The Jack Vance Treasury

by Jack Vance

  The flaming rag fell into leaves. A crackle, fire blazed and sprang. The car now floated at a height of five hundred feet. Salazar poured over the remaining spirits, dropped the demijohns, guided the car back over the heath, and fumbling nervously with the controls dropped the car in a series of swoops back to the moss.

  Lord Faide sprang forward, clapped him on the shoulder. “Excellently done! The forest blazes like tinder!”

  The men of Faide Keep stood back, rejoicing to see the flames soar and lick. The First Folk scurried back from the heat, waving their arms; foam of a peculiar purple color issued from their vents as they ran, small useless puffs discharged as if by accident or through excitement. The flames ate through first the forest, then spread into the new planting, leaping through the leaves.

  “Prepare to march!” called Lord Faide. “We pass directly behind the flames, before the First Folk return.”

  Off in the forest the First Folk perched in the trees, blowing out foam in great puffs and billows, building a wall of insulation. The flames had eaten half across the new planting, leaving behind smouldering saplings.

  “Forward! Briskly!”

  The column moved ahead. Coughing in the smoke, eyes smarting, they passed under still blazing trees and came out on the western downs.

  Slowly the column moved forward, led by a pair of soldiers prodding the moss with lances. Behind followed Lord Faide with the knights, then came the foot soldiers, then the rumbling baggage train, and finally the six wagons of the jinxmen.

  A thump, a creak, a snap. A scythe had broken up from the moss; the soldiers in the lead dropped flat; the scythe whipped past, a foot from Lord Faide’s face. At the same time a plaintive cry came from the rear guard. “They pursue! The First Folk come!”

  Lord Faide turned to inspect the new threat. A clot of First Folk, two hundred or more, came across the moss, moving without haste or urgency. Some carried wasp-tubes, others thorn-rapiers.

  Lord Faide looked ahead. Another hundred yards should bring the army out upon safe ground; then he could deploy and maneuver. “Forward!”

  The column proceeded, the baggage train and the jinxmen’s wagons pressing close up against the soldiers. Behind and to the side came the First Folk, moving casually and easily.

  At last Lord Faide judged they had reached secure ground. “Forward, now! Bring the wagons out, hurry now!”

  The troops needed no urging; they trotted out over the heath, the wagons trundling after. Lord Faide ordered the wagons into a close double line, stationed the soldiers between, with the horses behind and protected from the wasps. The knights, now dismounted, waited in front.

  The First Folk came listlessly, formlessly forward. Blank white faces stared; huge hands grasped tubes and thorns; traces of the purplish foam showed at the lips of their underarm orifices.

  Lord Faide walked along the line of knights. “Swords ready. Allow them as close as they care to come. Then a quick charge.” He motioned to the foot soldiers. “Choose a target…!” A volley of darts whistled overhead, to plunge into white bodies. With chisel-bladed fingers the First Folk plucked them out, discarded them with no evidence of vexation. One or two staggered, wandered confusedly across the line of approach. Others raised their tubes, withdrew the shutter. Out flew the insects, horny wings rasping, prongs thrust forward. Across the moss they flickered, to crush themselves against the armor of the knights, to drop to the ground, to be stamped upon. The soldiers cranked their crossbows back into tension, discharged another flight of darts, caused several more First Folk casualties.

  The First Folk spread into a long line, surrounded the Faide troops. Lord Faide shifted half his knights to the other side of the wagons.

  The First Folk wandered closer. Lord Faide called for a charge. The knights stepped smartly forward, swords swinging. The First Folk advanced a few more steps, then stopped short. The flaps of skin at their backs swelled, pulsed; white foam gushed through their vents; clouds and billows rose up around them. The knights halted uncertainly, prodding and slashing into the foam but finding nothing. The foam piled higher, rolling in and forward, pushing the knights back toward the wagons. They looked questioningly toward Lord Faide.

