Eye of the Zodiac

Chapter Eight

There was something odd about the man. He moved with the restless pacing of a hungry feline, his head jerking, hands twitching, eyes never at rest. His room at the hotel was littered with papers, maps, scrolls, moldering books, items of equipment. A dagger with an ornate hilt and engraved blade lay beside a small statuette of a weeping woman. In a crystal jar an amorphous something turned slowly, as if imbued with sluggish life. An illusion, the thing was dead, preserved, the motion the result of transmitted vibration.

"Dumarest," he said. "Earl Dumarest. From?"

"Vonstate."

"And before that?" The thin, angry tones sharpened a little. "The planet of origin, man. Where were you born?"

"Earth."

Dumarest waited for the expected reaction, the incredulity, the conviction of a lie. None came and he looked at Moore's hand, the small instrument it contained. A tonal lie detector, he guessed. The recorded vibrations of his voice tested by electronic magic to reveal the truth. An unusual tool for an explorer to carry.

He said, flatly, "And you? Usterlan?"

"Yes."

A lie. Dumarest knew the world despite what he had told the Hausi. The people of Usterlan were dark, their hair a kinked ebon, a protection against the fury of a sun radiating high in ultra-violet. His eyes slid to the woman sitting quietly beside the window. She wore masculine garb, her russet hair cropped short, her face devoid of cosmetics. A strong face, the bones prominent, the lips firm, the bottom pouting a little. Her eyes were uptilted, a pale gray, the lids thickly lashed. Her hands were broad, the fingers long, the nails neatly rounded.

Iduna, Jalch Moore's younger sister.

"My lord," Bhol Kinabalu bowed a little, his hands extended, palms upward. "This is the man for whom you have been waiting. He will suit your requirements-if not, I must cancel the commission and answer to my guild."

An ultimatum, despite the appeal of the hands, the deferential bow. Moore grunted, dropping the instrument he carried, his hand moving towards the dagger, to snatch it up, to hurl it with a sudden gesture. A bad throw. Left to itself it would hit the wall close to where Dumarest stood, denting the plaster with its hilt.

He caught it, spun it to grip the point, threw it all in one fast motion. Metal tore as the blade ripped into the lie-detector, inner components ruined, its discharged energy flaring in momentary sparkles.

"Fast." The woman's voice was deep, musical. "A test, Jalch? If so, the man has passed. At least his reactions leave nothing to be desired."

"The instrument-"

"Is ruined, but he could have buried the steel in your throat had he wished." She rose, tall, a little imperious, the curves of her body betraying her femininity. "Have you been told what it is we want you to do?"

"No."

"No?" She frowned, glancing at the Hausi. Again Kinabalu spread his hands.

"I have explained the basic duties, my lady, but the details must come from you. To guard, to protect, these things are vague. Only a rogue would promise to deliver what he cannot supply." Pausing he added, "The guide?"

"Has been accepted."

"And this man?"

"We shall see. You may go." As the door closed behind the Hausi she said to Dumarest, "Have you been engaged in such employment before?"

"Yes."

"And yet you are not satisfied with what has been told you?"

"No." Dumarest met her eyes. "If I am to be efficient I need to know what dangers to anticipate. This enterprise you propose, what is it's purpose? To hunt? To map a region? To trade? To search for minerals?" The pale gray orbs did not flicker. "What?"

"Does it make a difference?"

"It could." Dumarest looked at the scattered maps, the scrolls, the moldering books. "How many will be on this expedition?"

"We two, the guide and yourself if you agree to join us."

"A small party."

"But large enough," snapped Jalch harshly. "Sister, let me explain." His hand touched a scroll, moved to a book, lingered on the statuette. "We are chasing a legend," he said abruptly. "Shajok is an old world and must have been settled many times. In the mountains are valleys which could hold the remnants of previous cultures. One of them could be the life that was native to this planet in ages past. From what I have been able to discover they were unique. You have seen the pennons?"

Dumarest nodded.

"You know their purpose?"

"A warning."

"The product of imagination-or so most insist. And yet, should they signal the ceasing of the wind there would be panic." Jalch moved restlessly about the room. "Why should that be if there is no danger? Superstition? I think not. The product, perhaps, of myths enlarged by active fears. Yet, each myth holds within itself the core of truth. Once there was a real danger. Once men were strangers here and had to fight in order to survive. The original people could still exist. If they do I hope to find them."

