by M J Engh
At this the Exile roused himself and said that indeed he had something very urgent to tell them, and that someone had better write it down. This sounded promising, and Repnomar (who could generally be relied on to have the wherewithal for sending messages) sat down on her blanket and got out pencil and paper. But something caught her eye, and she pointed up into the darkness, saying, “Look at that!”
Like a spark thrown from some giant torch, a speck of light glided across the sky, trailing lesser sparks, and descended out of sight to their left. The Exile drew a long breath like a sigh. “It's too late,” he said.
28
Of Gods and Quicksilver
In Captain Repnomar's opinion, Quicksilver People were more civilized than half the population of Rotl, still more of Beng. “And they manage without castles and councils, Lethgro,” she observed, waving a slice of her dinner (whatever it was) for emphasis.
“Maybe so,” Lethgro said glumly. “But humans are human.” For he had been thinking of differences and likenesses between humans and other peoples, ever since he had met the Exile's folk. And Brask grunted and licked her fingers.
It was Lethgro himself who—when the Exile told them that the spark across the sky was a ship or boat of his people, sailing downstream from the clouds to moor beside the station he had set up—had turned to the others and announced, in a voice that brooked no argument, “Then we'll meet them now and get it over with.” For, though this was the very thing he had dreaded from the beginning, he thought it would be worse to skulk in the shadows when such strangers were loose in the world than to confront them straight and learn what the worst was likely to be. Repnomar had jumped up eagerly, and Brask (as Lethgro thought with some condescension) had not known enough to object. So he had squeezed the Exile's wrist a little tighter, and the Exile had nodded wordlessly and led them across the snow, with the whole column following.
After a minute the Exile spoke, saying quietly that what he had meant to tell them was where to find his devices and how to send a message, with certain words they could have used that might have mollified his people. And he added that for him to tell them such things was against the law and the regulations of his people, and could have caused great trouble for him. But he had seen no other hope of forestalling worse trouble for a whole world.
The flying light had gone down behind a line of hills on their left, so that it was some little while before they reached the spot. But they knew their course much sooner, for the shape of the hills began to show, outlined against a light that glowed softly from behind them. For a time the sailors talked noisily among themselves; but as they climbed and the light grew brighter, bit by bit they quieted, and they came to the crest all silent, with only the crunching of the snow under their feet and the noise of their breath sounding louder by the minute. Lethgro still held the Exile firmly; but as they reached the crest the Captain took him by the other wrist, saying, “You may need your arm for something else, Lethgro.” So the three of them together, with Brask and Broz close behind, took the last steps that brought them over the rise, and stood looking down.
The light in the valley before them was so bright that Repnomar and Lethgro squinted their eyes against it, trying to make out the shapes that moved within it. But the Exile lifted his free arm (for Lethgro had released his hold) and called out something; and as more of the sailors came over the ridge and gathered behind them, he called again and again. Neither Repnomar nor Lethgro tried to silence him, thinking that what he shouted might be needful for their survival. But Repnomar asked him what he was doing; and he answered that he was telling his people they had no need to rescue him, for he was among friends.
This struck Lethgro, who had so recently offered to cut off the Exile's head, as unlikely. But likely or not, the figures in the valley did not seem to be taking warlike action. They were gathered close around something which Lethgro took at first for a house, but which Repnomar had guessed instantly to be their ship. In fact it was somewhat like the Exile's pods, at least in its outward look, but so large that it was easy to believe the whole troop of strangers (though there seemed to be as many as half a dozen) could be packed inside it.
So they came down the slope into the light. The rocky ground was running with slush and water where the snow had been melted as by some great heat; and in places snow and slush alike had been driven into drifts and ridges as by a stormwind. Two or three of the strangers held devices in their hands—weapons, perhaps, as Lethgro darkly imagined. The great ship shone behind them in the light.
