journeying they knew that dead creatures were near by—moths, perhaps, that had blundered into a distended growth which had burst upon the impact and killed the thing that had touched it.

  No busy insect scavengers ventured into this plain of silence to salvage the bodies, however. The red haze preserved the sanc­tuary of malignance inviolate. During the day no creature might hope to ap­proach its red aisles and dust-carpeted clearings, and at night the slow-dropping rain fell only upon the rounded heads of the mushrooms.

  In all the space of the forest, only the little band of hopeless peopl
e, plodding on behind Burl in the velvet blackness, callously rubbed shoulders with death in the form of the red and glistening mushrooms. Over all the dank expanse of the forest, the only sound was the dripping of the slow and sodden rainfall that began at nightfall and lasted until day came again.

  The sky began to grow faintly gray as the sun rose behind the banks of over­hanging clouds. Burl stopped short and uttered what was no more than a groan. He was in a little circular clearing, and the twisted, monstrous forms of the deadly mushrooms were all about. There was not yet enough light for colors to appear, and the hideous, almost obscene shapes of the loathsome growths on every side showed only as mocking, leering silhouettes as of malicious demons rejoicing at the coming doom of the gray-faced huddled tribe-folk.

  Burl stood still, drooping in discourage­ment upon his spear, the feathery moth’s antennae bound upon his forehead shad­owed darkly against the graying sky. Soon the mushrooms would begin to burst—

  Then, suddenly, he lifted his head, en­couragement and delight upon his fea­tures. He had heard the ripple of running water. His followers looked at him with dawning hope. Without a word, Burl began to run, and they followed him more slowly. His voice came back to them, in a shout of delight.

  Then they, too, broke into a jog-trot. In a moment they had emerged from the thick tangle of brownish red stalks and were upon the banks of a wide and swiftly running river, the same river whose gleam Burl had caught the day before from the farther side of the mushroom forest.

  Once before Burl had floated down a river upon a mushroom raft! Then his journey had been involuntary and unlooked for. He had been carried far from his tribe and far from Saya, and his heart had been filled with desolation.

  Now he viewed the swiftly running cur­rent with eager delight. He cast his eyes up and down the bank. Here and there the riverbank rose in a low bluff, and thick shelf-growths stretched out above the water.

  Burl was busy in an instant, stabbing the hard growths with his spear and striv­ing to wrench them free. The tribes-men stared at him, uncomprehending, but at an order from him they did likewise.

  Soon a dozen thick masses of firm, light fungus lay upon the shore where it shelved gently into the water. Burl began to ex­plain what they were to do, but one or two of the men dared remonstrate, say­ing humbly that they were afraid to part from him. If they might embark upon the same thing with him, they would be safe, but otherwise they were afraid.

  Burl cast an apprehensive glance at the sky. Day was coming rapidly on. Soon the red mushrooms would begin to shoot their columns of deadly dust into the air. This was no time to pause and deliberate. Then Saya spoke softly.

  Burl listened, and made a mighty sacri­fice. He took his gorgeous velvet cloak from his shoulders—it was made from the wing of a great moth—and tore it into a dozen long, irregular pieces, tearing it along the lines of the sinews that rein­forced it. He planted his spear upright in the largest piece of shelf-fungus and caused his followers to do likewise, then fastened the strips of sinew and velvet to his spear-shaft, and ordered them to do the same to the other spears.

  In a matter of minutes the dozen tiny rafts were bobbing on the water, clustered about the larger, central bit. Then, one by one, the tribes-folk took their places, and Burl shoved off.

  The agglomeration of un-seaworthy bits of shelf-fungus moved slowly out from the shore until the current caught it. Burl and Saya sat upon the central bit, with the other trustful but somewhat fright­ened pink-skinned people all about them. And, as they began to move between the mushroom-lined banks of the river and the mist of the night began to lift from its surface, far in the interior of the forest of the red fungoids a column of sullen red leaped into the air. The first of the malignant growths had cast its cargo of poisonous dust into the still humid at­mosphere.

  The cone-like column spread out and grew thin, but even after it had sunk into the earth, a reddish taint remained in the air about the place where it had been. The deadly red haze that hung all through the day over the red forest was in process of formation.

  But by that time the unstable fungus rafts were far down the river, bobbing and twirling in the current, with the wide-eyed people upon them gazing in wonderment at the shores as they glided by. The red mushrooms grew less numer­ous upon the banks. Other growths took their places. Molds and rusts covered the ground as grass had done in ages past. Toadstools showed their creamy rounded heads. Malformed things with swollen trunks and branches in strange mockery of the trees they had superseded made their appearance, and once the tribes-men saw the dark bulk of a hunting spider out­lined for a moment upon the bank.

