adding, "Always has it been said of me--and to me--that I am a useless
one, fit only to do women's tasks. No word weaver shall ever chant my
battle deeds in the great hall of Zahur. I who am Zahur's true son can
not carry my sword in any lord's train. But now you offer me one of the
great to-be-remembered quests. If I go, so may I prove that I am a man,
even if I go limpingly. There is nothing the Foanna can do to me which
is worse than what the Shadow has already done. Choosing to follow you I
may stand up to face Zahur in his own hall, show him that the blood of
his House has not been drained from my veins because I walk crookedly!"
There was such bitter fire, not only in the sputtering rush of Loketh's
words, but in his eyes, his face, the wry twist of his lips, that Ross
believed him. The Terran no longer had any doubts that the castle
outcast was willing to brave the unknown terrors of the Foanna keep, not
just to aid Ross whom he considered himself bound to serve by the
customs of his people, but because he saw in this venture a chance to
gain what he had never had, a place in his warrior culture.
Shut off from the normal life of his people, he had early turned to the
sea. His twisted leg had not proved a handicap in the water, and he
stated with confidence that he was the best swimmer in the castle. Not
that the men of his father's following had taken greatly to the sea,
which they looked upon merely as a way of preying upon the true sea
rovers.
The reef on which the ships had been wrecked was a snare of sorts--first
by the whim of nature when wind and current piled up the trading ships
there. Then, Ross was startled when Loketh elaborated on a later
development of that trap.
"So Zahur returned from this meeting and set up a great magic among the
rock, according to the spells he was taught. Now ships are drawn there
so the wrecks have been many and Zahur becomes an even greater lord with
many men coming to take sword oath under him."
"This magic," asked Ross, "of what manner is it and where did Zahur
obtain it?"
"It is fashioned so--" Loketh sketched two straight lines in the air,
"not curved as a sword. And the color of water under a storm sky, both
rods being as tall as a man. There was much care to set them in place,
that was done by a man of Glicmas."
"A man of Glicmas?"
"Glicmas is now the high lord of the Iccio. He is blood kin to Zahur,
yet Zahur must take sword oath to send to Glicmas a fourth of all his
sea-gleanings for a year in payment for this magic."
"And Glicmas, where did he get it? From the Foanna?"
Loketh made an emphatic denial of that. "No, the Foanna have spoken out
against their use, making even greater ill feeling between the Old Ones
and the coast people. It is said that Glicmas saw a great wonder in the
sky and followed it to a high place of his own country. A mountain broke
in twain and a voice issued forth from the rent, calling that the lord
of the country come and stand to hear it. When Glicmas did so he was
told that the magic would be his. Then the mountain closed again and he
found many strange things upon the ground. As he uses them they make him
akin to the Foanna in power. Some he gives to those who are his blood
kin, and together they will be great until they close their fists not
only upon the sea rovers, but upon the Foanna also. This they have come
to believe."
"But you do not?" Karara asked then.
"I do not know, Sea Maid. The time is coming when perhaps they shall
have their chance to prove how strong is their magic. Already the Rovers
gather in fleets as they never did before. And it seems that they, too,
have found a new magic, for their ships fly through the water, depending
no longer on wind-filling sails, or upon strong arms of men at long
paddles. There is a struggle before us. But that you must know, being
who and what you are, Sea Maid."
"And what do you think I am? What do you think Ross is?"
"If the Foanna dwell on land and hold old knowledge and power beyond our
reckoning in their two hands," he replied, "then it is possible that the
same could have roots in the sea. It is my belief that you are of the
Shades, but not the Shadow. And this warrior is also of your kind--but
perhaps in different degree, putting into action your desires and
wishes. Thus, if you go up against the Foanna, you shall be well
matched, kind to kind."
Nice to be so certain of that, Ross thought. He did not share Loketh's
confidence on that subject.
"The Shades ... the Shadow ..." Karara persisted. "What are these,
Loketh?"
An odd expression crossed the Hawaikan's face. "Are those not known
to you, Sea Maid? Indeed, then you are of a breed different from the
men of land. The Shades are those of power who may come to the aid
of men should it be their desire to influence the future. And the
Shadow ... the Shadow is That Which Ends All--man, hope, good. To Which
there is no appeal, and Which holds a vast and enduring hatred for that
which has life and full substance."