That golden light was very warm. Some of the strangers (though none of those with the devices) advanced to meet them, calling out to the Exile as they came, and the Exile answered; so that by the time they met in the open ground before the strange ship, there had already been considerable conversation in their inhuman tongue. The Captain and Lethgro had exchanged many glances but spoken little. Now Lethgro, with all the dignity becoming to a former Warden and an agent of the Council of Rotl, said (speaking to the Exile, but with his head up and his eyes on the nearest strangers), “Tell them that we mean them no evil. Tell them they can take you and leave in peace. But we want no devices left in this world that can do harm.”
Here the Captain, seeing a great opportunity about to be lost, would have liked to add that harmless devices were another thing altogether, and that there was no need to leave just yet. But she thought best not to contradict the Warden before these outlanders; and in very truth there was something about the strangers that awed even her. So she kept silent, and heard the Exile speak, and one of the strangers answer. It was clear that the Exile did not confine himself to translating Lethgro's words, for the exchange went on until Repnomar (with a glance at Lethgro) jerked a little at the Exile's arm. So he turned to Lethgro and answered very courteously that his captain was well pleased with this arrangement, and that with their permission he would go now.
But Repnomar, who could no longer restrain herself at this, snapped out, “Not yet!” at the very moment that Lethgro uttered the same words; and the Exile, feeling her grip tighten, looked up at her with signs of apprehension.
That was the beginning. After a while the strangers had brought out sheets like the one the Exile had carried, spreading some of these to sit on and offering more to any sailors who wanted to use them. Some had preferred their own packs and blankets; but because of the melting of the snow, there was much wetness, and many had taken the sheets to save their things from soaking it up. The Exile had hastened to explain that these were not gifts, but only to be used (by his captain's generosity) during this conference and then returned, for they would be unwholesome and dangerous if kept longer; which had caused a few sailors to give them back at once.
“Not,” Lethgro observed now, shifting his back against the wall of the snow cave where they sat at their meal, “that we know what they were really saying; and not that they necessarily know what we said.” For he was still brooding on the unreliableness of the Exile, who had been their interpreter.
“Nor what the Quicksilvers said,” Repnomar added.
For after they had spent an hour or two in argument and discussion—the strangers (by the Exile's translation) wishing not only to leave devices both here and elsewhere in this world, but to spend some time observing and studying it, and to inquire into what had happened to the Exile's companion—one of the strangers had suddenly started and looked about, and then two others. The Exile cried out in horror, and Repnomar and Lethgro ducked their heads behind their arms.
The outlanders were leaping up, knocking darts from their necks and hands and faces. Broz growled, and the Captain tried to shelter him with her arms. One of the strangers nearly reached their ship before he fell. Another snatched up a device and swung it toward the darkness in a half circle, making a curious humming sound that hurt the ears. But before it had well begun, the affair was over, the strangers lying slumped on the wet ground (except the one that the Exile was dragging toward the ship), Lethgro and th
e Captain still shielding their faces, and Broz (who scorned such defenses) bristling and barking at the surrounding dark.
The Captain, seeing that only outlanders had been struck, shouted out that the sailors should keep their weapons handy but not use them unless forced to it; and Lethgro, thinking that the Exile might have been spared by more than oversight, lunged after him and wrestled him away from the body he was dragging. This was awkward with one arm, for the Exile was determined, and Lethgro had regretfully to fall upon him in order to hold him down. The next thing, Lethgro thought, would be nets.
He was right, but the nets were only for the dart-struck strangers. Quicksilvers poured into the golden light, and Repnomar let out a whistle of admiration that blended with their own whistles and chirps. They darted forward two together, each with one paw lifted to hold the net gathered between them while they ran on the other three; then rose high on their hind legs and flung the net, that spread itself like the opening fingers of a hand and settled unerringly over its target. Before it was well down, the Quicksilvers were upon it, tightening and knotting it about their prey; so that in a very few minutes they had each of the fallen outlanders bundled in a separate cocoon.
