The People of the Wind

by Poul Anderson

  “I’ve got to. Tabby, you and Holm — but it’s old Holm, of course, and a few other old men and Ythrians, who don’t care how many young die as long as they’re spared confessing their own stupid, senile willfulness—”

  “Stop. Please.”

  “I can’t. You’re mounting some crazy new plan you think’ll let your one little colony hold off all those stars. I say to the extent it works, it’ll be a disaster. Because it may prolong the fight, sharpen it — No, I can’t stand idly by and let you do that to yourself.”

  She halted. He did likewise. They peered at each other through the unrestful wan light. “Don’t worry,” she said. “We know what we’re about.”

  “Do you? What is your plan?”

  “I mustn’t tell you that, darling.”

  “No,” he said bitterly, “but you can let me lie awake nights, you can poison my days, with fear for you. Listen, I know a fair amount about war. And about the psychology of the Imperial high command. I could give, you a pretty good guess at how they’d react to whatever you tried.”

  Tabitha shook her head. She hoped he didn’t see her teeth catching her lip.

  “Tell me,” he insisted. “What harm can I do? And my advice — Or maybe you don’t propose anything too reckless. If I could be sure of that—”

  She could barely pronounce it: “Please. Please.”

  He laid hands on her shoulders. Moonlight fell into his eyes, making them blank pools. “If you love me, you will,” he said.

  She stood in the middle of the wind. I can’t lie to hinu Can I? But I can’t break my oath either. Can I?

  What Arinnian wanted me to tell him—

  But I’m not testing you, Phil, Phil. I’m… choosing the lesser evil… because you wouldn’t want your woman to break her oath, would you? I’m giving you what short-lived happiness I can, by an untruth that won’t make any difference to your behavior. Afterward, when you learn, I’ll kneel to ask your forgiveness.

  She was appalled to hear from her throat: “Do we have your parole?”

  “Not to use the information against you?” His voice checked for a fractional second. Waves hissed at his back. “Yes.”

  “Oh, no!” She reached for him. “I never meant—”

  “Well, you have my word, sweetheart mine.”

  In that case — she thought But no, I couldn’t tell him the truth before I’d consulted Arinnian, who’d be sure to say no, and anyhow Phil would be miserable, in terror for me and, yes, for his friends in their navy, whom honor would not let him try to warn.

  She clenched her fists, beneath the flapping, cloak, and said hurriedly: “Well, in fact it’s nothing fundamental. You know about Equatoria, the uninhabited continent. Nothing’s there except a few thinly scattered emplacements and a skeleton guard. They mostly sit in barracks, because that few trying to patrol that much territory is pointless. Chris has been worried.”

  “Hm, yes, I’ve overheard him mention it to you.”

  “He’s gotten his father to agree the defenses are inadequate. In particular, making a close study, they found the Scorpeluna tableland’s wjde open. Surrounding mountains, air turbulence, and so forth isolate it An enemy who concentrated on breaking through the orbital fortresses and coming down fast — as soon as he was below fifty kilometers, he’d be shielded from what few rays we can project, and he could doubtless handle what few missiles and aircraft we could send in time. Once on the ground, dug in — you savvy? Bridgehead. We want to strengthen the area. That’s all.”

  She stopped. Dizziness grabbed her. Did I talk on a single breath?

  “I see,” he responded after a while. “Thank you, dearest.”

  She came to him and. kissed him, tenderly because of his hurt mouth.

  Later that night the wind dropped, the clouds regathered, and rain fell, slow as tears. By dawn it was used up. Laura rose blindingly out of great waters, into utter blue, and every leaf and blade on the island was jeweled.

  Eyath left the crag whereon she had perched the last few hours, after she could breast the weather no more. She was cold, wet, stiff at first. But the air blew keen into nostrils and antlibranchs, blood awoke, soon muscles were athrob.

  Rising, rising, she thought, and lifted herself in huge upward spirals. The sea laughed but the island dreamed, and her only sound was the rush which quivered her pinions.

  At your death, Vodan, you too were a sun.

