Ross whirled the rope which had been meant to bring him down around Lal.
He lashed the tribesman's arms tight to his body before he knelt to cut
loose his fellow time traveler. Lal now huddled against the far wall of
the cup, fear in every line of his small body. So apparent was this fear
that Ross felt no satisfaction at turning the tables on him. Instead he
felt increasingly uneasy.
"What is this all about?" he asked McNeil as he stripped off his bonds
and helped him up.
McNeil massaged his wrists, took a step or two, and grimaced with pain.
"Our friend seeks to be an obedient servant of Lurgha."
Ross picked up his bow. "The tribe is out to hunt us?"
"Lurgha has ordered--out of thin air again--that any traders who escaped
are to be brought in and introduced to him personally at the sacrifice
for the enrichment of the fields!"
The old, old gift of blood and life at the spring sowing. Ross recalled
grisly details from his cram lessons. Any wandering stranger or enemy
tribesman taken in a raid before that day would meet such a fate. On
unlucky years when people were not available a deer or wolf might serve.
But the best sacrifice of all was a man. So Lurgha had decreed--from the
air--that traders were his meat? What of Ashe? Let any hunter from the
village track him down.
"We have to move fast," Ross told McNeil as he took up the rope which
made a leading cord for Lal. Ashe would want to question the tribesman
about this second order from Lurgha.
Impatient as Ross was, he had to mend his pace to accommodate McNeil.
The man from the hill post was close to the end of his strength. He had
started off bravely enough, but now he wavered. Ross sent Lal ahead with
a sharp push, ordering him to stay there, while he went to McNeil's aid.
It was well into the afternoon before they came up the stream and saw
the fire before the cave.
"Macna!" Ashe hailed Ross's companion with the native version of his
name. "And Lal. But what do you here, Lal of Nodren's town?"
"Mischief." Ross helped McNeil within the cave and to the pile of brush
which was his own bed. "He was hunting traders as a present for Lurgha."
"So--" Ashe turned upon the tribesman--"and by whose word did you go
hunting my kinsman, Lal? Was it Nodren's? Has he forgotten the blood
bond between us? For it was in the name of Lurgha himself that that bond
was made----"
"Aaaah--" The tribesman squatted down against the wall where Ross had
shoved him. Unable to hide his head in his arms, he brought his face
down upon his knees so that only his shaggy topknot of hair was exposed.
Ross realized, with stupefaction, that the little man was crying like a
child, his hunched shoulders rising and falling with the force of his
sobs. "Aaaah--" he wailed.
Ashe allowed him a moment or two of noisy grief and then limped over to
grasp his topknot and pull up his head. Lal's eyes were screwed tightly
shut, but there were tears on his cheeks, and his mouth twisted in
another wail.
"Be quiet!" Ashe shook him, but not too harshly. "Have you yet felt the
bite of my sharp knife? Has an arrow holed your skin? You are alive, and
you could be dead. Show that you are glad you live and continue to
breathe by telling us what you know, Lal."
The woman Cassca had displayed a measure of intelligence and ease at
their meeting upon the road. But it was very plain that Lal was of
different stuff, a simple man in whose head few ideas could find house
room at one time. And to him the present was all black. Little by little
they dragged the story out of him.
Lal was poor, so poor that he had never dared dream of owning for
himself some of the precious things the hill traders displayed to the
wealthy of Nodren's town. But he was also a follower of the Great
Mother's, rather than one who made sacrifices to Lurgha. Lurgha was the
god for warriors and great men; he was too high to concern himself with
such as Lal.
So when Nodren reported the end of the hill post under the storm fist of
Lurgha, Lal had been impressed only to a point. He was still convinced
it was none of his concern, and instead he began thinking of the
treasures which might lie hidden in the destroyed buildings. It occurred
to him that Lurgha's Wrath had been laid upon the men who had owned
them, but perhaps it would not stretch to the fine things themselves. So
he had gone secretly to the hill to explore.
What he had seen there had utterly converted him to a belief in the fury
of Lurgha and he had been frightened out of his simple wits, fleeing
without making the search he had intended. But Lurgha had seen him
there, had read his impious thoughts....
At that point Ashe interrupted the stream of Lal's story. How had Lurgha
seen Lal?
