The five had been complaining softly, but that ceased as Sears moved
among them, patting their legs, soothing them. "But Paul--their
grounds are mostly north of here--there now, Mister Smith, you old
bastard--so why didn't they travel away from the sound? Take it easy,
Millie, Miss Ponsonby--"
"The wild ones probably did. But these had to come to you."
"Oh.... That detachment of Lantis--the one in the northeast--"
"Don't think so, Jocko. Pakriaa's spies are all around up there--we'll
have warning. Elis is posted half a mile north of us--he'd know--smell
'em if he didn't hear 'em. However, I'll go talk with him...."
The depth of forest muted the drums--a little; they were still a
cumulative torture of anger in the inner darkness of the mind. Paul
saved the fading power of his Earth-made radion flashlight by
following his sense of the trail. He had learned to move as softly in
the jungle as any Charin could hope to do--more softly than Spearman,
softly enough to steal within spear range of the asonis. There was not
much danger here, unless it might be from the uskaran, a beast Paul
had glimpsed alive only once and then dimly, a striped thing slipping
snakily out of his vision in a sun-striped afternoon; the rug in his
and Dorothy's room could almost have been a tiger pelt. The black
reptiles were lovers of hot sun and shallow water, never going inland.
The squeak and rustle of a kaksma horde, it was said, could be heard
far off except during the rains, when all noises were smothered in the
long rush and whispering of waters. For all his silence, black Elis
was aware of him before Paul knew he had reached the sentry post.
"Paul--isn't it?" The night vision of the giants was better than the
Charins' but not like a cat's; they hunted at night only if the moon
was strong.
"Yes. Everything quiet?"
"Quieter than my heart."
Paul still could not see him. "Saving my flashlight. Where are you?"
Elis chuckled and slipped an invisible hand around Paul's. "The
olifants came to the meadow. We wondered what disturbed them."
"Drums. Nothing in the northeast yet. But a great many of the pygmies
are moving from the upper villages. I heard, and smelled the red
flowers." The people of Lantis, Pakriaa said, never wore those
flowers, and it would not be the nature of Elis to exaggerate his
powers of smell and hearing.
"I think the animals wanted Sears. Could that be, Elis?"
"Alojna--" Elis murmured the old word for them: it meant "white
cloud." "Two things nobody knows--the thoughts of Alojna and the
journeys of the red moon and the white moon when we cannot see them.
So we used to say. You give us a hint of knowledge of both things, and
more than a hint of much greater mysteries." Elis had always been
tireless in questioning Wright; more than Mijok, he was haunted by a
need to grope after intangibles, push outward the uneasy border
between known and unknown. "So there's never an end of mystery?"
"Never." The hand was warm. "What is the nature of courage?"
The giant's breathing was too quiet to be heard. "To go out, away from
a world, in a little shell--that must have needed courage."
"Perhaps only a response to a drive of uncomprehended forces. But I
think courage is a known thing, Elis, an achievement of flesh and
blood--to hear the drums in the dark and stay at the post as you are
doing, as I hope I can do myself. I must go back. Lisson will come and
relieve you soon...."
Pakriaa had returned, with her five equals. Wright had lit one of the
clay lamps. It burned pleasantly with an oil from the carcasses of the
same reptile that had once nearly destroyed Mijok, a thing which
pleased Mijok, for he liked to think that a creeping danger could also
be a source of light; and the use of this oil had been taught them by
the pygmies, who made almost monthly expeditions to marshy regions and
butchered the beasts by the dozens for the oil alone.
Pakriaa was almost meek. Her smile for Paul could have been a Charin
smile; there was a tremor in her hands, and once they flew up to cover
her ears. The drums, he thought, might be a worse pain for her than
for his own breed. There was unconscious pathos in the precision of
her English: "I did not make clear that I will obey you. I may have
been angry; for that I am sorry--it is past. My sisters have agreed."
Squat Abro Samiraa; lame, thin Abro Kamisiaa; sober Abro Brodaa--these
three Paul had met before. Abro Duriaa and Abro Tamisraa were from the
farthest villages, and shy; Duriaa was fat, with a foolish giggle;
Tamisraa had a feral furtiveness--the painted bones of her necklace
looked like human vertebrae. In Abro Samiraa Paul saw competence as
well as smoldering violence: the green of her eyes was dark jade; she
was a flat pillar of muscle from shoulder to hip. Paul guessed her to
be a devil of bravery, good in the front line and intelligent. Lame
Kamisiaa's bravery would be shrewd, vicious, and careful. In fat
Duriaa he thought he saw a politician, not a fighter; in Abro
Brodaa--there might be a thinker, even a dreamer, in Abro Brodaa.
