"He spoke to me."
"I did not hear."
"Yes, I know now. His voice sounds like thunder in the sky, but it is a
voice that speaks only in the mind. He said I must leave this planet."
She glanced at him with suddenly awakened eyes, as if thinking of it
for the first time. "Where is your ship?"
"I have no ship."
"Then he will kill you." She touched her fingers on his face. "I am
sorry. It was all for me."
"Don't worry. The Sand God travels without a ship, why shouldn't I?"
"Now?"
"As soon as you are safe. Come."
Steam rose from the burned area, charred like a rocket launching pit.
They stepped around it carefully. Stinson felt warm air, but there was
no time, now, to warm cold feet or dwell on the vagaries of Sand Gods.
Together they crossed the narrow valley. Sybtl led him toward a tall
mound of rock. Here they came to the creek again, which flowed into a
small canyon. They climbed the canyon wall. Far away, small figures
moved. The webfoots were on their trail.
She drew him into a small cave. It was heated, like the great cavern,
but held no walled pool nor mysterious lighting. But it was warm, and
the small entrance made an excellent vantage point for warding off
attack.
"They will not find us...."
A high-pitched keening burst suddenly around them. Stinson knew they
had heard, or felt the sound for some time, that now its frequency was
in an audible range.
"The Sand God," Sybtl said. "Sometimes he plays among the clouds. He
makes it rain in a dry summer, or sometimes warms the whole world
for days at a time in winter, so the snow melts and the grass begins
to green. Then he tires and lets winter come back again. He is the
loneliest God in the universe."
"What makes you think he's lonely?"
She shrugged her shoulders. "I just know. But he's an angry God now.
See those clouds piling in the East? Soon they will hide the sun. Then
he will make them churn and boil, like river whirlpools in spring. At
least he does this when he plays. Who knows what he will do when he's
angry?"
"The Sand God isn't doing this," Stinson said. "It's only a storm."
She covered his lips with her fingers. "Don't say that. He may hear you
and be more angry."
"But it is, don't you see? You give him powers he does not possess."
Sybtl shook her head and stroked his face with her long, slim fingers.
"Poor little God-with-fingers-on-his-feet," she said. "You do not
understand. The Sand God is terrible, even when he plays. See the
lightning? It is blue. The lightning of a storm that comes by itself is
not blue. He is running around the world on feet like the rockets of
space ships, and when he strikes the clouds, blue fire shoots away."
* * * * *
The clouds continued to build on one another. Soon the blue flashes of
lightning extended across the sky from horizon to horizon. The earth
trembled. Sybtl moved closer, trembling also.
"He never did this before," she said. "He never made the earth shake
before."
Great boulders crashed down the canyon walls and dropped into the
creek. They dared not move from the cave, although death seemed certain
if they stayed.
"I'll leave for a moment," he said. "I'll be back soon."
"You're leaving?" There was panic in her voice.
"Only for a moment."
"And you won't come back. You will go to your world."
"No. I'll be back."
"Promise? No, don't promise. The promises of Gods often are forgotten
before the sounds die away."
"I'll be back."
He disappeared at once, giving her no chance to object again, and went
to the desert of sand, where he had first arrived on the planet. He
wanted to see if the storm were world-wide.
Stinson had never been in a sand storm before, even on Earth. He could
not breathe. He could not see. Bullets of sand stung his skin. Bullets
of sand shot into his eyes. Clouds of sand howled around him. He fell,
and the wind rolled him over and over in the sand like a tumbleweed.
The skirt flew up around his face. He could not get up again.
He returned to the cave.
Soon after, while they sat huddled together, watching the chaos of
tumbling rocks, lightning, and driving rain, the high-pitched keening
came again. A sphere of blue fire appeared in the east. Its brilliance
put the lightning to shame. It bore down on the cave swiftly,
purposefully. Stinson prepared himself to leave. In spite of his desire
to protect Sybtl, it was useless to get himself killed when he was
powerless to help her. But at the last moment it veered off.
"Fiend!" Stinson screamed the word, vaguely marvelling at his own fury.
The blue sphere turned and came back.
