Two bearded things picked me up with stringy tentacles. I felt the sticky mucus on their boneless arms. They lifted me high and threw me to be caught by other gummy arms, and I was tossed on and on like a senseless plaything. Faster and faster they hurled me until I couldn't catch my breath—couldn't scream or struggle. Only pain let me know I was alive.
Each toss brought forth an outburst of the demonic laughter Jinell and I had heard as we came out of the forest.
These, then, were the wukna, the mountain spirits. They were once real people, Jinell had told me, but had been ruled by evil forces. Doomed to be ghouls, they wailed for the living to be brought to them so they could suck the blood and drain the human body dry. And they wouldn't stop until it was a shapeless nothing like themselves.
At last the bearded ones tired of their catch-and-toss game. They dropped me on the lava floor, and women things—more terrifying than the bearded men—bent over me. Their mouths opened to show translucent tongues all ridged and beaded like overgrown leeches. They must be the bloodsuckers.
Gasping for breath, I tried to lift myself to my feet. If I could escape the slimy tentacles and run to the ledge of the mountaintop, I would throw myself over. Instant death would be preferable to being sucked dry of life. But the thin mountain air took away my strength, and the freezing blasts of wind numbed me. My arms were like useless rags, my legs without feeling. The hideous women things cackled with delight as I strained to sit up.
Mucus from their jeering mouths dripped on me. Their flaccid arms carried me over the rim of a lava basin toward a patch of murky green water bordered by a frothy scum. Though rumblings in the mountain's heart broke out into thundering booms and the mountain shook, the arms that held me did not loosen their clutch.
Then, like the gush of a newly drilled well, the green water rose in a whirling column. It threw off a stench of rot and death, and my fight for breath became more desperate. I could only manage shallow gasps that did not seem to reach my lungs. Mocking laughter rose up around me.
Then, like an attacking beast, the ghoul who supported my head tore off my shirt. With a groan of pleasure, her ridged, leech mouth fastened onto my left arm. The others waited in turn.
I felt the gentle touch of a hand on my stomach. A faint whisper sounded in my ears. "Jinell," I said, though no word came from my lips. I dug my right hand into the pocket of my denims for the rough stone.
Unbearable cold wrapped about me and my mind went blank. But Jinell's voice came through the oblivion. "Inhale. The stone."
I dragged the stone from my pocket and inhaled. The stone flew from my hand and whistled through the air. Not a moment passed before the swooping claws and strong beak of the giant bird snatched me up—away from the clammy tentacles and the slobbering mouths—carrying me down toward the Akawai settlement and Jinell.
Faster than the wind the enormous hawk flew. As we whizzed over the clearing, I could hear singing and the rhythmic beat of Ekjojo's "leaves," and then the sound of the rushing currents of the Mazaruni River. I felt the waters rise to meet me, and was dropped on the mucky bank. At last, I could breathe.
Dizzy and barely able to see, I crawled away from the spitting water to dry land. The stretch of warm sand between the river and the forest was inviting. I stretched out to rest.
Whether I slept or lost consciousness I do not know, but the touch of a hand on my stomach awakened me. "Nan-cee, Nan-cee, where are you?"
"Here, Jinell. Here on the sand strip by the river. I can't walk." Again my words were uttered without a sound. "Close by—the cave of the water-papai. The call-stone. Blow."
I dug into my pocket. No stone. Nothing there. Had I lost it during the long flight from the mountaintop? Or had the evil magic of Ekjojo taken it from me? "Lost," I whispered. "Jinell, call-stone is lost."
I turned my head. From the great boulders beyond me, a shiny green head on a black-mottled neck protruded from a dark opening. It was an anaconda, a giant anaconda. Its iridescent green body—splotched with black—rippled as it slid over the sand. Alerted by my fall, the snake had left its cave to explore. Though the anaconda sees little and hears not at all, its fast-flicking tongue—its organ of smell and feeling—directed it toward the warm meat lying near the river . . . the warm meat that was me.