Meanwhile the Exile, with shrill squeaks, bustled among the darting forms of the Quicksilvers; for Lethgro, pitying his distress, had let him up again. But they took little notice of him, except to avoid him with sidewise leaps. Soon, however, the large Quicksilver who had seemed to be his friend or keeper came at a more dignified pace out of the darkness, and seemed to listen gravely to the Exile's desperate twitterings. Now Lethgro and the Captain (who had quieted Broz at last) put themselves forward, asking what the Quicksilvers intended. But the Exile turned on them angrily, crying out that he wanted to know why they had led him and his people into this trap and what harm they meant to do next, and threatening them incoherently with menaces they did not understand; all of which surprised them, for till now they had seen him only mild and kindly.
But now the cocoons began to stir, for the strangers were already awakening—much to the excitement of the Exile, who ran from one to another, speaking to each one anxiously till he got answers that satisfied him. Meanwhile the Quicksilvers, who seemed uncomfortable in the warmth, were attaching ropes and beginning to haul the bundled outlanders up the rocky hillside.
Now again the Exile was distressed, and (forgetting his recent anger) appealed to Lethgro and the Captain, begging them to help him persuade the Quicksilvers to release his friends, or at least not to drag them over the rocks like bales of cargo. This they tried to do; but the Quicksilvers would not be persuaded, and showed signs of restiveness at this interruption, fingering their blowguns when the Captain set sailors to block their path.
“Tell them we'll help, then,” Repnomar said to the Exile. And they settled for this compromise, pairs of sailors swinging the netted strangers between them while the Quicksilvers led the way and the Exile trotted between, consoling his friends.
So it was that they ended that watch crouched in a Quicksilver snow cave, eating a generous (if mostly unidentifiable) meal and discussing Quicksilver civilization. “It's a camp, not a city,” Repnomar observed. “They make these things as they need them, where they need them.” For on the slopes of the hills at the edge of the level ground, where the snow lay deep and firm, they had found Quicksilvers digging such caves, throwing out great showers of snow with their hind feet so that the scene showed in the torchlight like a blizzard. Into one of these new holes the netted outlanders were stowed.
But there was already a warren of interconnecting snow caves in one of the hillsides—as the humans learned only gradually, for the Quicksilvers would not allow them to bring torches inside (no doubt for fear of melting) and it was by groping their way through passages, often on hands and knees, and bumping into each other in the dark that they found it out. So for a while the hillside was a-throb with muffled noises—oaths and thumps and laughter and panicky cries. But the Quicksilvers were good hosts, and soon had all the humans settled comfortably enough, and served them with strange foods, some of which could be recognized as raw meat.
This was done with much chirping and chirruping, and friendly pats of little paws (though the Quicksilvers soon learned to stay away from Broz, who did not care for these attentions). Repnomar had ordered torches to be planted outside the mouths of some of the caves, so that they could have at least a little light. And Lethgro, by much talking and gesturing, at last prevailed upon one of the Quicksilvers to bring the Exile. They needed an interpreter; and besides, as Lethgro said, “The closer he is to hand, the less mischief he's likely to be doing.”
In a while the Exile came, still in lively discussion with the large Quicksilver (whom Brask had dubbed Whistle, though that name would have done as well for any of them) and they all sat down to talk in the torchlight just inside the cave mouth. It was not easy talking, for it was clear that the Exile had not lied about one thing, namely that he understood little of the Quicksilver language—or at least that the Quicksilvers understood little of his attempts to speak it. Then too, he was so earnest in his argument that he often forgot to translate what Whistle had said till Lethgro jogged his arm, or Repnomar or Brask swore at him impatiently.
Nevertheless they learned that (according to Whistle, according to the Exile) the Quicksilvers had seen the landing of the strange ship and decided that such potent visitors were better netted and caged than wandering at will in their country. They meant them no harm (so the Exile said that Whistle insisted) as was shown by their having used the mildest possible poison on their darts, for they remembered the unfortunate death of the Exile's comrade. (Here the Exile reported on his own account that to his great relief the poison had not much clouded the minds of his people nor wiped away their memories, and he thought that the Quicksilvers had used not simply a lesser dose but a different sort of poison; for which, at least, he was grateful.)