"Monster!"
Again.
"Murderer!"
"Adolescent!"
This time it kept going. The rain and wind ceased. Lightning stopped.
Thunder rumbled distantly. Clouds disappeared. Stinson and Sybtl
emerged from the cave.
There was no longer a question of attack from the webfoots, the storm
had taken care of that. The fierce sun began its work of drying rocks
and throwing shadows and coaxing life out into the open again. Down in
the canyon a bird sang, a lonely, cheerful twitter.
"The Sand God is tired," Sybtl said. "He is not angry now. I'm glad.
Perhaps he will let you stay."
"No. Even if he allowed it, I couldn't stay. My people could never live
here with a God who is half devil."
* * * * *
The cone of sand suddenly appeared. It stood in the canyon, its base
on a level with the cave. It was quiet. It was dull gray in color. It
exuded impressions of death, of hopeful words solemnly spoken over
lowered coffins, of cold earth and cold space, of dank, wet catacombs,
of creeping, crawling nether things.
The bird's twitter stopped abruptly.
"Earthman," the Sand God said, as if he were about to make a statement.
Stinson ignored him. He glanced down at Sybtl, who sensed that this was
a time for good-bys. He thought, perhaps I can stay here alone with
her. The webfoots might find us, or the Sand God might destroy us in
one of his fits, but it might be worth it.
"Don't go," she said. "Not yet."
"Earthman, hear me."
"I hear you."
"Why does your mind shrink backward?"
"I've decided not to bring my people here."
"_You_ decided?"
"Certainly," Stinson said boldly. "Call it rationalization, if you
wish. You ordered us away; and I have several good reasons for not
coming here if the door was open."
"I've changed my mind. You will be welcomed."
"Listen to that, will you?" Stinson said angrily. "Just listen! You
set yourself up as a God for the webfoots. You get them eating out of
your hand. Then what do you do? You throw a fit. Yes, a fit! Like an
adolescent. Worse."
"Earthman, wait...."
"No!" Stinson shot back. "You've owned this planet for a million
years. You have brooded here alone since before my people discovered
fire, and in all those ages you never learned self-control. I can't
subject my people to the whims of an entity who throws a planetary fit
when it pleases him."
Stinson relaxed. He'd had his say. Sybtl trembled beside him. A small
mammal, round, furry, hopped by, sniffing inquisitively.
Sybtl said, "Is the Sand God happy?" She shook her head. "No, he is not
happy. He is old, old, old. I can feel it. My people say that when one
gets too old it is well to die. But Gods never die, do they? I would
not like to be a God."
"Stinson," the Sand God said. "You said I was adolescent. You are
correct. Do you remember I told you how my people, the entire race,
left their bodies at the same time? Do you imagine all of us were
adults?"
"I suppose not. Sounds reasonable. How old were you?"
"Chronologically, by our standards, I was nine years old."
"But you continued to develop after...."
"No."
* * * * *
Stinson tried to imagine it. At first there must have been a single
voice crying into a monstrous emptiness, "Mother, where are you?
_MOTHER!_ Where is _everyone_?" A frenzied searching of the planet,
the solar system, the galaxy. Then a returning to the planet. Empty....
Change. Buildings, roads, bridges weathering slowly. Such a race would
have built of durable metal. Durable? Centuries, eons passed. Buildings
crumbled to dust, dust blew away. Bridges eroded, fell, decomposed
into basic elements. The shape of constellations changed. All trace
of civilization passed except in the cavern of the heated pool.
Constellations disappeared, new patterns formed in the night sky. The
unutterably total void of time--FIVE HUNDRED THOUSAND YEARS!
And a nine-year-old child brooding over an empty world.
"I don't understand why your development stopped," Stinson said.
"Nor do I. But perhaps ... well, I sense that I would continue, if you
brought your people here. You have already taught me the value of
life. There is a oneness, a bond that ties each living thing to every
other living thing. It is a lesson my people never knew. Select any
portion of this planet that suits you. Take the web-footed woman for
your wife. Have children. I promise never to harm you in any way."
"The webfoots?"
"You and they shall share the planet."