The princesses had brought news. A scout from Brodaa's village had
succeeded in locating the northeastern detachment of Lantis' army; it
was camped twelve miles to the northeast, on the far side of a deep
but narrow stream. The scout had shown the kind of nerve the pygmies
took for granted: she had crossed the creek to listen in the reeds and
had drifted downstream the entire length of the encampment. The
Vestoians were careless, overconfident, their dialect enough like her
own so that she could grasp the essentials; their unit was six hundred
strong, with no bowmen. The scout had heard discontented soldiers'
talk: the spearwomen missed their subject males, who were camp
followers as well as second-line fighters. Returning, the scout had
located and stalked a Vestoian sentry, stunned and gagged her, and
brought her to Brodaa's camp, where she was made to talk. Brodaa had
been about to describe this when Pakriaa glanced at Sears and
interrupted: "They plan to cross the stream before daylight, move
straight west, and try to push us down into the open ground, where the
rest of the army will roll over us."
_The sentry is probably dead. I don't want to know, not now...._ The
machine in Paul took charge of the council of war, rejecting
compassion, rejecting everything beyond immediate need. "Abro
Samiraa--take the soldiers of your village and of Abro Duriaa's. Abro
Duriaa, you will be in command of your own people, but accept Abro
Samiraa's orders as if they were mine." Pakriaa intervened to
translate for the fat woman, who showed no hostility but rather
relief, and placed her hands formally under the spread fingers of Abro
Samiraa in token of subordination. "Abro Samiraa, take those three
hundred and the bowmen to the stream as quickly as you can with
silence, and attack. The important thing is to scatter them before
they are ready to move. If they retreat, follow them only enough to
confuse them and then return here at once. If you can take prisoners,
bring them here, unharmed. But do not be drawn into any long pursuit.
There are still eleven hours of darkness. I hope to see you return
long before sunrise."
"Good!" Pakriaa exclaimed, and Samiraa grunted with pleasure. Brodaa
said, "Take my scout, sister. I have given her the purple skirt; she
is Abroshin now, and my friend." Duriaa waddled behind, and Paul sent
Abroshin Nisana to relieve Abara from sentry duty. Nisana was glad to
go, for Pakriaa still sent her sour glances, remembering the election.
Sears was fretting: "My pets. Damn it, Paul, I dunno--they're huddled
out there in the meadow--just get in the way, get hurt."
"Would they follow Abara?"
"I think so...." Abara slipped in and puffed with pride when he
learned what was wanted. "Certainly they will follow Mister Johnson,
and Mister Johnson will follow me."
Pakriaa laughed. She caught him by a prominent ear and hugged him to
her leanness, grinning at Brodaa over his head. "So ugly!" Pakriaa
nibbled his neck. "And he leads olifants! Don't be afraid, little
husband--I was never angry with you. Look at him!" She spun him
around for the lewd admiration of the other royalty. "I couldn't do
without him. When the war is over I'll have him back in my bed. But
now he leads olifants. Hurry, Abara--and don't hurt yourself." And she
sent him off with a pinch.
"Keep them in the woods," Paul told him. "And stay with them."
"Good." Pakriaa sobered. "He could do nothing. He never learned the
bow.... Ah, look!" The red dot of the lifeboat had caught her eye.
"Look, Abro Tamisraa--you never saw it fly at night." It moved with
apparent slowness, like a mad star, not toward them but toward the
lake, perhaps ten miles away; it was still high when the searchlight
beam stabbed down, probing from northeast to southwest, and vanished.
"It's all right," Paul said, "I suggested he scout the lake on the way
back...." The red eye silently tumbled; Wright gasped. "Still all
right," said Paul. "A dive. He can make it talk." But the moment
dragged out into an ugliness of waiting.
Then orange fury glared against the underside of clouds and the clamor
of drums abruptly ceased. Paul said loudly, mechanically, "I think he
gave 'em the jet--set a few boats afire. I didn't order it, Doc. And
wouldn't try it myself...." Now the red dot was shooting upward,
disappearing as the boat circled once, then growing larger. Briefly
the searchlight illuminated the meadow, and Spearman came in,
overshooting slightly, driving almost to the moat before he checked.
He swaggered in, satisfied. "See it?"
"Uh-huh. What did you learn?"