  Lord Faide waved his sword. “Cut through to the other side! Forward!” Slashing two-handed with his sword, he sprang into the foam. He struck something solid, hacked blindly at it, pushed forward. Then his legs were seized; he was upended and fell with a spine-rattling jar. Now he felt the grate of a thorn searching his armor. It found a crevice under his corselet and pierced him. Cursing he raised on his hands and knees, plunged blindly forward. Enormous hard hands grasped him, heavy forms fell on his shoulders. He tried to breathe, the foam clogged his visor; he began to smother. Staggering to his feet he half-ran, half-fell out into the open air, carrying two of the First Folk with him. He had lost his sword, but managed to draw his dagger. The First Folk released him and stepped back into the foam. Lord Faide sprang to his feet. Inside the foam came the sounds of combat; some of his knights burst into the open; others called for help. Lord Faide motioned to the knights. “Back within; the devils slaughter our kinsmen! In and on to the center!”

  He took a deep breath. Seizing his dagger he thrust himself back into the foam. A flurry of shapes came at him: he pounded with his fists, cut with his dagger, stumbled over a mass of living tissue. He kicked the softness, and stepped on metal. Bending, he grasped a leg but found it limp and dead. First Folk were on his back, another thorn found its mark; he groaned and thrust himself forward, and once again fell out into the open air.

  A scant fifty of his knights had won back into the central clearing. Lord Faide cried out, “To the center; mount your horses!” Abandoning his car, he himself vaulted into a saddle. The foam boiled and billowed closer. Lord Faide waved his arm. “Forward, all; at a gallop! After us the wagons—out into the open!”

  They charged, thrusting the frightened horses into the foam. There was white blindness, the feel of forms underneath, then the open air once again. Behind came the wagons, and the foot soldiers, running along the channel cut by the wagons. All won free—all but the knights who had fallen under the foam.

  Two hundred yards from the great white clot of foam, Lord Faide halted, turned, looked back. He raised his fist, shook it in a passion. “My knights, my car, my honor! I’ll burn your forests, I’ll drive you into the sea, there’ll be no peace till all are dead!” He swung around. “Come,” he called bitterly to the remnants of his war party. “We have been defeated. We retreat to Faide Keep.”

  Chapter VIII

  Faide Keep, like Ballant Keep, was constructed of a black, glossy substance, half metal, half stone, impervious to heat, force and radiation. A parasol roof, designed to ward off hostile energy, rested on five squat outer towers, connected by walls almost as high as the lip of the overhanging roof.

  The homecoming banquet was quiet and morose. The soldiers and knights ate lightly and drank much, but instead of becoming merry, lapsed into gloom. Lord Faide, overcome by emotion, jumped to his feet. “Everyone sits silent, aching with rage. I feel no differently. We shall take revenge. We shall put the forests to the torch. The cursed white savages will smother and burn. Drink now with good cheer; not a moment will be wasted. But we must be ready. It is no more than idiocy to attack as before. Tonight I take council with the jinxmen, and we will start a program of affliction.”

  The soldiers and knights rose to their feet, raised their cups and drank a somber toast. Lord Faide bowed and left the hall.

  He went to his private trophy room. On the walls hung escutcheons, memorials, deathmasks, clusters of swords like many-petaled flowers; a rack of side-arms, energy pistols, electric stilettos; a portrait of the original Faide, in ancient spacefarer’s uniform, and a treasured, almost unique, photograph of the great ship that had brought the first Faide to Pangborn.

  Lord Faide studied the ancient face for several moments, then summoned a servant. “Ask the Head Jinxman to attend me.”
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  Hein Huss presently stumped into the room. Lord Faide turned away from the portrait, seated himself, motioned to Hein Huss to do likewise. “What of the keep-lords?” he asked. “How do they regard the setback at the hands of the First Folk?”

  “There are various reactions,” said Hein Huss. “At Boghoten, Candelwade and Havve there is distress and anger.”

  Lord Faide nodded. “These are my kinsmen.”

  “At Gisborne, Graymar, Castle Cloud and Alder there is satisfaction, veiled calculation.”

  “To be expected,” muttered Lord Faide. “These lords must be humbled; in spite of oaths and undertakings, they still think rebellion.”

  “At Star Home, Julian-Douray and Oak Hall I read surprise at the abilities of the First Folk, but in the main disinterest.”