  Despair was gone, burned out by the straining of her wings, buffeted out by winds and washed out by rain, as he would have demanded of her. She knew the pain would be less quickly healed; but it was nothing she could not master. Already beneath it she felt the sorrow, like a hearthfire at which to warm her hands. Let a trace remain while she lived; let Vodan dwell on in her after she had come to care for another and give that later love his high-heartedness.

  She tilted about. From this height she saw more than one island, strewn across the mercury curve of the world. I don’t want to return yet. Arinnian can await me till… dusk? Hunger boiled in her. She had consumed a great deal of tissue. Bless the pangs, bless this need to hunt — bless the chance, ha!

  Far below, specks, a flock of pteropleuron left their reef and scattered in search of piscpids near the water surface. Eyath chose her prey, aimed and launched herself. When she drew the membranes across her eyes to ward them, the world blurred and dimmed somewhat; but she grew the more aware of a cloven sky streaming and whistling around her; claws which gripped the bend of either wing came alive to every shift of angle, speed, and power…

  Her body knew when to fold those wings and fall — when to open them again, brake in thunder, whip on upward — when and how her hands must strike. Her dagger was not needed. The reptiloid’s neck snapped at the sheer violence of that meeting…

  Vodan, you’d have joyed!

  Her burden was handicapping; not heavy, it had nonetheless required wide foils to upbear it. She settled on an offshore rock, butchered the meat and ate. Raw, it had a mild, almost humble flavor. Surf shouted and spouted around her.

  Afterward she flew inland, slowly now. She would seek the upper plantations and rest among trees and flowers, in sun-speckled shade; later she would go back aloft; and all the time she would remember Vodan. Since they had not been wedded, she could not lead his funeral dance; so today she would give him her own, their own.

  She skimmed low above an orchard. Water, steaming off leaves and ground, made small white mists across the green, beneath the sun. Upwelling currents stroked her. She drank the strong odors of living earth through antlibranchs as well as lungs, until they made her lightheaded and started a singing in her blood. Vodan, she dreamed, were you here beside me, we would flit off, none save us. We would find a place for you to hood me in your wings.

  It was as if he were. The beating that closed in from behind and above, the air suddenly full of maleness. Her mind spun. Am I about to faint? I’d better set down. She sloped unevenly and landed hard.

  Orange trees stood around, not tall nor closely spaced, but golden lanterns glowed mysteriously in the deeps of their leafage. The soil was newly weeded and cultivated, m bare to the sky. Its brown softness embraced her feet, damp, warmed by the sun that dazzled her. Light torrented down, musk and sweetness up, and roared.

  Pinions blotted out Laura for a moment. The other descended. She knew Draun.

  His crest stood stiff. Every quill around the grinning mouth said: I hoped I might find you like this, after what’s happened.

  “No,” she whimpered, and spread her wings to fly.

  Draun advanced stiffly over the ground, arms held wide and crook-fingered. “Beautiful, beautiful,” he hawked. “Khr-r-r-r.”

  Her wings slapped. The inrush of air brought strength, but not her own strength. It was a different force that shook her as she might shake a prey.

  “Vodan!” she yelled, and somehow flapped off the whirling earth. The lift was slow and clumsy. Draun reached up, hooked foot-claws around an alatan of hers; they
tumbled together.

  She scratched at his face and groped for her knife. He captured both wrists and hauled her against him. “You don’t really want that, you she,” his breath gusted in her ear. “Do you now?’ He brought her arms around his neck and he himself hugged her. Spread, his wings again shut out the sun, before their plumes came over her eyes.

  Her clasp held him close, her wings wrapped below his. She pressed her lids together so hard that dark was full of dancing formless lights. Vodan, passed somewhere amidst the noise, I’ll pretend he’s you.

  But Vodan would not have gone away afterward, leaving her clawed, bitten, and battered for Arinnian to find.

  Tabby was still asleep, Holm still looking for his poor friend, Draun lately departed with a remark about seeing if he couldn’t help, the retainers and fishers off on their various businesses. The compound lay quiet under the morning.