Because--Lal shuddered, began to cry again, and spoke the next few
sentences haltingly--that very morning when he had gone out to hunt wild
fowl in the marshes Lurgha had spoken to _him_, to Lal, who was less
than a flea creeping upon a worn-out fur rug.
And how had Lurgha spoken? Ashe's voice was softer, gentle.
Out of the air, even as he had spoken to Nodren, who was a chief. He
said that he had seen Lal in the hill post, and so Lal was his meat. But
not yet would he eat him, not if Lal served him in other ways. And he,
Lal, had lain flat on the ground before the bodiless voice of Lurgha and
had sworn that he would serve Lurgha to the end of his life.
Then Lurgha had told him to hunt down one of the evil traders who was
hiding in the marshes, and bind him with ropes. Then he was to call the
men of the village and together they would carry the prisoner to the
hill where Lurgha had loosed his wrath, and there they would leave him.
Later they might return and take what they found there and use it to
bless the fields at sowing time, and all would be well with Nodren's
village. And Lal had sworn that he would do as Lurgha bade, but now he
could not. So Lurgha would eat him up--he was a man without hope.
"Yet," Ashe said even more gently, "have you not served the Great Mother
all these years, giving to her a portion of the first fruits even when
the yield of your one field was small?"
Lal stared at him, his woebegone face still smeared with tears. It took
a second or two for the question to penetrate his fear-clouded mind.
Then he nodded timidly.
"Has she not dealt with you well in return, Lal? You are a poor man,
that is true. But you are not gaunt of belly, even though this is the
thin season when men fast before the coming of the new harvest. The
Great Mother watches over her own. And it is she who has brought you to
us now. For this I say to you, Lal, and I, Assha of the traders, speak
with a straight tongue. The Lurgha who struck our post, who spoke to you
from the air, means you no good----"
"Aaaah!" wailed Lal. "So do I know, Assha. He is of the blackness and
the wandering spirits of the dark!"
"Just so. Thus he is no kin to the mother, for she is of the light and
of good things, of the new grain, and the newborn lambs for your flocks,
of the maids who wed with men and bring forth sons to lift their
fathers' spears, daughters to spin by the hearth and sow the yellow
grain in the furrows. Lurgha's quarrel lies with us, Lal, not with
Nodren nor with you. And we take upon us that quarrel." He limped into
the outer air where the shadows of evening were beginning to creep
across the ground.
"Hear me, Lurgha," he called into the coming night, "I am Assha of the
traders, and upon myself I take your hate. Not upon Lal, nor upon
Nodren, nor upon the people who live in Nodren's town, shall your wrath
lie. Thus do I say it!"
Ross, noticing that Ashe concealed from Lal a wave of his hand, was
prepared for some display meant to impress the tribesman. It came in a
spectacular burst of green fire beyond the stream. Lal wailed again, but
when that fire was followed by no other manifestation he ventured to
raise his head once more.
"You have seen how Lurgha answered me, Lal. Toward me only will his
wrath be turned. Now--" Ashe limped back and dragged out the white wolf
skin, dropping it before Lal--"this you will give to Cassca that she may
make a curtain for the Mother's home. See, it is white and so rare that
the Mother will be pleased with such a fine gift. And you will tell her
all that has chanced and how you believe in her powers over the powers
of Lurgha, and the Mother will be well pleased with you. But you shall
say nothing to the men of the village, for this quarrel is between
Lurgha and Assha now and not for the meddling of others."
He unfastened the rope which bound Lal's arms. Lal reached out a hand to
the wolf skin, his eyes filled with wonderment. "This is a fine thing
you give me, Assha, and the Mother will be pleased, for in many years
she has not had such a curtain for her secret place. Also, I am but a
little man; the quarrels of great ones are not for me. Since Lurgha has
accepted your words this is none of my affair. Yet I will not go back to
the village for a while--with your permission, Assha. For I am a man of
loose and wagging tongue and oftentimes I speak what I do not really
wish to say. So if I am asked questions, I answer. If I am not there to
be asked such questions, I cannot answer."
McNeil laughed, and Ashe smiled. "Well enough, Lal. Perhaps you are a
wiser man than you think. But also I do not believe you should stay
here."
