Down to a Sunless Sea

26 The Ending

As the Sea People joined hands in mental communion, their eyes became blank and vacant, their faces smoothed from grimaces of sadness and despair into placid expressionlessness.

For a long, breathless moment nothing at all happened.

Then—

Agila staggered, paled to a greenish, sickly hue, his eyes wide and bright with fear and lack of comprehension.

The power gun fell from slackening fingers to thud against the floor-mats.

The thief seemed struggling for breath, face blackening with the effort to suck air into starved lungs. His eyes bulged hideously from their sockets: it was as if bands of iron tightened about his ribs, crushing the breath from him.

Then he fell limply, sprawling across the body of the Prince. He kicked out once or twice, an involuntary action. Then he lay dead as a piece of stone.

And Brant sucked in his breath, heart chill with fear. For he knew exactly what had happened. The communion of minds, it seemed, could touch other nerve centers of the brain besides the visual sense. It could gontrol even the involuntary muscles of the body, those over which the will has little or no control, such as the beating of the heart …

The Sea People had slain the murderer of their Prince in their own way … by thought alone.

Suoli uttered a shriek of despair when Agila staggered and fell. Now, soft, plump little hands shaking like leaves in a tempest, she turned like a cornered beast upon the folk of Zhah.

Brant’s second power gun was in those trembling hands. And Suoli knew how to use it—

“Suoli, no—!” the big Earthsider yelled from a raw throat, but she was too far gone in panic even to comprehend his words.

Hathera turned his sorrowful gaze upon the small woman, and she dropped the gun. She sagged and crumpled to the flooring, and crawled feebly some small distance, until her head lay upon the breast of her lover. Then, as if somehow contented, she breathed a small sigh. And … died.

An hour or two had passed since that terrible scene in the chambers of the Prince, and Brant paced up and down, restless as a caged tiger. Tuan sat, arms clasped about his knees, face grim, eyes brooding on nothingness.

Strangely enough, no vengeance had been visited upon the rest of the strangers: only upon Agila and Suoli. But the mind-force had herded them together into a side-room, and they found themselves unable to leave it. Doubtless at this very moment Hathera and the leaders of the princely clan were conferring upon the manner of their doom.

The old scientist glanced at Brant impatiently. “Jim, I wish you’d stop pacing back and forth! You’re making me nervous.”

Brant grunted sourly, and flung himself down beside where Zuarra sat. He said nothing: but all of this waiting was making him nervous.

The outlaw chief caught Brant’s eye with a small, mirthless grin. “Tuan wishes that the Sea People would make an end to this,” he stated flatly. “If they intend to kill us, then by the Timeless Ones, let them get it over with!”

Nobody made reply, but the rest of Tuan’s warriors stirred restively, hefting their weapons.

“Maybe we should make a break for it,” Brant muttered. “We still have the guns.”

“How far would we get?” asked Will Harbin. “Besides, we can’t pass through the door. The mental power of the Sea People holds us under constraint as surely as if there were iron bars across the door.”

“We could try something,” said Brant. “Set the building on fire, maybe. They’d be too busy putting it out to bother with us …”

His voice died away lamely into the silence. He knew it was a lousy idea, but the raw instinct to fight for survival was strong within him. Much rather would he go forth to face Death like a man, than crouch like a coward or a weakling, and wait for it to visit him at its leisure… .

Suddenly, Will Harbin lifted his head. “Listen!” he whispered. But they had all heard it at the same moment, the distant keening. It was a low, wailing song without words, a moaning as of many voices. And it was coming nearer—

Brant and Tuan sprung to their feet, and the others scrambled up upon their cue.

Hathera appeared in the doorway, like a sudden apparition. He was naked, save for a wreath of strange blossoms which crowned his brow. Behind him many others could be seen, men, women, young children. All wore similar wreaths of the curious flowers.

“The time has come for you to leave us,” said Hathera softly. His face was lined and weary, his eyes sorrowful, with no animosity in them.

At that moment, the mental constraint which had bound them all within the room—changed. They were free to leave the chamber, and a compulsion came upon them to do so. They trooped out into the hallway and Hathera turned, leading them. And, although Tuan’s band of outlaws had their weapons ready in their hands, it did not occur to them to use them; perhaps this was another form of the constraint, for by now Hathera had learned the meaning of the word “weapon.”

Zuarra slipped her strong, small hand into Brant’s, nodding behind them. He looked over his shoulder and saw that the Sea People were bearing the bodies of Agila and Suoli upon stretchers.

The twin power guns lay upon the breasts of the slain couple.

When they emerged from the central building into the dim luminance of eternal dawn, they saw an unearthly sight.

For all of the people of Zhah, from the oldest man to the babes in their mother’s arms, were gathered to observe their passage. In their hundreds and their thousands they stood ranked along the way, and each of them wore the strange crown of blossoms upon their brows.

The soft, sorrowful crooning rose now in a swelling chorus from the throats of many thousands. It was a sad, low susurration, like the sobbing of wind in gaunt boughs, or the sighing of the sea. It raised the hackles on Brant’s nape.

He stared into many faces as Hathera led them down to the sea. The same mournful expression was upon each face, and in the eyes of all. Nowhere did he read anger or even resentment: only a stricken, heart-deep sorrow, a hurt puzzlement.

The ship was waiting for them at the end of the long quay, but whether it was the same vessel that had borne them across the luminous sea to the floating city, or another very much resembling it, they could not tell.

They boarded the vessel, and Hathera stood aside to let them pass. Brant felt the urge to say something—to stammer apologies—but the words died in his mouth. There was nothing to say; nothing at all… .

The sad-faced children were on board the vessel before them, and the moment the last of the unwelcome visitors strangers had reached the deck, lines were cast off and the captive dragonflies bore the ship away from Zhah.

The elfin city dwindled gradually across the expanse of the shining waters, until it was merely a moat on the horizon. And Brant felt a strange, sad elation rise up within him.

“Guess they’re not going to kill us, after all,” he muttered to Will Harbin. “Wonder why?”

“God knows,” said the older man soberly.

Among the naked children who manned the craft were little Kirin and the girl Aulli who had tutored the two Earthsiders in the ancient tongue of Zhah. But the children only looked at them sadly, wistfully, and did not address the two. Neither did Brant or Harbin attempt to speak to them.

They sat down on the deck, rather shakily, glad to be still alive. A somber mood was upon them all, and they said little to each other, for each was busied with his own thoughts.

The ship sailed on across the glowing sea.