  Lord Faide nodded sourly. “Well enough. There is no actual rebellion in prospect; we are free to concentrate on the First Folk. I will tell you what is in my mind. You report that new plantings are in progress between Wildwood, Old Forest, Sarrow Copse and elsewhere—possibly with the intent of surrounding Faide Keep.” He looked inquiringly at Hein Huss, but no comment was forthcoming. Lord Faide continued. “Possibly we have underestimated the cunning of the savages. They seem capable of forming plans and acting with almost human persistence. Or, I should say, more than human persistence, for it appears that after sixteen hundred years they still consider us invaders and hope to exterminate us.”

  “That is my own conclusion,” said Hein Huss.

  “We must take steps to strike first. I consider this a matter for the jinxmen. We gain no honor dodging wasps, falling into traps, or groping through foam. It is a needless waste of lives. Therefore, I want you to assemble your jinxmen, cabalmen and spellbinders; I want you to formulate your most potent hoodoos—”

  “Impossible.”

  Lord Faide’s black eyebrows rose high. “‘Impossible’?”

  Hein Huss seemed vaguely uncomfortable. “I read the wonder in your mind. You suspect me of disinterest, irresponsibility. Not true. If the First Folk defeat you, we suffer likewise.”

  “Exactly,” said Lord Faide dryly. “You will starve.”

  “Nevertheless, the jinxmen cannot help you.” He hoisted himself to his feet, started for the door.

  “Sit,” said Lord Faide. “It is necessary to pursue this matter.”

  Hein Huss looked around with his bland, water-clear eyes. Lord Faide met his gaze. Hein Huss sighed deeply. “I see I must ignore the precepts of my trade, break the habits of a lifetime. I must explain.” He took his bulk to the wall, fingered the side-arms in the rack, studied the portrait of the ancestral Faide. “These miracle workers of the old times—unfortunately we cannot use their magic! Notice the bulk of the spaceship! As heavy as Faide Keep.” He turned his gaze on the table, teleported a candelabra two or three inches. “With considerably less effort they gave that spaceship enormous velocity, using ideas and forces they knew to be imaginary and irrational. We have advanced since then, of course. We no longer employ mysteries, arcane constructions, wild nonhuman forces. We are rational and practical—but we cannot achieve the effects of the ancient magicians.”

  Lord Faide watched Hein Huss with saturnine eyes. Hein Huss gave his deep rumbling laugh. “You think that I wish to distract you with talk? No, this is not the case. I am preparing to enlighten you.” He returned to his seat, lowered his bulk with a groan. “Now I must talk at length, to which I am not accustomed. But you must be given to understand what we jinxmen can do and what we cannot do.

  “First, unlike the ancient magicians, we are practical men. Naturally there is difference in our abilities. The best jinxman combines great telepathic facility, implacable personal force, intimate knowledge of his fellow humans. He knows their acts, motives, desires and fears; he understands the symbols that most vigorously represent these qualities. Jinxmanship in the main is drudgery—dangerous, difficult and unromantic—with no mystery except that which we employ to confuse our enemies.” Hein Huss glanced at Lord Faide to encounter the same saturnine gaze. “Ha! I still have told you nothing; I still have spent many words talking around my inability to confound the First Folk. Patience.”

  “Speak on,” said Lord Faide.

  “Listen then. What happens when I hoodoo a man? First I must enter into his mind telepathically. There are three operational levels: the conscious, the unconscious, the cellular. The most effective jinxing is done if all three levels are influenced. I feel into my victim, I learn as much as possible, supplementing my previous knowledge of him, which is part of my stock in trade. I take up his doll, which carries his traces. The doll is highly useful but not indispensable. It serves as a focus for my attention; it acts as a pattern, or a guide, as I fix upon the mind of the victim, and he is bound by his own telepathic capacity to the doll which bears his traces.

  “So! Now! Man and doll are identified in my mind, and at one or more levels in the victim’s mind. Whatever happens to the doll the victim feels to be happening to himself. There is no more to simple hoodooing than that, from the standpoint of the jinxman. But naturally the victims differ greatly. Susceptibility is the key idea here. Some men are more susceptible than others. Fear and conviction breed susceptibility. As a jinxman succeeds he becomes ever more feared, and consequently the more efficacious he becomes. The process is self-generative.