The tribesman was already nodding. "That do I say, too, Assha. You are
now facing the Wrath of Lurgha, and with that I wish no part. Thus I
shall go into the marsh for a while. There are birds and hares to hunt,
and I shall work upon this fine skin so that when I take it to the
Mother it shall indeed be a gift worth her smiles. Now, Assha, I would
go before the night comes if it pleases you."
"Go with good fortune, Lal." Ashe stood apart while the tribesman ducked
his head in a shy, awkward farewell to the others, pattering out into
the valley.
"What if they pick him up?" McNeil asked wearily.
"I don't think they can," Ashe returned. "And what would you do--keep
him here? If we tried that, he'd scheme to escape and try to turn the
tables on us. Now he'll keep away from Nodren's village and out of sight
for the time being. Lal's not too bright in some ways, but he's a good
hunter. If he has reason for hiding out, it'll take a better hunter to
track him. At least we know now that the Reds are afraid they did not
make a clean sweep here. What happened, McNeil?"
While he was telling his story in more detail both Ashe and Ross worked
on his burns, making him comfortable. Then Ashe sat back as Ross
prepared food.
"How did they spot the post?" Ashe rubbed his chin and frowned at the
fire.
"Only way I can guess is that they picked up our post signal and
pinpointed the source. That means they must have been hunting us for
some time."
"No strangers about lately?"
McNeil shook his head. "Our cover wasn't broken that way. Sanford was a
wonder. If I hadn't known better, I would have sworn he was born one of
the Beaker folk. He had a network of informants running all the way from
here into Brittany. Amazing how he was able to work without arousing any
suspicions. I suppose his being a member of the smiths' guild was a big
help. He could pick up a lot of news from any village where there was
one at work. And I tell you," McNeil propped himself up on his elbow to
exclaim more vehemently--"there wasn't a whisper of trouble from here
clear across the channel and pretty far to the north. We were already
sure the south was clean before we ever took cover as Beakers,
especially since their clans are thick in Spain."
Ashe chewed a broiled wing reflectively. "Their permanent base with the
transport _has_ to be somewhere within the bounds of the territory they
hold in our own time."
"They could plant it in Siberia and laugh at us," McNeil exploded. "No
hope of our getting in there----"
"No." Ashe threw the stripped bone into the fire and licked grease from
his fingers. "Then they would be faced with the old problem of distance.
If what they are exploiting lay within their modern boundaries, we would
never have tumbled to the thing in the first place. What the Reds want
must lie outside their twentieth century holdings, a slender point in
our favor. Therefore they will plant their shift point as close to it as
they can. Our transportation problem is more difficult than theirs will
ever be.
"You know why we chose the arctic for our base; it lies in a section of
the world never populated by other than roving hunters. But I'll wager
anything you want to name that their point is somewhere in Europe where
they have people to contend with. If they are using a plane, they can't
risk its being seen----"
"I don't see why not," Ross broke in. "These people couldn't possibly
know what it was--Lurgha's bird--magic--"
Ashe shook his head. "They must have the interference-with-history worry
as much as we have. Anything of our own time has to be hidden or
disguised in such a way that the native who may stumble upon it will
never know it is man-made. Our sub is a whale to all appearances.
Possibly their plane is a bird, but neither can bear too close an
examination. We don't know what could result from a leak of real
knowledge in this or any primitive time ... how it might change
history----"
"But," Ross advanced what he believed to be the best argument against
that reasoning, "suppose I handed Lal a gun and taught him to use it. He
couldn't duplicate the weapon--the technology required lies so far
beyond this age. These people couldn't reproduce such a thing."
"True enough. On the other hand, don't belittle the ingenuity of the
smiths or the native intelligence of men in any era. These tribesmen
might not be able to reproduce your gun, but it would set them thinking
along new lines. We might find that they would think our time right out
of being. No, we dare not play tricks with the past. This is the same
situation we faced immediately after the discovery of the atom bomb.
Everybody raced to produce that new weapon and then sat around and
shivered for fear we'd be crazy enough to use it on each other.
"The Reds have made new discoveries which we have to match, or we will
go under. But back in time we have to be careful, both of us, or perhaps
destroy the world we do live in."
"What do we do now?" McNeil wanted to know.
"Murdock and I came here only for a trial run. It's his test. The sub is
to call for us about nine days from now."
"So if we sit tight--if we _can_ sit tight--" McNeil lay down
again--"they will take us out. Meanwhile we have nine days."