"Those were drum boats. Why, my God, they opened out like little
orange flowers...! Well--the main fleet is 'way behind them, say
thirty miles down the lake, coming slow. Couldn't spot the land
army--no campfires."
"All right. Sit in on this, Ed...." And the plan was drawn up, so far
as there could be a plan when the odds were ten to one in a world that
never asked for them.
Paul, with Mijok and Pakriaa, would lead three hundred spearwomen and
a hundred bowmen south before daylight, in the hope of disorganizing
the advance with surprise and gunfire, but unless the Vestoians were
demoralized beyond expectation, this could be only a skirmish. They
would fall back, try to avoid losses. The remainder of the army would
stay at the edge of the woods until Lantis was in sight: Wright at the
fortress with the giant women, now only four, who could handle rifles;
Abro Kamisiaa and Abro Brodaa in the center; Sears and Abro Tamisraa
on the right flank in the west, with Elis and Surok. Spearman in the
lifeboat would follow the advance party at first-light. Paul said
nothing of the second drive, to the southeast, the retreat that would
seem like attack. When the time came for that, he must have in one
unit all that remained after the first wrath had spent itself--and
even then the pygmies would have to believe that they were attacking
single-heartedly, or they could not reach the southern end of the
range, but would probably be driven into the trap of the kaksma hills.
The drums began again. They began after the council was ended and
Sears had gone to take charge of his command on the right flank, with
Elis and Surok and shifty Tamisraa. The other small red sovereigns had
gone too, and Wright had stalked into his room--to sleep, he said--and
Paul had followed Spearman out to the boat, where Spearman would sleep
until it was time to go. Spearman tapped his elbow. "You're surprising
me, boy. Better than I could have done, I think. We'll knock 'em
over." And the drums began.
Spearman stared off at the lake; after a while he grinned, and the
lamp burning in the fortress caught the grimace. "Yeah," he sighed,
"well, I knew I only singed 'em." He climbed into the boat and glanced
down with a half salute, which Paul answered mechanically. But as Paul
walked away the thought stirred: _That was like goodbye...._
Paul went along the path at the edge of the woods. It was wide and
easy, broadened during the Year One by much travel between the camp
and Pakriaa's village. There were occasional small-voiced greetings
from the woods: these were Kamisiaa's and Brodaa's people, who knew
him. Brodaa cherished a painting he had made of the singing waterfall
above her village in return for that uskaran pelt. Many of these
soldiers would be chosen by Pakriaa to bring up the number of the
advance party to four hundred.
There was no red moon tonight. The white moon was half the size of the
planet Earth, so far away that its glow was scarcely more than that of
a star, but Paul knew that by what light it gave the pygmies could see
him smile in response to their greetings. They would be studying him,
trying to weigh the tone of his answer. _One of them might save my
life tomorrow; certainly I shall have to see some of them die. They
are people._
There were two visible planets to follow the wandering of the no
longer alien star that was the sun. One was hidden tonight; the other,
red like Mars, hung over the eastern jungle in tranquillity. A little
shape detached itself from the trees to meet him. Abro Pakriaa. "Will
you not sleep tonight, Paul, before we go?" It was a human question,
sweetly spoken and meant kindly.
"Later, I think." He stood by her awhile; in the blackness from which
she had come there was a steady mumbling, and Paul knew what it was:
the witches also had their part to play in these heavy hours, although
long before battle was joined they would be cowering in the villages.
Somewhere in the tree shadows they were squatting, muttering the
antique prayers. He wondered whether to go on and visit with Sears
awhile. _No: Elis is a rock, better company than I would be at the
moment...._ There was much, he thought, that would be good to talk
about with Pakriaa tonight; there ought to be words that would reach
her. Perhaps on this night a glimpse of Wright's vision would meet
with something better than amusement and distrust. But in the end he
only said, "We'll always be good friends, you and I."
He thought she might take hold of his hand in the Charin gesture. She
did not--undignified perhaps. But she said, "Tocwright says we are all
one flesh." She said it thoughtfully, without contempt.
"Yes. We are all one flesh." And lest he become a true Charin and
spoil a moment of truth with unnecessary words, Paul turned back to
the camp, seeing that she remained there in the open, looking south,
the grumbling witches behind her, before her the long night of drums
and no red moon.
Mijok was not asleep. He sat cross-legged by the lamp. "I wanted to
thank you. Doc's gone to sleep at last, and before I could find the
words I wanted. It will be difficult to talk in the morning."