  Rochefort stole back into the bedroom. She was among the few women he’d known who looked good at this hour. The tall body, the brown skin were too firm to sag or puff; the short fair locks tangled in a way that begged his fingers to play games. She breathed deeply, steadily, no snoring though the lips were a little parted over the whiteness beneath. When he bent above her, through bars of light and shade cast by the blind, she had no smell of sourness, just of girl. He saw a trace of dried tears.

  His mouth twisted. The broken lip twinged less than his heart. She’d cried on his account, after they came home. “Of course you can’t tonight, darling,” she’d whispered leaning over him on an elbow and running the other hand down cheek and breast and flank. “With this trouble, and you pulled ninety different ways, and everything. You’d be damned callous if you could, how ’bout that? Don’t you cry. You don’t know how, you make it too rough on yourself. Wait till tomorrow or the next night, Phil, beloved. We’ve got a lifetime.”

  A large subdivision of my hell was that I couldn’t tell you why I was taking it so hard, he thought.

  I’d kiss you… but you might wake and — O all you saints, St. Joan who burned for her people, help me!

  The knowledge came that if he dithered too long, she would indeed wake. He gave himself a slow count of one hundred before he slipped back out.

  The roofs of the buildings, the peak beyond them, stood in impossible clarity against a sky which a-pair of distant wings shared with the sun. The softest greens and umbers shone no less than the most brilliant red. The air was drenched in fragrances of growth and of the sea which tumbled beyond the breakwater. No. This much beauty is unendurable. Rochefort walked fast from the area, onto a trail among the orchards. Soon it would join the main road to the landing field.

  I can’t succeed. Someone’ll be on guard; or I’ll be unable to get in; or something’ll happen and I’ll simply have been out for a stroll. No harm in looking, is there?

  Merely looking and returning for breakfast. No harm in that, except for letting her Avalonians be killed, maybe by millions, maybe including her — and, yes, my shipmates dying too — uselessly, for no reason whatsoever except pride — when maybe they can be saved. When maybe she’ll see that I did what I did to end the war quickly that she might live.

  The country lay hushed. Nobody had work on the plantations this time of year…

  The landing field was deserted. For as scanty traffic as St. Li got, automated ground control sufficed.

  The space flitter stood closed. Rochefort strangled on relief till he remembered: Could be against no more than weather. They have no worries about thieves here.

  How about curious children?

  If somebody comes along and sees me, I can explain I got worried about that. Tabby will believe me.

  He wheeled a portable ramp, used for unloading cargo carriers, to the sleek hull. Mounting, his boots went knock… knock… knock. The entrance was similar to kinds he had known and he found immediately a plate which must cover an exterior manual control. It was not secured, it slid easily aside, and behind was nothing keyed to any individual or signal, only a button. He pressed it. The outer valve purred open and a gangway came forth like a licking tongue.

  Father, show me your will. Rochefort stepped across and inside.

  The Ythrian vessel was quite similar to her Terran counterparts. No surprise, when you considered that the flying race learned spaceflight from man, and that on Avalon their craft must often carry humans. In the pilot room, seats and controls were adjustable for either species. The legends were in Planha, but Rochefort puzzled them out. After five minutes he knew he could lift and navigate this boat.

  He smote palm into fist, once. Then he buckled down to work.

  XVI

  Arinnian carried Eyath back to the compound on foot. His gravbelt wouldn’t safely raise them both and he left it behind. Twice she told him she could fly, or walk at any rate, but in such a weak whisper that he said, “No.” Otherwise they did not speak, after the few words she had coughed against his breast while he knelt to hold her.

  He couldn’t carry that mass long in his arms. Instead, she clung to him, keelbone alongside his back, foot-claws curved over his shoulders, hugging his waist, like a small Ythrian child except that he must help her against the heaviness of the planet by his clasp on her alatans. He had cut his shirt into rags to sponge her hurts with rainwater off the leaves, and into bandages to stop further bleeding. The injuries weren’t clinically serious, but it gave him something to use his knife on. Thus the warmth (the heat) and silk featheriness of her lay upon his skin; and the smell of her lovetime, like heavy perfume, was around him and in him.