"So Zahur has this new magic. Is it the gift of Shades or Shadow?" Ross
brought them back to the subject which had sparked in him a small
warning signal.
"Zahur prospers mightily." Loketh's answer was ambiguous.
"And so the Shadow could not provide such magic?" The Terran pushed.
But before the Hawaikan had a chance to answer, Karara added another
question:
"But you believe that it did?"
"I do not know. Only the magic has made Zahur a part of Glicmas, and
Glicmas is now perhaps a part of that which spoke from the mountain. It
is not well to accept gifts which tie one man to another unless there is
from the first a saying of how deep that bond may run."
"I think you are wise in that, Loketh," Karara said.
But the uneasiness had grown in Ross. Alien powers, out of a mountain
heart, passed from one lord to another. And on the other hand the
Rovers' sudden magic in turn, lending their ships wings. The two facts
balanced in an odd way. Back on Terra there had been those sudden and
unaccountable jumps in technical knowledge on the part of the enemy,
jumps which had set in action the whole Time Travel service of which he
had become a part. And these jumps had not been the result of normal
research; they had come from the looting of derelict spaceships wrecked
on his world in the far past.
Could driblets of the same stellar knowledge have been here deliberately
fed to warring communities? He asked Loketh about the possibility of
space-borne explorers. But to the Hawaikan that was a totally foreign
conception. The stars, for Loketh, were the doorways and windows of the
Shades, and he treated the suggestion of space travel as perhaps natural
to those all-powerful specters, but certainly not for beings like
himself. There was no hint that Hawaika had been openly visited by a
galactic ship. Though that did not bar such landings. The planet was,
Ross thought, thinly populated. Whole sections of the interiors of the
larger islands were wilderness, and this world must be in the same state
of only partial occupation as his own earth had been in the Bronze Age
when tribes on the march had fanned out into virgin wilderness, great
forests, and steppes unwalked by man before their coming.
Now as he balanced in the canoe and tried to keep his mind off the
queasiness in his middle and the insecurity of the one thickness of
sea-creature hide stretched over a bone framework which made up the
craft between his person and the water, Ross still mulled over what
might be true. Had the galactic invaders for their own purposes begun to
meddle here, leaking weapons or tools to upset what must be a very
delicate balance of power? Why? To bring on a conflict which would
occupy the native population to the point of exhaustion or depopulation?
So they could win a world for their own purposes without effort or risk
on their part? Such cold-blooded fishing in carefully troubled waters
fitted very well with the persons of the Baldies as he had known them on
Terra.
And he could not set aside that memory of this very coast as he had seen
it through the peep, the castle in ruins, tall pylons reaching from the
land into the sea. Was this the beginning of that change which would end
in the Hawaika of his own time, empty of intelligent life, shattered
into a loose network of islands?
"This fog is strange." Karara's words startled Ross to return to the
here and now.
The haze he had been only half conscious of when they had put out from
the tiny secret bay where Loketh kept his boat, was truly a fog, piling
up in soft billows and cutting down visibility with speed.
"The Foanna!" Loketh's answer was sharp, a recognition of danger. "Their
magic--they hide their place so! There is trouble, trouble on the move!"
"Do we land then?" Ross did not ascribe the present blotting out of the
landscape to any real manipulation of nature on the part of the
all-powerful Foanna. Too many times the reputations of "medicine men"
had been so enhanced by coincidence. But he did doubt the wisdom of
trying to bore ahead blindly in this murk.
"Taua and Tino-rau can guide us," Karara reminded him. "Throw out the
rope, Ross. What is above water will not confuse them."
He moved cautiously, striving to adapt his actions to the swing of the
boat. The line was ready coiled to hand and he tossed the loose end
overboard, to feel the cord jerk taut as one of the dolphins caught it
up.
They were being towed now, though both paddlers reinforced the forward
tug with their efforts. The curtain gathering above the surface of the
water did not hamper the swimmers beneath its surface, and Ross felt
relief. He turned his head to speak to Loketh.
"How near are we?"
The mist had thickened to the point that, close as the native was, the
lines of his body blurred. His clicking answer seemed distorted, too,
almost as if the fog had altered not only his form but his personality.
"Maybe very soon now. We must see the sea gate before we are sure."
"And if we aren't able to see that?" challenged Ross.
"The sea gate is above and below the water. Those who obey the Sea Maid,
who are able to speak thought to thought, will find it if we can not."