  “Demon-possession is a similar technique. Susceptibility is again essential; again conviction creates susceptibility. It is easiest and most dramatic when the characteristics of the demon are well known, as in the case of Comandore’s Keyril. For this reason, demons can be exchanged or traded among jinxmen. The commodity actually traded is public acceptance and familiarity with the demon.”

  “Demons then do not actually exist?” inquired Lord Faide half-incredulously.

  Hein Huss grinned vastly, showing enormous yellow teeth. “Telepathy works through a superstratum. Who knows what is created in this superstratum? Maybe the demons live on after they have been conceived; maybe they now are real. This of course is speculation, which we jinxmen shun.

  “So much for demons, so much for the lesser techniques of jinxmanship. I have explained sufficient to serve as background to the present situation.”

  “Excellent,” said Lord Faide. “Continue.”

  “The question, then, is: How does one cast a hoodoo into a creature of an alien race?” He looked inquiringly at Lord Faide. “Can you tell me?”

  “I?” asked Lord Faide surprised. “No.”

  “The method is basically the same as in the hoodooing of men. It is necessary to make the creature believe, in every cell of his being, that he suffers or dies. This is where the problems begin to arise. Does the creature think—that is to say, does he arrange the processes of his life in the same manner as men? This is a very important distinction. Certain creatures of the universe use methods other than the human nerve-node system to control their environments. We call the human system ‘intelligence’—a word which properly should be restricted to human activity. Other creatures use different agencies, different systems, arriving sometimes at similar ends. To bring home these generalities, I cannot hope to merge my mind with the corresponding capacity in the First Folk. The key will not fit the lock. At least, not altogether. Once or twice when I watched the First Folk trading with men at Forest Market, I felt occasional weak significances. This implies that the First Folk mentality creates something similar to human telepathic impulses. Nevertheless, there is no real sympathy between the two races.

  “This is the first and the least difficulty. If I were able to make complete telepathic contact—what then? The creatures are different from us. They have no words for ‘fear’, ‘hate’, ‘rage’, ‘pain’, ‘bravery’, ‘cowardice’. One may deduce that they do not feel these emotions. Undoubtedly they know other sensations, possibly as meaningful. Whatever these may be, they are unknown to me, and therefore I cannot either form or project symbols for these sensations.”

>   Lord Faide stirred impatiently. “In short, you tell me that you cannot efficiently enter these creatures’ minds; and that if you could, you do not know what influences you could plant there to do them harm.”

  “Succinct,” agreed Hein Huss. “Substantially accurate.”

  Lord Faide rose to his feet. “In that case you must repair these deficiencies. You must learn to telepathize with the First Folk; you must find what influences will harm them. As quickly as possible.”

  Hein Huss stared reproachfully at Lord Faide. “But I have gone to great lengths to explain the difficulties involved! To hoodoo the First Folk is a monumental task! It would be necessary to enter Wildwood, to live with the First Folk, to become one of them, as my apprentice thought to become a tree. Even then an effective hoodoo is improbable! The First Folk must be susceptible to conviction! Otherwise there would be no bite to the hoodoo! I could guarantee no success. I would predict failure. No other jinxman would dare tell you this, no other would risk his mana. I dare because I am Hein Huss, with life behind me.”

  “Nevertheless we must attempt every weapon at hand,” said Lord Faide in a dry voice. “I cannot risk my knights, my kinsmen, my soldiers against these pallid half-creatures. What a waste of good flesh and blood to be stuck by a poison insect! You must go to Wildwood; you must learn how to hoodoo the First Folk.”

  Hein Huss heaved himself erect. His great round face was stony; his eyes were like bits of water-worn glass. “It is likewise a waste to go on a fool’s errand. I am no fool, and I will not undertake a hoodoo which is futile from the beginning.”

  “In that case,” said Lord Faide, “I will find someone else.” He went to the door, summoned a servant. “Bring Isak Comandore here.”

  Hein Huss lowered his bulk into the chair. “I will remain during the interview, with your permission.”

  “As you wish.”