Naturally, when it came to the Presentation there was no actual pendant available for me, and Father was about to do it symbolically, with an improvised garland of leaves; but Evrek took the heavy, gleaming metal chain from his own neck and handed it to him instead. (“Wear it until you get yours,” he told me later when I tried to return it to him, it being a thing that no one should be expected to part with for very long. “It’s rather a thrill at first, something I wouldn’t want you to miss.”) So the rite was complete and perfect for me, and it will always be one of my happiest memories.
Afterward, when it was over and we had put out the fire, we walked back to the meadow, shivering in the chill breeze of Andrecian spring. Overhead, unfamiliar constellations glittered; I looked up at them, wondering which stars I would someday see as suns. Evrek’s arm was strong around my shoulders, the Emblem that was both his and mine hung warm against my heart, and we were on a brand-new planet whose people we would surely save through some heroic deed … in that moment, anything seemed possible.
“Is it a good feeling, Elana?” Father asked me.
“ ‘Good’ is too mild a word,” I told him. “It’s more overwhelming, I guess. I feel—well, safeguarded, somehow.”
“I’m glad,” he told me, pressing my hand. And then, wordlessly, So glad, Elana! You’ll have need of that before we’re through here.
THE TASK
The next morning, my first on Andrecia, dawned blue and cloudless. Just after sunrise I went down to the river to wash; there was a low-hovering mist, slowly dispersing, over which the tops of the fir trees on the opposite bank seemed to float. The swift-flowing water was sparkling clear but cold—colder than any I’d ever put a hand into, that’s for certain! I splashed some over my face and arms; it was an awful shock, but afterward I felt wonderful.
During breakfast Evrek and I tried to get something more out of Father about his plans. What he’d told us the night before had been pretty general, and neither of us had any real idea of how you might teach a Youngling to do the things we had talked about. But Father simply said that he’d have to think the situation through a while longer. Then he questioned me at great length about my encounter with the Andrecian woodcutters, making me describe in minute detail every thought that had come into my head about them as well as what had actually happened; though it seemed to me that since he’d observed the whole thing with an experienced eye, he must already know more about it than I did.
Finally, Father stood up and said, “First of all, I want to do some exploring. Come on, Evrek, let’s be on our way.”
“How far are we going?” I asked, wondering just how much of a hike he had in mind.
Quietly, he said to me, “You’re not going anywhere. I want you to wait for us here at the hut.”
“All by myself?”
“Yes.” He gave me a funny sort of look.
“Now, wait a minute!” I protested. “I thought you were making me a full partner in this! I don’t care if you are about to try something risky; I’m not going to stay behind.”
“Yes, you are. That’s an order, Elana!” he said sharply.
“An order?” Though Father could be obstinate at times, he’d never spoken to me in just that way before. I’d almost come out with an angry retort—for I’m not one to be dictated to—when it dawned on me what he meant. He was Senior Agent now, and he spoke in that capacity, not as a parent. I was therefore pledged to obedience for as long as we were in the field. With chagrin, I realized that he might have had more motives for investing me than he had mentioned.
“All right,” I agreed good-naturedly. “But just for curiosity’s sake, what would happen to me if I disobeyed it?”
He smiled. “Nothing, in the way that you mean. We’re not a military organization; we’re bound by the Oath, not by discipline.”
I paused thoughtfully. “Father,” I said, “what if an agent disobeyed in a—well, a serious matter? What if someone broke the Oath?”
“I hope you never have occasion to find out. Vital orders are enforced, Elana.” He went on, abruptly changing the subject, “There are a few things I must show you before we leave.”
These things proved to be details such as how to contact him in an emergency—for I was forbidden to use a communicator otherwise—and how, in the case of an ultimate emergency when I could not contact him, to signal the starship. I nodded and assured him that I understood everything; but inwardly, as he talked, I was getting more and more nervous. I was sure that no matter how perilous this “exploring” turned out to be, it would be much easier for me to go along with him and Evrek than to stay behind and worry.
It never occurred to me that he might be perfectly well aware of that.
To be alone, really alone, as I was after Father and Evrek left, was a new experience for me. I’d scarcely ever been out of the city on my home world—and there I was in the wilderness of a strange planet, where it was anyone’s guess what might come charging out of the forest. Looking back, I know that I was not in any great danger. Although there was some chance of more Imperials coming by, Father considered it a small one; and after all, I could have used the Shield against most other perils. But at the time I didn’t have much idea of what I was up against, and I had plenty of leisure to give my imagination free rein.
At first it wasn’t so bad. The elation that had come from my investiture was still with me; every time I looked down at the Emblem, I thought of how thrilled I felt to be wearing it at last … and of how silly it was for a full-fledged agent to be hesitant about staying alone in the woods. The day was simply gorgeous, and the area around the hut was a lovely one to be in. It should have been very pleasant to relax and enjoy myself for once, without having to study.