But they were never to reach that goal. Karara gave warning: "There are
ships about."
Ross knew that the dolphins had told her. He demanded in turn: "What
kind?"
"Larger, much larger than this."
Then Loketh broke in: "A Rover Raider--three of them!"
Ross frowned. He was the cripple here. The other two, with their ability
to communicate with the dolphins, were the sighted, he the blind. And he
resented his handicap in a burst of bitterness which must have colored
his tone as he ordered, "Head inshore--now!"
Once on land, even in the fog, he felt that they had the advantage in
any hide-and-seek which might ensue with this superior enemy force. But
afloat he was helpless and vulnerable, a state Ross did not accept
easily.
"No," Loketh returned as sharply. "There is no place to land along the
cliff."
"We are between two of the ships," Karara reported.
"Your paddles--" Ross schooled his voice to a whisper, "hold them--don't
use them. Let the dolphins take us on. In the fog, if we make no sound,
we may get by the ships."
"Right!" Karara agreed, and he heard an assenting grunt from Loketh.
They were moving very slowly. Strong as the dolphins were, they dared
not expend all their strength on towing the skiff too fast. Ross thought
furiously. Perhaps the sea could be their way of escape if the need
arose. He had no idea why raiding ships were moving under the cover of
fog into the vicinity of the Foanna citadel. But the Terran's knowledge
of tactics led him to guess that this impending visit was not
anticipated by the Foanna, nor was it a friendly one. And, as veteran
seamen who should normally be wary of fog as thick as this, the Rovers
themselves must have a driving reason, or some safeguard which led them
here now.
But dared the three spill out of their boat, trust to their swimming
ability and that of the dolphins, and invade the Foanna sea gate so?
Could they use the coming Rover attack as a cover for their own invasion
of the hold? Ross considered that the odds in their favor were beginning
to look better.
He whispered his idea and began to prepare their gear. The boat was
still headed for the shore the three could not see. But they could hear
sounds out of the white cotton wall which told them how completely they
were boxed in by the raiders; creaks, whispers, noises, Ross could not
readily identify, carried across the waves.
Before leaving the cave and beginning this voyage they had introduced
Loketh to the use of the gill-pack, made him practice in the depths of
the cave pool with one of the extras drawn through the gate among the
supplies. Now all three were equipped with the water aid, and they could
be gone in the sea before the trap closed.
"The supply net--" Ross warned Karara. A moment or two later there was a
small bump against the skiff at his left hand. He cautiously raised the
collection of containers and eased the burden into the water, knowing
that one of the dolphins would take charge of it.
However, he was not prepared for what happened next. Under him the boat
lurched first one way and then the other in sharp jerks as if the
dolphins were trying to spill them into the sea. Ross heard Karara call
out, her voice thin and frightened:
"Taua! Tino-rau! They have gone mad! They will not listen!"
The boat raced in a zigag path. Loketh clutched at Ross, striving to
steady him, to keep the boat on an even keel.
"The Foanna--!" Just as Loketh cried out, Karara plunged over the prow
of the boat, whether by design or chance Ross did not know.
And then the craft whirled about, smashed side against side with a dark
bulk looming out of the fog. Above, Ross heard cries, knew that they had
crashed against one of the raiders. He fought to retain his balance, but
he had been knocked to the bottom of the boat against Loketh and they
struggled together, unable to move during a precious second or two.
Out of the air over their heads dropped a mass of waving strands which
enveloped both of them. The stuff was adhesive, slimy. Ross let out a
choked cry as the lines tightened about his arms and body, pinioning
him.
Those tightened, wove a net. Now he was being drawn up out of the
plunging skiff, a helpless captive. His flailing legs, still free of the
slimy cords, struck against the side of the larger ship. Then he swung
in, over the well of the deck, thudded down on that surface with
bruising force, unable to understand anything except that he had been
taken prisoner by a very effective device.
Loketh dropped beside him. But Karara was not brought in, and Ross held
to that small bit of hope. Had she made it to freedom by dropping into
the water before the Rovers netted them? He could see men gathering
about him, masked and distorted in the fog. Then he was rolled across
the deck, boosted over the edge of a hatch and knew an instant of terror
as he fell into the depth below.
