The glare of light showed the water plainly—a brilliant, ghastly green.
We reached the sea-bottom, turned and dashed forward. The Maagogs were
there. They saw our light coming of course, long before we saw them. A
crowd of them, confused, half-blinded, but they were standing their
ground nevertheless.
Over the line of light-sleighs I saw that we had to deal here with
perhaps five hundred Maagog men. They seemed armed with spears. They
huddled heavily against the sea-bottom, some half a mile from the edge
of the forest. The line of them stretched back there, and more were
constantly coming out.
When our sleighs were no more than a few hundred yards away, I shouted
at Atar. At his relayed signal, the sleighs shrouded their pods and
turned upward, out of reach of the enemy. It left the water in
semi-darkness—blackness it must have seemed to the Maagogs, with that
blinding glare so suddenly extinguished.
And then we leaped at them.
It was a swirl of confusion, this hand-to-hand warfare. I held my
dolphin resolutely above it, taking no part, but watching for every
advantage into which I might hurl my men.
Looking down into the swirling water I could see the Maagogs fighting
desperately to impale my swimmers with their spears. And my young
Marinoids, darting over them, up and down, seeking to touch them head
and legs simultaneously that the electric shock might kill them.
The fighting spread. Soon it was going on over a wide area. It was
almost silent, uncanny fighting. The swish of the churning water—a
shout, a death scream here and there. Bodies were dotting the sand.
Maagogs, but Marinoids too. And the Maagogs in this first engagement
outnumbered us two to one.
I was perhaps fifty feet above the sand, with the sleighs poised
inactive immediately over me. Atar dashed up.
“How are they doing? Nemo, would it be better in the light?”
I had not thought of that. A trio of Maagogs, wounded and confused, came
floundering up at us. Atar, from his dolphin, dispatched them easily
with his sword.
“The lights!” he shouted. “Lights—and spread out—to light it all.”
The lights flashed on; the sleighs moved away to separate positions.
As though on a lighted stage, the scene was now illumined. It was a good
move, for the Maagogs, living in the dark Water of Wild Things, could
not stand the light as well as we could.
Back to the edge of the forest the fighting was in progress. But my
heart sank. There were two Maagogs dead to every Marinoid; but it was
not enough. These were the weakest of Og’s forces—and I was using
against them the best of mine. Half an hour more of such fighting and
these first columns would be cut to pieces and routed. But what of that,
if I lost nearly half of my finest men? There were the black fishes yet
to cope with. My electric men would do best against them.
I saw now my mistake. I should have fought these lumbering Maagogs with
my older, more numerous men. Spears against spears—and saved my youth
for the black fishes.
Atar, I think, came to these conclusions simultaneously. Together we
dashed over the scene of battle, calling off our fighters. They came
readily, for the Maagogs, sorely harassed, were glad enough to let them
go.
Up we started, but there were now no more than a hundred of us, where
before there had been more than twice that. The light-sleighs, again
shrouded, followed us. In the dimness down there, the sea-bottom was
strewn with inert, broken figures—the wounded floundering—the water
darkened with blood. And over toward the forest the Maagogs were
retreating, to join fresh columns coming out. Then as we rose, the scene
faded into obscurity.
“We must get back up,” Atar called to me. “Get our older men—all of
them—and come down again at once.”
We were rising to where our waiting army would soon come into view, when
off to the left I saw a cloud of tiny forms coming out of the upper
recesses of the forest. Dashing at us, to cut off our ascent! Swiftly. I
saw at once that our swimmers could not avoid them.
The black fishes! A swarm of them, with Og in their midst, was upon us!
* * * * *
I must go back now to when—previous to our first attack—Nona with her
girls left us to cross the forest. Nona led them; and swimming at
tremendous speed they were soon above the vegetation. It was a queer
sight, looking down through the water upon those marine tree-tops. A
tangle of weeds; air-pods, some of them gigantic—the whole forest a
matted thicket on top of which one could lie at rest.
But there were many places which would have served as entrance down or
exit up; which latter thought made my Nona shiver involuntarily. Down in
the tangle—two thousand feet down—the Maagogs were passing through.
What forces did they have? How many men? How many of the dreaded black
fishes? Where were those black fishes—from which point would they
attack us?
Nona knew that the fishes could best be fought by our electric men. The
little beasts would be easy to shock and kill—but not easy, since they
were so small, to impale upon a lance. Nona wondered where they were. If
only she could get information of the strength and disposition of the
enemy forces—information for me, so that I might intelligently plan my
battle.
Woman acts upon impulse. Nona called her girl leaders—directed them to
go on and carry out my orders—drive the Maagogs into the forest from
its side toward Gahna.
Then abruptly she halted her dolphin; the others swept on, leaving her
alone in the silence of the water above the forest. At once she fastened
her lance to the dolphin’s back and dismounted; and the dolphin,
understanding her reiterated, whispered command, held itself poised to
await her return.
Nona planned to go down alone—swimming free-handed—into the forest to
spy upon the enemy. She wasted no time; finding an open space between
the tall spires, she dove into it.
The descent through those tangled, tenuous air-pods and plants, was
laborious. She worked her way down, quietly, surreptitiously. It was
almost dark, though not quite; and very silent. Far below now, she
thought she could hear the sound of voices.