It was now halfway between the cave and where I lay. I could see its muscle segments grip the sand as it neared. I was paralyzed with terror. The lidless brilliant eyes of the monster fixed on me, and I felt myself sinking under its hypnotic stare.
Then I heard a strange hoarse whisper. "Nan-cee, water-papai draws near to kill. Throw sand in mouth."
No time was left—not a minute—before the gigantic snake would unhinge its jaws. Its saliva would ooze over my long pale hair and seep down to cover me. Its coils would squeeze out my breath, quickly changing me into a rag. I would be easy to swallow.
The terrible head hovered over me. Its mouth, with teeth slanting back to prevent its prey from escaping, opened like a great tunnel. Already a steel-strong coil twisted about my legs and tightened to encircle my hips. With my uninjured hand I scooped up sand and threw it at the flicking tongue.
A threatening roar came to my ears from far away. It was the roar of the Guyana jaguar, larger and heavier than any leopard, the sly ferocious king of the forest.
But threatening roars did not disturb the slow, methodical attack of the monster-snake. Like a shadow, the story of the Guyana boy swallowed by an anaconda just three days before crossed my mind. I, too, would be found within an anaconda, my body deteriorating in its digestive juices. . . . No sand stirred under the pads of the spotted gold jaguar as it leaped past my closing eyes. The big cat must have cleared the sandy stretch in a single bound, fastening its teeth on the back of the snake's head.
Almost at once the snake's jaws turned about and its coils released my hips and legs to attack the jaguar. Thrashing and flailing sand, the two huge beasts locked in their fight to the death. And though Jinell had told me that no killer of the wild has the tenacity and agility of the jaguar, el tigre, the raging snake tried again and again to coil its tail about it. But the jaguar did not pause for a second—its springing bounds were too quick for the snake's weak eyes to follow. And at last I heard the great cat's fangs tear into the neck bones of the anaconda. A shattering crunch—and the snake became a wriggling massive length beating upon the sand.
As the snake writhed and twisted in its dying struggles, the jaguar bounded away; then Jinell ran from the forest and leaped to my side. Her brown eyes held pity as she knelt and lifted me in her arms. Carrying me to the river's edge, she stooped to wet a cloth in the water. Tenderly she bathed my face and washed back the sand-laden hair from my eyes. Then she plunged my left arm, still oozing blood, deep into the fresh clear water of the river.
"Nan-cee! Open mouth, Nan-cee," she said, and from her jaguar sling she took a coconut shell to drip a cool liquid between my lips.
"Jinell. Oh, Jinell," I sobbed.
"Shush now. You are safe. We go home." As she bore me to the forest path, I saw the monstrous snake body of black and green lying motionless in the sand. "But Dad says the dead snake writhes until the sun sets," I said with wonder.
Jinell slowed her steps so I could look more closely.
There, beside the ugly head, were the two pompons of the mountain ghouls," she said, staring at the snake.
"Where is the jaguar?" I asked. Jinell put her hand on her heart.
"I am the jaguar spirit of the forest." From the sling she took a broad leaf with dark spots. "A kumala leaf," she said, holding it so I could see its strange markings. "I chew it to pulp and change into my Akwalu spirit—the spirit of el tigre."
Never had home looked so good, so wonderfully good to me. After a bowl of stew, and bread hot from the oven, Jinell sponged my exhausted body and put me to bed. Kumala leaves made the poultice for my injured left arm.
"Don't tell my father we went to see your people. Please, Jinell," I begged.
She passed her hand over my eyes, and I was lost in sleep. Whether she told Dad or not, I never knew. Dad asked no questions about our two days without him.
Jinell stayed with us only until her sister, also trained at the Waramadong Mission, came to our house to help Dad and me. And though my joy overflowed to know that Jinell again ruled her people as shaman, to bid her good-bye was heartbreaking.
Yet even today I can call, "Jinell, does all go well with you?" And always her red speak-pebble gives me the answer.