"The Original People?"

"The natives of this world." Pages rustled as Jalch opened a book. "Look at this, a report made by Captain Bramh centuries ago. He made an emergency landing close to the mountains and lost two-thirds of his crew to something he failed to describe. A local phenomenon he called it, which caused them to desert. And here, an item culled from the secret archives of Langousta. A ship which was forced to land on Shajok. A distress signal was picked up and a rescue operation mounted. They discovered the wreck, but found no trace of the crew and passengers it had carried. A mystery. Even the log was incomplete, food on the tables, everything as it should be, but of the people-nothing."

A book fell, a scroll rolled to the floor, a paper traced with lines of faded color was unrolled.

"And here, more proof if more were needed. A priest of the Hyarch sect was summoned to the bedside of a dying man. Under the seal of secrecy he was told of Shajok and the thing the man had found there. A form of life which-tell me, have you ever heard of the Kheld?"

Dumarest shook his head.

"A supposed creature of legend, the ancient writings mention them often. Things of strange powers and peculiar abilities. They have many names and have been recorded many times. Intangible life-forms which can grant powers beyond imagination to their owners. A name, and names change, but the basics remain. Here, on Shajok, we could find the Kheld."

Jalch moved towards the window, stood looking out at the bright pennons straining at their poles, his face traversed with bars of shadow.

"The Kheld," he whispered. "The Kheld!"

Iduna said quietly, "Earl, do you understand?"

A madman or a man obsessed, certainly not a man wholly sane. Jalch Moore had taken the stuff of rumor and built it into an imagined fact. Fragments of legend whispered in taverns and enhanced with the telling. Like the myths of vast accumulations of wealth to be found in hidden places, the deposited treasures of dying races, of imaginary pirates, of votive offerings.

Dumarest had heard them by the score-but this was something new. The mysterious beings which would grant to a man they acknowledged as their master the absolute fulfillment of his dreams and ambitions. And Jalch hoped to find them on Shajok.

A paranoid-that much was obvious from his use of the lie-detector. A mystic in his fashion, a primitive in his application of the crude ritual of the thrown dagger. Yet, he had money and equipment, and the urge to explore the hidden places of the mountains. The valleys, in one of which could be those whom Dumarest sought. The place from which Leon had come.

Nerth. A commune, perhaps, of the Original People. A chance he couldn't afford to miss.

* * * * *

They left two hours before dusk, lifting high and riding the wind, the note of the engine a soft purr as it fed power to the anti-gravity units incorporated in the body of the raft. It was a small, general purpose vehicle, the controls protected by a transparent canopy, the body open to the sky. A thing used to transport vats of ulumen oil, the structure redolent of the exotic perfume.

Jalch Moore handled the controls, the guide at his side, pointing at times to the mountains looming ahead. Dumarest sat in the open body, cramped by the bales of supplies and equipment, the woman at his side.

Without looking at her he asked, "What are you, his nurse?"

"His sister."

"I didn't ask your relationship. How long has he been insane?"

"Is he?" She moved to sit before him. The setting sun threw long streamers of light across the sky, their reflections catching her eyes and accentuating their color. "He has a dream, a conviction, and who are you to say that he is wrong? A man who claims to come from a mythical world. Earth!" She made the word an expression of contempt.

"I did not lie and you know it."

"Because of the instrument used by my brother?" Her shrug emphasized the shape beneath the masculine tunic. "It would have registered the same, no matter what you had said. We had waited too long, Jalch was getting too strained. A word misplaced, a doubt, and you would have been rejected. Another failure-and I did not want to see him disappointed again."

"So you fixed the detector. Was that wise?"

"You think I fear you, or any man?" Iduna smiled, white teeth flashing between the parted lips. "Or that I need a machine in order to determine character?"

"No," he admitted. "But your brother-"

"Could be wrong, I admit it. But, then again, he could be right. The pennons are there for a reason. There could be an unusual life-form still existing in the mountains. It could be what Jalch suspects. The old records could have told the basic truth. Legends," she mused. "How quickly they are built. A hero who has killed a handful of men is credited with a hundred, a thousand, a hundred thousand. A woman notorious for her passion has her prowess enhanced to ridiculous proportions. Old cities claimed to be veritable paradises have become, on inspection, the yearnings of lonely men. And yet the hero was real, the woman also, the cities exist. Are we to discount them because of exaggeration?"