How long was he unconscious? It could not have been very long, Ross
decided, as he opened his eyes on dark, heard the small sounds of the
ship. He lay very still, trying to remember, to gather his wits before
he tried to flex his arms. They were held tight to his sides by strands
which no longer seemed slimy, but were wrinkling as they dried. There
was an odor from them which gagged him. But there was no loosening of
those loops in spite of his struggles, which grew more intense as his
strength returned. And at last he lay panting, knowing there was no easy
way of escape from here.
9
Battle Test
Babble of speech, cries, sounded muffled to Ross, made a mounting clamor
on the deck. Had the raiders' ship been boarded? Was it now under
attack? He strove to hear and think through the pain in his head, the
bewilderment.
"Loketh?" He was certain that the Hawaikan had been dumped into the same
hold.
The only answer was a low moan, a mutter from the dark. Ross began to
inch his way in that direction. He was no seaman, but during that worm's
progress he realized that the ship itself had changed. The vibration
which had carried through the planks on which he lay was stilled. Some
engine shut off; one portion of his mind put that into familiar terms.
Now the vessel rocked with the waves, did not bore through them.
Ross brought up against another body.
"Loketh!"
"Ahhhhh ... the fire ... the fire--!" The half-intelligible answer held
no meaning for the Terran. "It burns in my head ... the fire--"
The rocking of the ship rolled Ross away from his fellow prisoner toward
the opposite side of the hold. There was a roar of voice, bull strong
above the noise on deck, then the sound of feet back and forth there.
"The fire ... ahhh--" Loketh's voice rose to a scream.
Ross was now wedged between two abutments he could not see and from
which his best efforts could not free him. The pitching of the ship was
more pronounced. Remembering the two vessels he had seen pounded to bits
on the reef, Ross wondered if the same doom loomed for this one. But
that disaster had occurred during a storm. And, save for the fog, this
had been a calm night, the sea untroubled.
Unless--maybe the shaking his body had received during the past few
moments had sharpened his thinking--unless the Foanna had their own
means of protection at the sea gate and this was the result. The
dolphins.... What had made Tino-rau and Taua react as they did? And if
the Rover ship was out of control, it would be a good time to attempt
escape.
"Loketh!" Ross dared to call louder. "Loketh!" He struggled against the
drying strands which bound him from shoulder to mid thigh. There was no
give in them.
More sounds from the upper deck. Now the ship was answering to direction
again. The Terran heard sounds he could not identify, and the ship no
longer rocked so violently. Loketh moaned.
As far as Ross could judge, they were heading out to sea.
"Loketh!" He wanted information; he must have it! To be so ignorant of
what was going on was unbearable frustration. If they were now prisoners
in a ship leaving the island behind.... The threat of that was enough to
set Ross struggling with his bonds until he lay panting with exhaustion.
"Rossss?" Only a Hawaikan could make that name a hiss.
"Here! Loketh?" But of course it was Loketh.
"I am here." The other's voice sounded oddly weak as if it issued from a
man drained by a long illness.
"What happened to you?" Ross demanded.
"The fire ... the fire in my head--eating ... eating...." Loketh's reply
came with long pauses between the words.
The Terran was puzzled. What fire? Loketh had certainly reacted to
something beyond the unceremonious handling they had received as
captives. This whole ship had reacted. And the dolphins.... But what
fire was Loketh talking about?
"I did not feel anything," he stated to himself as well as to the
Hawaikan.
"Nothing burning in your head? So you could not think--"
"No."
"It must have been the Foanna magic. Fire eating so that a man is
nothing, only that which fire feeds upon!"
Karara! Ross's thoughts flashed back to those few seconds when the
dolphins had seemed to go crazy. Karara had then called out something
about the Foanna. So the dolphins must have felt this, and Karara, and
Loketh. Whatever _it_ was. But why not Ross Murdock?
Karara possessed an extra, undefinable sense which gave her contact with
the dolphins. Loketh had a mind which those could read in turn. But such
communication was closed to Ross.
At first that realization carried with it a feeling of shame and loss.
That he did not have what these others possessed, a subtle power beyond
the body, a part of mind, was humbling. Just as he had felt shut out and
crippled when he had been forced to use the analyzer instead of the
sense the others had, so did he suffer now.