"My days pass in peace. My brother soon learns his shaman magic. Our hearts beat sweet songs for you."
The Night Creature
by RICHARD R. SMITH
When I was twelve, I visited my Uncle Ronald in the city as I had done for several years. Coming from a small town, each two-week visit was like a trip into another world—one of giant buildings, huge stores, art galleries, and new people—a series of adventures to be remembered until the following year.
Uncle Ronald was a tall, strong man with unruly brown hair that usually tumbled down over his forehead and a bushy mustache that nearly concealed his upper lip. He was a technician for a large company that developed and manufactured electronic equipment. Although he would have been considered eccentric by many people, Mom and Dad liked him very much and seldom found fault with his ways.
"Call me Ronald from now on," he said as we left the train station. "You're getting too old for that 'uncle' bit. And tonight, after you've rested, I have a special invention to show you."
I unpacked my suitcase, and as we ate dinner Ronald told me about some of the things he had been working on during the past year. We played a game of chess while he drank coffee and I sipped a cup of hot chocolate. The sun settled on the horizon and the city was rapidly growing dark. I could hardly wait until morning when Ronald and I were to visit the new Aquarama.
Ronald won the chess game—but not until after I had given him quite a battle. Feeling drowsy, I said, "What was the invention you wanted to show me?" I couldn't resist yawning, but felt embarrassed because it seemed impolite.
"In the workshop," Ronald said. He led the way to the back room of the apartment and once more I marveled at all the electronic equipment.
During past visits, Ronald had showed me many of his inventions. I had always been interested but had never been able to understand most of them.
"Have a seat." He waved at a chair. I sat and yawned again, feeling completely relaxed. Ronald's eyes were bright with excitement and pride as he said, "Don't be alarmed by what you see. Now . . . watch this." Standing perfectly still, he rose several feet from the floor. Close to the ceiling, he stretched into a prone position and drifted through the air as easily as a feather.
"Levitation," I said.
"Exactly." He smiled and returned to stand beside me.
"Can you levitate other objects?" I asked.
"No. But that may come later." He placed a helmet over my head and I noticed wires extending to a large machine with gauges. "Touch this lever," Ronald said. "Push it up. Feel the pressure? Nothing will happen . . . the machine is turned off. I just want you to get the feel of it."
The lever was a sliding kind that he had shown me during a previous visit, but this one traveled in a channel beside the numbers one to ten, and I could feel a tension against the lever.
"Would you like to be able to levitate?" "Yes!"
"When I turn the machine on, push the lever slowly. It's spring-loaded so it'll return to the 'off' position if you release it. You'll feel a tickling sensation. It may hurt. If it hurts too much, take your hand away." "What does the machine do?"
"It activates a certain portion of the brain. There is no danger. I've tested it thoroughly." He flipped a switch and the machine hummed with power. "Ready?" "Ready."
"Move the lever as high as you can. Six or seven may be your limit." I moved the lever up. . .. Two Three
A tickling sensation in my head. Four Five
Electricity . . . almost a pain . . . not quite . . . "The higher you move the lever, the more effective it will be," said Ronald.
I wanted it to work. Ronald was my only uncle. During the past years he had taken me on trips to places I could never have seen alone. I wanted to join him in this new adventure of levitation. Six Seven
A flame burning in my skull. . . Eight Nine
An inferno . . . Ten
"Gary!"
Ronald reached for my hand but I released the lever and it slid back to the 'off' position.
"I didn't think you could stand that much." He took the helmet from my head. "Are you all right?"
"Uh-huh." Strangely, I still felt relaxed.
"Can you stand up?"
I rose from the chair. "Imagine yourself rising from the floor ... as light as a balloon," Ronald said.
I expected failure on the first try. But the floor dropped beneath my feet! I bumped my head on the ceiling.
Ronald laughed. "Very good!"
We experimented an hour or so in the apartment, then he led the way to the roof. Patches of dark clouds scudded across the night sky.