  All the long day they rode upon the current, while the insect life that had been absent in the neighborhood of the forest of death made its appearance again. Bees once more droned overhead, and wasps and dragonflies. Four-inch mos­quitoes made their appearance, to be fought off by the tribes-folk with lusty blows, and glittering beetles and shining flies, whose bodies glittered with a metal­lic luster buzzed and flew above the water.

  Huge butterflies once more were seen, dancing above the steaming, festering earth in an apparent ecstasy from the mere fact of existence, and all the thou­sand and one forms of insect life that flew and crawled, and swam and dived, showed themselves to the tribes-men on the raft.

  Water beetles came lazily to the sur­face, to snap with sudden energy at mos­quitoes busily laying their eggs in the nearly stagnant water by the riverbanks. Burl pointed out to Saya, with some excite­ment, their silver breastplates that shone as they darted under the water again. And the shell-covered boats of a thousand caddis-worms floated in the eddies and back-waters of the stream. Water-boat­men and whirligigs—almost alone among insects in not having shared in the general increase of size—danced upon the oily waves.

  The day wore on as the shores flowed by. The tribes-folk ate of their burdens of mushroom and meat, and drank from the fresh water of the river. Then, when aft­ernoon came, the character of the country about the stream changed. The banks fell away, and the current slackened. The shores became indefinite, and the river merged into a swamp, a vast swamp from which a continual muttering came which the tribes-men heard for a long time be­fore they saw the swamp itself.

  The water seemed to turn dark, as black mud took the place of the clay that had formed its bed, and slowly, here and there, then more frequently, floating green things that were stationary, and did not move with the current, appeared. They were the leaves of water lilies, that had re­mained with the giant cabbages and a very few other plants in the midst of a fungoid world. The green leaves were twelve feet across, and any one of them would have floated the whole of Burl’s tribe.

  Presently they grew numerous so that the channel was made narrow, and the mushroom rafts passed between rows of the great leaves, with here and there a colossal, waxen blossom in which three men might have hidden, and which ex­haled an almost overpowering fragrance into the air.

  And the muttering that had been heard far away grew in volume to an intermit­tent, incredibly deep bass roar. It seemed to come from the banks on either side, and actually was the discordant croaking of the giant frogs, grown to eight feet in length, which lived and loved in the huge swamp, above which golden butter­flies danced in ecstasy, and which the transcendently beautiful blossoms of the water lilies filled with fragrance.

  The swamp was a place of riotous life. The green bodies of the colossal frogs-perched upon the banks in strange im­mobility and only opening their huge mouths to emit their thunderous croakings blended queerly with the vivid color of the water-lily leaves. Dragonflies flut­tered in their swift and angular flight above the black and reeking mud. Green-bottles and blue-bottles and a hundred other species of flies buzzed busily in the misty air, now and then falling prey to the licking tongues of the frogs.

  Bees droned overhead in flight less preoccupied and worried than elsewhere, flitting from blossom to blossom of the tremendous water-lilies, loading their crops with
honey and the bristles of their legs with yellow pollen.

  Everywhere over the mushroom-covered world the air was never quite free from mist, and the steaming exhalations of the pools, but here in the swamp the atmos­phere was so heavily laden with moisture that the bodies of the tribes-folk were covered with glistening droplets, while the wide, flat water-lily leaves glittered like platters of jewels from the “steam” that had condensed upon their upper sur­faces.

  The air was full of shining bodies and iridescent wings. Myrids of tiny midges—no more than three or four inches across their wings—danced above the slow-flow­ing water. And butterflies of every im­aginable shade and color, from the most delicate lavender to the most vivid car­mine, danced and fluttered, alighting upon the white water-lilies to sip daintily of their nectar, skimming the surface of the water, enamored of their brightly tinted reflections.

  And the pink-skinned tribes-folk, float­ing through this fairy-land on their mushroom rafts, gazed with wide eyes at the beauty about them, and drew in great breaths of the intoxicating fragrance of the great white flowers that floated like elfin boats upon the dark water.

  CHAPTER V

  OUT OF BONDAGE

  The mist was heavy and thick, and through it the flying creatures darted upon their innumerable busi­nesses, visible for an instant in all their colorful beauty, then melting slowly into indefiniteness as they sped away. The tribes-folk on the clustered rafts watched them as they darted overhead, and for hours the little squadron of fungoid ves­sels floated slowly through the central channel of the marsh.

  The river had split into innumerable currents which meandered purposefully through the glistening black mud of the swamp, but after a long time they seemed to reassemble, and Burl could see what had caused the vast morass.