  That’s the worst, he kept thinking. The conditional last for days — a couple of weeks, given reinforcement. If she encounters him again—

  Is she remorseful? How can she be, for a thing she couldn’t halt? She’s stunned, of course, harmed, dazed; but does she feel mortally befouled? Ought she to?

  Suddenly I don’t understand my galemate.

  He trudged on. There had been scant rest for him during his search. He ached, his mouth was dry, his brain seemed full of sand. The world was a path he had to walk, so-and-so many kilometers long, except that the kilometers kept stretching. This naturally thinned the path still more, until the world had no room left for anything but a row of betrayals. He tried to shut out consciousness of them by reciting a childish chant in his head for the benefit of his feet “You pick ’em up an’ lay ’em down. You pick ’em up—” But this made him too aware of feet, how they hurt, knees, how they shivered, arms, how they burned, and perforce he went back to the betrayals. Terra-Ythri. Ythri-Avalon. Tabitha-Rochef ort. Eyath-Draun, no, Draun-Eyath… Vodan-whatsername, that horrible creature in Centauri, yes, Quenna… Eyath-anybody, because right now she was anybody’s… no, a person had self-control, forethought, a person could stay chaste if not preserve that wind-virginity which had been hers… Those hands clasped on his belly, which had lain in his, had lately strained to pull Draun closer; that voice which had sung to him, and was now stilled, had moaned like the voice of any slut — Stop that! Stop, I say!

  Sight of the compound jarred him back to a sort of reality. No one seemed about. Luck. He’d get Eyath safely put away. Ythrian chemists had developed an aerosol which effectively nullified the pheromones, and doubtless some could be borrowed from a neighbor. It’d keep the local males from strutting and gawking outside her room, till she’d rested enough to fly with him to the boat and thence home to Stormgate.

  Tabitha’s house stood open. She must have heard his footsteps and breath, for she came to the door. “Hullo,” she called. “You found her?… Hoy!” She ran. He supposed once he would have appreciated the sight “She okay?”

  “No.” He plodded inside. The coolness and shade belonged to a different planet.

  Tabitha padded after. “This way,” she suggested. “My bed.”

  “No!” Arinnian stopped. He would have shrugged if he weren’t burdened. “Why not?”

  Eyath lay down, one wing folded under her, the other spread wide so the
pinions trailed onto the floor. The nictitating membranes made her appear blind. “Thank you.” She could barely be heard.

  “What happened?” Tabitha bent to see. The odor that a male Ythrian could catch across kilometers reached her, “Oh.” She straightened. Her jaw set. “Yeh.”

  Arinnian sought the bathroom, drank glass after glass of cold water, showered beneath the iciest of the needle-spray settings. That and a stimpill brought him back to alertness. Meanwhile Tabitha went in and out, fetching supplies for Eyath’s care.

  When they were both finished, they met in the living room. She put her lips close to his ear — he felt the tiny puffs of her words — to say very low: “I gave her a sedative. She’ll be asleep in a few minutes.”

  “Good,” he answered out of his hatred. “Where’s Draun?”

  Tabitha stepped back. The green gaze widened. “Why?”

  “Can’t you guess? Where is he?”

  “Why do you want Draun?”

  “To kill him.”

  You won’t!” she cried. “Chris, if it was him, they couldn’t help themselves. Neither could. You know that. Shock and grief brought on premature ovulation, and then he chanced by—”

  “He didn’t chance by, that slime,” Arinnian said. “Or if he did, he could’ve veered off from the first faint whiff he got, like any decent male. He most certainly didn’t have to brutalize her. Where is he?”

  Tabitha moved sidewise, in front of the phone. She had gone paler than when Draun mocked her. He shoved her out of his way. She resisted a moment, but while she was strong, she couldn’t match him.

  “At home, you’ve guessed,” Arinnian said. “A bunch of friends to hand, armed.”

  “To keep you from trying anything reckless, surely, surely,” Tabitha pleaded. “Chris, we’ve a war. He’s too important in the guard. We — If Phil were here you’d never — Must I go after a gun?”

  He sat down. “Your stud couldn’t prevent me calling from a different place,” he snapped. She recoiled. “Nor could your silly gun. Be quiet.”