“And what do they mean to do with your people?” Lethgro asked.
The Exile replied grimly that this was what he was trying to find out, and went back to his twittering and squeaking. But all he could report, after earnest discussion, was that this was still to be decided by someone or something—who or what, he could not make out, except that it was the one authority to which all Quicksilvers deferred.
At this, Repnomar sprang up (so far as she could, an action which stirred a shower of snow from the roof of the cave), saying, “Well, if they can't tell us, let them show us.” And when the Exile had explained this as well as he could, Whistle patted her leg and bounded past her into the torchlight outside.
They followed, to see a crowd of Quicksilvers already beginning to collect in the open. “I told you that was the right name,” Brask remarked, for Whistle was uttering whistles so piercing that Broz laid back his ears and whined pitifully. In a little, all the open ground (as far as the torches showed) was flowing with silver gray, and Whistle reached up to take the Captain's hand, gesturing around them.
The Captain made a sound of understanding. “I was partly wrong, Lethgro,” she said. “This is their council.”
“Not a council,” Lethgro objected. “This must be their whole tribe.”
“And why shouldn't their whole tribe be their council?” the Captain asked. To which Lethgro answered nothing, for the notion tumbled his idea of councils upside down.
In a little, however, he had to admit that she was right, for what took place then on the open ground was not far different from council meetings he had attended in Rotl and Beng. There was much discussion, with all signs of oratorical flourishes, and a fair amount of what seemed to be vigorous argument. Brask found this shilly-shallying hard to understand. “You mean they haven't killed them yet?” was her only comment; after which she went back into the snow cave to finish her meal.
As Lethgro saw it, there was something to be said for that brutal approach. “It won't be easy for them to make friends after this beginning,” he observed to the Captain. “A
nd I wouldn't want to have the Exile's people for live enemies.” Nevertheless, he hoped for some peaceable solution; for to kill a delegation of folk so potent that their ships could sail through the clouds was surely to invite more danger.
This seemed to be also the conclusion of the Quicksilvers. For though the Exile could not follow the heat of the debate, Whistle turned to him from time to time with reports on its progress, and some of these he was able to understand well enough to pass on to the others.
But just as the Exile was telling them, with more hopefulness than he had shown yet, that his people were to be fetched from their prison cave to join the discussion, a disturbance arose on the edge of the Quicksilver crowd. First there was nothing but a stir of gray like a shudder; in the next instant a wave of whistling swept across them like a scream. Involuntarily Lethgro made a sign against evil, and Repnomar put her hand on Broz's bristling neck.
Destruction showed before the destroyers. Quicksilvers were falling, cut down like ripe grass by an unseen reaper. Then the things themselves advanced into the torchlight, glinting dully; short and squat, so that for a wild instant Repnomar thought they were some of the Exile's people, broken loose and armed with invisible scythes that cut swathes of desolation before them as they came. The snow was covered with Quicksilvers crushed down like the lodged stalks of a grainfield after a tempest. Lethgro beside her doubled over with a grunt, and then the battering struck her too and she forgot all else.
“I don't doubt they're gods,” Captain Repnomar said; “but that doesn't mean I'll bow down to them.”
“Gods or not gods,” said Lethgro, who had his doubts, “we have to deal with them.”
Indeed on this point it seemed that Lethgro and Repnomar had almost traded places; for the Captain, who before now had scarcely admitted the existence of gods, and scoffed at every divine manifestation pointed out to her, was convinced that if godhood meant anything, it meant such powers as the Exile's people possessed; while Lethgro, who felt he knew the Exile too well for such notions, ascribed it all to devices, which anyone might team to use. And whereas Repnomar had long been eager to meet the Exile's people and hold friendly talk with them, while Lethgro had feared that very thing, now he found himself arguing against her that they should make friends as far as they were able.