Ronald pointed at the vault of stars and clouds above our heads. "Do you want to try it?"
I knew we could do it—up, up into the sky—as free as birds. . . .
"Hold my hand this first time," said Ronald. "There's nothing to worry about. You aren't afraid, are you?" "No!"
Feeling a little foolish, I held his hand as we ascended. The roof dropped beneath our feet. I had never been afraid of heights and now, as we rose, I felt an exhiliration I had never known before. Soon we could see the city stretched out far away in every direction, an expanse of shadowy buildings with glittering lights from windows and cars, neon signs, streetlights, and shimmering reflections of the moon.
We rose—up, up, up—through dark clouds into the world beyond. A sea of stars became our ceiling, and the earth far beneath, our floor. We drifted in a faint breeze. I laughed, reacting to the sheer joy of flying. Some distance so away, a large jet swooped toward the airport, its lights twinkling, landing beams bursting to life.
"Let's go down," said Ronald. "We can come up again tomorrow night."
We descended slowly and carefully. The clouds scurried not far below, and suddenly we saw the creature. It swirled from a cloud, dark and ominous, immense and powerful, moving toward us. . . .
Ronald drew an object from the sheath on his belt. I had been so engrossed in the novelty of flying that I hadn't noticed his weapon. The creature came closer as if to attack, and Ronald raised his arm, moonlight gleaming on the weapon. A thin blade of bright light suddenly stabbed through the darkness.
The creature vanished in a mass of clouds.
Early the next morning, I awoke to find Ronald sitting by my bed.
"How do you feel?"
"Great!" Last night I had felt exhausted by all the excitement and had tumbled into bed. Now I felt refreshed and filled with a million questions about levitation. "How long have you been doing that?" I asked, sitting up in bed, my heart beating faster as I recalled how good it had felt to float above the city.
"Since shortly after your visit last year. I want to ask you to promise not to tell anyone."
"Why?" I felt disappointed. It would have been terrific news to tell Mom and Dad. They had always been proud of Ronald; this invention would make them prouder. And what a way to show off at school! I could imagine floating higher than the rooftops, the kids staring and squealing in disbelief.
"It's a very extraordinary power," Ronald explained. "Some people can read minds . . . others claim to communicate with the dead . . . and a few can move objects with telekinetic energy. But so far, no one else has demonstrated a power of levitation."
"But. . . why would it be bad to tell people?" I knew that what he said was the truth. I had never heard of anyone levitating himself higher than a building. But I still didn't understand the need for secrecy.
"The world isn't ready for that kind of knowledge," sai
d Ronald. "Some governments might use it for the wrong purpose."
"Oh." Slowly I began to understand how the power could be used by one country against another—not to help mankind but as a weapon in war. "The creature we saw in the clouds . . . what was it?"
"I don't know."
"Have you seen it before?"
"A few times."
"It started toward us. Do you think it would have hurt us?"
Ronald frowned, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "I'm not sure if it could. Have you ever walked down a street and had a small dog come yapping or barking? Then, abruptly, if you start toward the dog, it runs away?"
I nodded that I understood. There was such a dog on a street not far from where I lived. It came barking at everyone who passed by, and ran whenever someone started toward it. The creature in the clouds had come toward us until Ronald drew the weapon and waved it threateningly.
"What kind of weapon did you use last night?" I asked. "It seemed more than a flashlight."
"I call it a knife-light," Ronald explained. "It focuses a narrow high-intensity beam with a considerable amount of heat. It frightens the creature. I'm not quite sure if it's afraid of the light or the heat."
"What kind of creature could it be?" I wondered aloud, remembering the huge, dark form.
"I'm not sure. I've never seen it during the daytime . . . and I've spent hours studying the sky with a telescope. It must hide during the day, appearing only at night."
"Nocturnal," I said, proud that I knew the word. "Like an owl."
"That's right. Owls prey at night. This creature could be similar."
Norton, Andre - Anthology Page 6