Then Ross laughed shortly. All right, sometimes insensitivity could be a
defense as it had at the sea gate. Suppose his lack could also be a
weapon? He had not been knocked out as the others appeared to be. But
for the bad luck of having been captured before the raiders had
succumbed, Ross could, perhaps, have been master of this ship by now. He
did not laugh now; he smiled sardonically at his own grandiose reaction.
No use thinking about what might have been, just file this fact for
future reference.
A creaking overhead heralded the opening of the hatch. Light lanced down
into the cubby, and a figure swung over and down a side ladder, coming
to stand over Ross, feet apart for balancing, accommodating to the swing
of the vessel with the ease of long practice.
Thus Ross came face to face with his first representative of the third
party in the Hawaikan tangle of power--a Rover.
The seaman was tall, with a heavier development of shoulder and upper
arms than the landsmen. Like the guards he wore supple armor, but this
had been colored or overlaid with a pearly hue in which other tints wove
opaline lines. His head was bare except for a broad, scaled band running
from the nape of his neck to the mid-point of his forehead, a band
supporting a sharply serrated crest not unlike the erect fin of some
Terran fish.
Now as he stood, fists planted on hips, the Rover presented a formidable
figure, and Ross recognized in him the air of command. This must be one
of the ship's officers.
Dark eyes surveyed Ross with interest. The light from the deck focused
directly across the raider's shoulder to catch the Terran in its full
glare, and Ross fought the need for squinting. But he tried to give back
stare for stare, confidence for self-confidence.
On Terra in the past more than one adventurer's life had been saved
simply because he had the will and nerve enough to face his captors
without any display of anxiety. Such bravado might not hold here and
now, but it was the only weapon Ross had to hand and he used it.
"You--" the Rover broke the silence first, "you are not of the Foanna--"
He paused as if waiting an answer--denial or protest. Ross provided
neither.
"No, not of the Foanna, nor of the scum of the coast either." Again a
pause.
"So, what manner of fish has come to the net of Torgul?" He called an
order aloft. "A rope here! We'll have this fish and its fellow out--"
Loketh and Ross were jerked up to the outer deck, dumped into the midst
of a crowd of seamen. The Hawaikan was left to lie but, at a gesture
from the officer, Ross was set on his feet. He could see the nature of
his bonds now, a network of dull gray strands, shriveled and stinking,
but not giving in the least when he made another try at moving his arms.
"Ho--" The officer grinned. "This fish does not like the net! You have
teeth, fish. Use them, slash yourself free."
A murmur of applause from the crew answered that mild taunt. Ross
thought it time for a countermove.
"I see you do not come too close to those teeth." He used the most
defiant words his limited Hawaikan vocabulary offered.
There was a moment of silence, and then the officer clapped his hands
together with a sharp explosion of sound.
"You would use your teeth, fish?" he asked and his tone could be a
warning.
This was going it blind with a vengeance, but Ross took the next leap in
the dark. He had the feeling, which often came to him in tight quarters,
that he was being supplied from some hard core of endurance and
determination far within him with the right words, the fortunate guess.
"On which one of you?" He drew his lips tight, displaying those same
teeth, wondering for one startled moment if he should take the Rover's
query literally.
"Vistur! Vistur!" More than one voice called.
One of the crew took a step or two forward. Like Torgul, he was tall and
heavy, his over-long arms well muscled. There were scars on his
forearms, the seam of one up his jaw. He looked what he was, a very
tough fighting man, one who was judged so by peers as seasoned and
dangerous.
"Do you choose to prove your words on Vistur, fish?" Again the officer
had a formal note in his question, as if this was all part of some
ceremony.
"If he meets with me as he stands--no other weapons." Ross flashed back.
Now he had another reaction from them. There were some jeers, a
sprinkling of threats as to Vistur's intentions. But Ross caught also
the fact that two or three of them had gone silent and were eyeing him
in a new and more searching fashion and that Torgul was one of those.
Vistur laughed. "Well said, fish. So shall it be."
Torgul's hand came out, palm up, facing Ross. In its hollow was a small
object the Terran could not see clearly. A new weapon? Only the officer
made no move to touch it to Ross, the hand merely moved in a series of
waves in mid-air. Then the Rover spoke.
"He carries no unlawful magic."
Vistur nodded. "He's no Foanna. And what need have I to fear the spells
of any coast crawler? I am Vistur!"
Again the yells of his supporters arose in hearty answer. The statement
held more complete and quiet confidence than any wordy boast.