She was perhaps two-thirds the way down, when a sudden movement near at
hand caused her heart to leap. Something human! She shrank behind a
waving leaf, and clung. Peering into the gloom she saw a human figure—a
Maagog. A woman—seemingly unarmed—a small female figure huddling in a
branch of vegetation.
A Maagog! Nona could capture her—force from this enemy woman the
information she sought.
My Nona plunged forward, her arms outstretched. Plunged silently,
swiftly; and she was upon her enemy before the Maagog was fully aware of
her. Their bodies met; the Maagog woman (she was no more than a girl)
screamed; but Nona’s hand went over her mouth.
They fought, tore at each other, with the Maagog girl’s four arms
gripping my Nona’s frail body like the tentacles of an octopus. But Nona
was the stronger; her body built of firmer flesh; her muscles more
powerful.
* * * * *
Abruptly the Maagog girl yielded. They had been tumbling over and over
in the water—wound and entangled with sea-weed; and save for that one
scream, fighting silently. Nona pulled her captured antagonist to a
tree-stalk, and in one of its branches, held her there firmly. And not
until then did she realize that this was Maaret, the girl who loved
Og—the girl who had helped us escape from the Water of Wild Things.
“You!”
But Maaret now was crying. “What do you want of me? You go away. I hate
you. You tried to take my Og. You let me alone.”
Women are strange creatures! My Nona put her arms tenderly about the
vehement girl.
“You must not hate me, Maaret. What are you doing here?”
“Og—he is down there. Fighting. For you, he fights—_you_, the woman
who stole his heart. And he may be killed, and I love him.”
What could Nona say? This girl had followed Og to battle—followed,
hoping to keep him out of danger, because she loved him. And at the
last, frightened, she had crawled away to the treetops—crying with fear
and misery when Nona set upon her.
“Maaret, listen. You tell me where the black fishes are. Where is your
Og?”
“There—in the forest.” It was a vague answer—a gesture, not down, but
off to one side, toward Rax.
“Still in the forest?”
“Yes. I think so—I don’t know. But he was going out to fight.”
“The black fishes were with him?”
“Yes.”
“How many of them, Maaret?”
But the girl had become suspicious.
“I don’t know,” she said sullenly.
“He is on the sea-bottom with them? Maaret, listen. How many Maagogs are
there in the forest?”
But the girl understood Nona’s purpose and set her lips tight.
“Tell me, Maaret.”
“No!” burst out the girl. “You would do my Og harm. I want to help him,
not you.” She tried to pull away, but Nona held her. Nona’s anger was
rising.
“I’ll take you with me,” she told the girl. “My Nemo will make you
talk.”
But Maaret resisted, and suddenly her tears came afresh.
“You let me go. I should be with Og—fighting beside him because I love
him. I was a coward to come up here.”
The words appealed as none others could to Nona. Her anger vanished;
sympathy flooded over her.
“You want to fight for Og, Maaret?”
“Yes! I want to fight—I belong there—beside him. Let me go.”
Nona stared into the girl’s pathetic little face.
“Go,” she said. “You speak truth, Maaret. You belong there with the man
you love, no matter for what cause he fights. Go!”
Her gaze followed as Maaret dropped away, down into the recesses of the
forest.
* * * * *
It was a terrible moment as we saw those black fishes, with Og in their
midst, dashing at us. Atar and I shouted to our men—shouted
encouragement. We could not avoid this new enemy; and so we had to
plunge at it with a will. A hundred electric men, no more, and all of
them were exhausted by the combat they had left but a moment before.
Our light-sleighs were of little use here; hastily we sent them speeding
upward, to bring down our main army to our assistance. Atar and I on our
dolphins circled about. The black fishes were everywhere; confusion
again; the lashing figures of our young men as they met the black, ugly
little things—all jaws, and teeth like needles.
A hundred personal battles simultaneously. But there were ten fishes to
each of our men at least. The fishes were shocked and killed—some of
them. Others bit and tore at our fighters’ flesh.
Have you ever seen a school of hungry fish pluck at a bit of food?
Dismember it—carry it away? This was like it. . . .
Shuddering, I dashed my dolphin to and fro. A few of the fishes I caught
on my lance. But so very few among that thousand. . . .
This was disaster. We would kill half the fishes perhaps—but lose all
this portion of our men. Disaster. . . .
I became aware of Atar’s dolphin rushing past me; his voice shouting:
“Og! Let us get Og! Force him to call off the fishes! Or kill him!”
Og had been holding himself poised in midwater, watching the scene. But
already he had realized the danger. He was making away; and at his call
a hundred or more of his fishes gathered around him.
We would have dashed at them; our two dolphins could have scattered
them.
But we did not; for from below, a swarm of other figures appeared.
Marinogs! The half-breeds! A picked corps of Marinog youths. They were
good swimmers. They possessed the power of electric shock. More than a
hundred of them were rising now to Og’s assistance.
Atar and I stopped our onslaught. Around us on every hand our scattered
forces were fighting the fishes. But the little groups of men fighting
were now very few; everywhere bodies were sinking inert, with swarms of
fishes plucking at them. . . .
We screamed for all to follow us who could; and mounted. A few of our
men tried to follow—but not one succeeded. The oncoming Marinogs, fresh
and lustful, caught them all.
And with hearts cold within us, Atar and I dashed on upward, alone.