But I couldn’t enjoy it. As the afternoon wore on, I became increasingly conscious of a nameless, overpowering dread. Always before, the concept of physical fear had been an abstraction to me. I’d been apprehensive, naturally, during the grimmer phases of Academy entrance testing; but in such tests you remain aware that you won’t actually be harmed. Real fear is different. When dusk drew down it was an abstraction no longer, and by the time darkness came I was so scared that every small forest noise made me want to scream.
Father hadn’t really said how long he and Evrek would be gone, but he had implied that it would be only a few hours. Surely they couldn’t do much exploring after dark—and anyway, I couldn’t imagine him staying away at night without telling me. If they had been delayed, wouldn’t he let me know? I kept my communicator at my side, willing it to come alive with Father’s image or at least his voice, but it did not. I resisted the temptation to call him, for my instructions had been very definite on that point: I was not to break silence unless I was in serious trouble. But I was beginning to believe that something must be terribly, terribly wrong. What if they had encountered Imperials? What if—?
Eventually, in desperation, I attempted telepathic contact. And you know how worked up I must have been to even try, since it isn’t practical over such a distance without very strong emotional impetus indeed. But there was no response either from Father or from Evrek. So I huddled miserably in the hut as the hours crept by, not daring to peek out at the blackness of the woods, and tried to face the possibility that something awful had happened and that I was literally alone on Andrecia.
Why, why had I gotten myself into this? I wondered. I hadn’t had any conception of what it would be like to be stranded in such a situation. Father had forbidden me to signal the starship for at least five days, no matter what the circumstances; for that length of time I’d have to get along, knowing that almost certainly the two people I most loved had been killed in some horrible fashion and that the same thing could confront me at the very next moment.
Strangely, the planet’s rotation seemed much slower than I’d noticed at first. The sun did reappear finally, but it wasn’t much of a comfort.
Needless to say, I hadn’t slept.
It was almost noon
before Father and Evrek showed up, perfectly safe and cheerful. When I first saw them, I was torn between a wild impulse to throw myself into their arms and a sense of outrage that made me want to lash out at them with the bitterest words I could think of. How could they have had so little regard for my feelings? Didn’t Father know what I’d go through when I didn’t hear from him? And with no apology—scarcely a greeting, even—he said to me, “Evrek and I only came back to pick up some supplies. We’ll be leaving again in a few minutes; we’re on our way to set up a second camp.”
“I’m coming, too!” I burst out. This time, I was not going to be left!
“No,” he said levelly, “I’ve got a plan worked out now, and it means that you’ll have to stay alone here.”
“For how long?”
“Eight or ten days, maybe.”
I was flabbergasted. “Is that an order, too?” I asked slowly. Giving me a searching look, he replied, “No, it’s not. You are being asked to volunteer.”
“Then I—I don’t think I want to do it.”
“You’ve got to, Elana!” Evrek said urgently.
I stared at him, puzzled. “Got to? You’ve certainly changed your attitude since the day before yesterday.”
Evrek shook his head sadly. He and Father had had a long, serious talk that past night, and he was doing his best to live up to what had been asked of him. “I don’t want to see you pushed into anything you’d rather not do, you know that,” he told me. “But you have no choice now; you’re sworn.”
It wasn’t till then, I think, that I really took in what it meant! Oh, they are fine words, glorious words. And the feeling you get during investiture is very overwhelming. But it’s not until it makes its first real demand of you, against your personal wish, that you understand what the whole thing’s about. “Above all other considerations” means exactly that; it’s just as true of small considerations, like being truly afraid for the first time in your life, as of big ones, like the decision Ilura had faced.
I was silent for a long moment. Then with a forced smile I said, “Well, I guess if it’s part of the job, I’m willing to give it a try.”
Father broke into a grin and hugged me. Good girl! Aloud he told me, “I hated to be so rough on you, Elana, but if you were going to panic, we had to get it over with fast. Once we start this, it’ll be too late for you to decide you can’t do what’s required.”
“I was on the edge,” I admitted.
“I know. The worst part’s learning how it feels. You’re through that now.”
Why, that’s true, I realized. It won’t ever be bad in the same way again! Oddly, the main result of that awful night was that I’d found I could deal with fear and anxiety—and that I could trust Father not to get me into anything I couldn’t handle.
For he’d frightened me deliberately. He knew that, whatever happened to me on Andrecia, I was in for a series of rude awakenings; he also knew that the more closely he could control the time and place of these, the better off I’d be. Learning to cope with being scared while you only think you’re in a tight spot is much better than waiting until you’re actually in one! Father was stuck with me, an ill-prepared trainee in an agent’s role, and he had to give me a crash course in the fundamentals to make up for some of the training I hadn’t had. One of the main qualities you need as an agent is the ability to function when you’re alone and afraid in a situation you don’t thoroughly understand.
I went from Father’s embrace to Evrek’s; Evrek kissed me, soundlessly pleading, Forgive me, darling?
For what?
For withholding response when you called … it was the hardest thing I’ve ever done!