They spent three more days in the cave. McNeil was on his feet and
impatient to leave before Ashe was able to hobble well enough to travel.
Though Ross and McNeil took turns at hunting and guard duty, they saw no
signs that the tribesmen were tracking them. Apparently Lal had done as
he promised, withdrawing to the marsh and hiding there apart from his
people.
In the gray of pre-dawn on the fourth day Ashe wakened Ross. Their fire
had been buried with earth, and already the cave seemed bleak. They ate
venison roasted the night before and went out into the chill of a fog. A
little way down the valley McNeil joined them out of the mist from his
guard post. Keeping their pace to one which favored Ashe's healing
wound, they made their way inland in the direction of the track linking
the villages.
Crossing that road they continued northward, the land beginning to rise
under them. Far away they heard the blatting of sheep, the bark of a
dog. In the fog, Ross stumbled in a shallow ditch beyond which lay a
stubbled field. Ashe paused to look about him, his nostrils expanding as
if he were a hound smelling out their trail.
The three went on, crossing a whole series of small, irregular fields.
Ross was sure that the yield from any of these cleared strips must be
scanty. The fog was thickening. Ashe pressed the pace, using his
handmade crutch carefully. He gave an audible sigh of relief when they
were faced at last by two stone monoliths rising like pillars. A third
stone lay across them, forming a rude arch through which they saw a
narrow valley running back into the hills.
Through the fog Ross could sense the eerie strangeness of the valley
beyond the massive gate. He would have said that he was not
superstitious, that he had merely studied these tribal beliefs as
lessons; he had not accepted them. Yet now, if he had been alone, he
would have avoided that place and turned aside from the valley, for that
which waited within was not for him. To his secret relief Ashe paused by
the arch to wait.
The older man gestured the other two into cover. Ross obeyed willingly,
though the dank drops of condensing fog dripped on his cloak and wet his
face as he brushed against prickly-leafed shrubs. Here were walls of
evergreen plants and dwarfed pines almost as if this tunnel of
year-round greenery had been planted with some purpose in mind. Once his
companions had concealed themselves, Ashe called, shrill but sweetly,
with a bird's rising notes. Three times he made that sound before a
figure moved in the fog, the rough gray-white of its long cloak melting
in the wisps of mist.
Down that green tunnel, out of the heart of the valley, the other came,
a loop of cloak concealing the entire figure. It halted right in back of
the arch and Ashe, making a gesture to the others to stay where they
were, faced the muffled stranger.
"Hands and feet of the Mother, she who sows what may be reaped----"
"Outland stranger who is under the Wrath of Lurgha," the other mocked
him in the voice of Cassca. "What do you want, outlander, that you dare
to come here where no man may enter?"
"That which you know. For on the night when Lurgha came you also
saw----"
Ross heard the hiss of a sharply drawn breath. "How knew you that,
outlander?"
"Because you serve the Mother and you are jealous for her and her
service. If Lurgha is a mighty god, you wanted to see his acts with your
own eyes."
When she finally answered, there was anger as well as frustration in her
voice. "And you know of my shame then, Assha. For Lurgha came--on a bird
he came, and he did even as he said he would. So now the village will
make offerings to Lurgha and beg his favor, and the Mother will no more
have those to harken to her words and offer her the first fruits----"
"But from whence came this bird which was Lurgha, can you tell me that,
she who waits upon the Mother?"
"What difference does it make from what direction Lurgha came? That does
not add nor take from his power." Cassca moved beneath the arch. "Or
does it in some strange way, Assha?"
"Perhaps it does. Only tell me."
She turned slowly and pointed over her right shoulder. "From that way he
came, Assha. Well did I watch, knowing that I was the Mother's and that
even Lurgha's thunderbolts could not eat me up. Does knowing that make
Lurgha smaller in your eyes, Assha? When he has eaten up all that is
yours and your kin with it?"
"Perhaps," Assha repeated. "I do not think Lurgha will come so again."
She shrugged, and the heavy cloak flapped. "That shall be as it shall
be, Assha. Now go, for it is not good that any man come hither."
Cassca paced back into the heart of the green tunnel, and Ross and
McNeil came out of concealment. McNeil faced in the direction she had
pointed. "Northeast--" he commented thoughtfully, "the Baltic lies in
that quarter."