"No, but equally, we need not consider them as true. There are other explanations."

"Such as?"

"Let us discuss what we know. The town could have once faced actual enemies, the construction of the houses proved that. Strong, squat, narrow windows which can be sealed with shutters. The pennons?" Dumarest gestured towards the mountains. "A simple warning system. Volcanic activity could have produced fumaroles, spilling a lethal vapor. A steady wind would have prevented it from reaching the city and plains. If there had been eruptions there could have been hot ashes, a reason for sealing the windows. Once indoors, the population would have been protected."

"And if there were no volcanoes?" Her eyes were steady on his own. "What then?"

"A native form of life, perhaps. Predatory birds attacking in swarms. Again the wind would have kept them at bay, the houses given protection."

"Neat," she commented. "You have an agile mind, Earl. Without any supporting evidence, whatsoever, you have provided two explanations for what you have seen."

"And your brother a third."

"No, his is the same as your second one. You differ only as to the nature of the assumed threat. Birds or Kheld, basically they are the same. And you forget the reports, the beliefs held by the inhabitants of the town. A fear of something handed down by generations. They have forgotten, but it could still exist."

He said, bluntly, "Do you believe in the Kheld?"

Her silence was answer enough. Dumarest looked at the sky, the mountains ahead. Already the foothills were thick with shadow, only the peaks retaining a sparkling brightness. The wind, steady until now, had fallen a little. Soon they would be flying into the dangers Kinabalu had mentioned, the upward gusts, the vagaries, the atmospheric turmoil.

Dumarest rose, moved carefully towards the two men at the controls. The raft, small, slow, heavily loaded, was unstable.

"We'd better land and make camp," he said. "Before it gets too dark."

"Not yet!" Moore was impatient. "We still have far to go."

"Chaque?"

The guide shrugged. "You are right, Earl. At night the winds are treacherous. In any case, we need to plan the next moves. There!" His arm rose, pointing. "There is a hollow and a stream. A good place to spend the night."

"A few more miles?"

"No," said Dumarest. "We land."

* * * * *

Iduna cooked, boiling meat and vegetables in a pot suspended over a fire built of scrub and brush; green wood which smoked and sent a wavering plume high into the air. There were tents, one for her, another for her brother, a third to be shared by Dumarest and the guide. The grounded raft formed the remaining side of an open-cornered square. The mouths of the tents faced the fire in the center.

Dumarest checked the raft, examining what it contained. Food and some water, enigmatic instruments in strong containers, a mass of papers and maps. Some large metal boxes were fitted with lids which would snap shut if anything touched the bottom, or closed by remote control.

Containers to hold the mysterious Kheld, he guessed, and wondered how Jalch Moore had estimated their size.

Other bales held trade goods; axes, knives, spades, picks, brightly colored fabrics and an assortment of cheap adornments. One box held weapons.

Dumarest picked a rifle from its nest and examined it in the dying light. A semi-automatic, the magazine holding twelve rounds. He checked the action, the bolt making a crisp clicking sound, then loaded it with cartridges from a box. A simple weapon, but one as effective as a laser if used with skill and far more reliable in the field.

"You like it?" Iduna had joined him.

"It will serve." Dumarest lifted it to his shoulder, felt the balance and heft, noted the way in which it fell into line.

"You've hunted." She had watched, pleased with what she'd seen. "For sport, or for a living?"

"For food." He glanced towards the tents. Jalch Moore and Chaque were in the one to his right, their silhouettes thrown sharply against the fabric by the light of a portable lantern. They were, he guessed, studying maps. "And you?"

"For specimens. I was the field supervisor for the Glatari Zoo before-well, never mind."

"Before your brother fell ill?" A delicate way to put it, but he had no desire to be cruel.

"Yes-you could call it that."

"What happened?"

"We were together on Huek. It is a strange world containing odd forms of life, most of them utterly vicious. The natives are little better, regressed savages who have forgotten any culture they might have owned. We paid tribute, but it wasn't enough. A party caught Jalch when I was away. When we found him-" She broke off, and he heard the sharp inhalations, sensed the remembered hurt.