My long-distance telepathy had worked: I hadn’t been sure; you don’t have any real idea of what your mind can do under stress until you’ve been taught to harness your emotions. The Academy gives much more thorough training in psychic control than the average school, because a field agent just can’t afford to be without it. I was now beginning to see a little of what the process involves. My eyes met Father’s, and this time the smile I gave him was genuine.
Returning it, he said briskly, “Well, I think we’re ready to take action, so let’s get on with it.”
“Am I allowed to know anything about this mysterious plan before you go?” I asked.
“All the details. Cheer up, it’s not so bad as I let you think. The Imperials haven’t the equipment to pick up transmissions from our communicators, so you’ll be able to keep in touch with us. But you’ll have to make some contacts with Andrecians entirely on your own.”
My enthusiasm came rushing back. Contacting Younglings in the role of an “enchantress” might turn out to be fun! So it was with renewed optimism that I listened to Father’s plan, the wild scheme we would use to choose an Andrecian and to endow him with “magic” powers.
These natives were people! Jarel thought fiercely. Someday, left to themselves, they might even develop a true civilization. What right did the Empire have to take their future away from them just because they were not civilized now?
He had come to this startling conclusion after several days of guard duty, days during which he’d watched the captives closely, trying to figure out what sort of creatures they were. He’d tried desperately to remember what little he’d read in scientific journals about the findings of the Center for Research on Humanoid Species, which had made detailed studies of the natives captured on many other worlds. But it seemed to him that that august institution was more concerned with clinical analysis of the primitive mind than with intangibles such as human hopes and feelings, which he now suspected these people possessed in full measure.
Of course, he didn’t really know anything about their culture. He hadn’t seen them in their natural habitat; they had a village beyond the forest, he knew, but he hadn’t much idea of what it was like. His notion of primitive life was pretty vague, as a matter of fact. He’d never even read much ancient history.
But the men being held in the barracks had impressed him. Looking into their eyes, he’d seen a human awareness and dignity there. What must they think of us? he wondered. With our pressure suits and helmets and all, we must look like some kind of monsters! The natives must think we’re not human. It’s a good thing those of us who are guarding them aren’t wearing pressure suits anymore. It must be bad enough for the poor savages, just being in the vicinity of that rockchewer.
He had observed that the natives were scared silly of the rockchewer, especially when it was throwing out flames, and he could scarcely blame them. It did look rather formidable. And it made enough racket to unnerve anybody who might suspect that it was coming after him. To an aborigine who’d never seen a self-propelled machine before, it might even seem alive. Why, Jarel thought, no wonder they came singly or in small groups. They weren’t after the colonists, they wanted to stop the rockchewer. Rumors about it must have spread. Those guys were genuine heroes, and look at what happened to them. It was no picnic to be paralyzed.
The prisoners were not totally paralyzed, of course; once locked up, they were given only enough stunning to forestall any attempted escapes. The treatment in itself was not painful, and it was very efficient; so far, the only man who’d got away had done so before being taken inside. That had happened that afternoon, when Jarel had accidentally-on-purpose set his stunner to “neutralize” during the capture. He’d gotten a dressing down for it from Dulard, naturally, and he knew that he’d be watched from now on. But somehow he felt good about it.
For Jarel, the hardest thing to take was the captives’ burning hatred for him. He wished there were some way to let them know that he didn’t like what he was forced to do. But of course, they couldn’t understand a word he said, any more than he understood their jabber. So every time he stepped inside the room where the men were confined he was met with hostile stares; it was getting so that they followed him into his dreams. He had become a doctor to alleviate suffering, not to inflict it, and the whole business distur
bed him more than he cared to admit.
It would be different when the rest of the colonists got there, he thought hopefully. He’d be so busy with the clinic that he wouldn’t have time to think of anything else. But underneath he knew that there was a deeper problem than the question of the work he was assigned to perform.
When at length Georyn and his brothers came before the King, they vowed solemnly that they would not fail to challenge the fearful Dragon; whereupon they were given swords and armor and were told that if they should chance to vanquish the beast they should possess all they had dreamt of and more. “But,” the King warned, “it is not likely that such will ever come to pass. No man who has ventured against this monster has ever been seen again, and I fear that the same fate awaits all of you.” And with that word he dismissed them. Yet the brothers laughed as they left the King, and they set forth in high spirits.
Presently, they came to a path that led through the fringes of the Enchanted Forest. Then they ceased their laughter and their shouting and went softly, not knowing what manner of evil spirits they might encounter; and their gleaming swords seemed less invincible, and even the creatures of the forest seemed to be mocking them. But the brothers did not slacken their pace, and Georyn was troubled, for he knew that it would take more than courage alone to overcome the Dragon.
When dusk drew down they paused to drink from a bubbling spring; and as they were returning to the path, they came upon another stone hut and knocked upon its door, asking shelter for the night. Within they found an old man. He appeared to be old, certainly, for his hair was white and his face was not the face of youth; but he was nonetheless strong and exceedingly tall. And although he was clad in the garb of a peasant, he would have looked more natural in king’s robes.
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