"And?"

"They had-hurt him. His eyes, his hands, the things done to his flesh. Horrible! At first I thought he was dead, even hoped that he had died, but life still remained. It took a long time for him to recover-regrowths, slowtime, amniotic tanks, the best skills which money could buy. But his mind was never the same."

"And now he wants revenge," said Dumarest. "Is that it? If the Kheld are what he thinks, they could do what he cannot. Kill and destroy those who had hurt him. Is that why he wants to trap them?"

"I don't know."

"I think that you do." His voice was flat, hard. "A waste, Iduna. You shouldn't spend your life nursing the delusions of a sick mind."

"It's my life, Earl."

"Your life, your time, your money," he agreed. "When will the food be ready?"

"Soon. You'll eat with us?"

"No. I'm going to look around."

It was dark when he returned, stars scattered thinly in the sky, the crescent of a moon hanging low on the horizon. A large moon, silver as Leon had said. But this world wasn't Earth despite the moon, the limited stars.

The fire had died to a red glow and he squatted beside it, scooping some of what the pot contained into a bowl, eating with a spoon.

It was good food, rich in nourishment, tastily spiced. Chaque joined him as he reached for a second helping.

"What do you think, Earl?"

"About what?"

"This." Chaque's gesture embraced the tents, the raft, the darkness beyond. "Jalch Moore's crazy. He had me in his tent for hours, going over maps which almost fell apart as you touched them. I tried to tell him that the deep interior is anyone's guess, but he wanted facts and figures which can't be supplied. Tomorrow he wants to head into the Marasill Gap."

"And that is?"

"A fissure split between two mountains. You'll see it soon enough. A bad place for any raft. We'll have to fly high and pick our time." Leaning forward, he touched the rifle Dumarest had set down at his side. "There was no need for this. We're safe enough here."

"And later?"

"We could need the guns." Agus Chaque was grim. "There are some predators I'd rather not run up against, and the valleys could hold other kinds of danger. We don't know much about them, there's no need. We just let well enough alone. A few hunters gather skins and furs and some traders try to earn a living, but that's about all. On Shajok, the ulumen is the main crop and there is plenty of room in the plains."

Dumarest leaned back, watching the face limned in the dull glow of the fire, the lines, the shrewd eyes.

"You're a guide, Agus. You must know the area. Have you heard of a place called Nerth?"

"No, but that means nothing." Chaque threw a dried twig on the embers, blew it until it flared into a glow of flickering brilliance. "You're thinking of the boy," he said. "I heard about it. A youngster, right?"

"Yes."

"Too young, maybe, to have been fully initiated into his tribe. It happens. These valleys are closed and have their own ways. They use special names, even a special language at times. That name, Nerth, it could have been the one used before initiation. Once he'd passed the test, he would have been told more." Chaque threw another twig on the fire. "Have you anything else to go on?"

Dumarest handed him the photograph.

"Not the Zelumini," said Chaque immediately. "Their women are all dark. Nor the Branesch, they never wear green." He hunched closer to the fire, squinting. "She couldn't belong to the Candarish because none of their women ever dress like, that."

"The symbol on the wall," said Dumarest. "A fish. Do you know any commune who uses a decoration like that?"

"A fish? No." Chaque handed back the photograph. "Sorry, Earl, it seems I can't help."

Another dead end, but at least a little had been learned. Leon had been young-he would have been much younger when he had left home. A few years spelled the difference between a child and a man. The name-Chaque could be right. Had the fear of initiation sent the boy running from his people? The photograph, one taken by a wandering trader, perhaps? A caravan he had chased and joined?

Dumarest rose, turning, the rifle in his hands as the night was broken by a sobbing cry. A sound which rose to a scream, a frenzied shrieking.

"No! No! Dear God, no!"

Jalch Moore was tormented by nightmares. The flap of Iduna's tent opened and the woman, dressed in brief underwear, ran to comfort her brother. Her voice, oddly gentle, soothed the yammering cries.

"Did you see that?" Chaque drew in his breath. "Who would have guessed that under the clothes she wears lies such perfection? A woman who-"

"Is busy as you should be." Dumarest handed him the rifle. "We'll stand watches, turn and turn about. Wake me in two hours."