Quest for the Well of Souls

Near the Ecundo-Wuckl Border

He had searched for weeks, knowing that they had to be there. The Trader’s course, speed, and location assured him that Mavra could not have been dropped off anywhere but in Ecundo.

Renard cruised low over Ecundo, searching as he had for more than two weeks. He knew her well enough to guess her plan; he’d seen the bundas. He had also seen more than one vicious Ecundan roundup, the first of which had made him violently ill. There would be no defense against those great, fast scorpions and their deadly stingers and chopping blades if Mavra and Joshi were caught. He himself had discovered how nasty the Ecundans were when he’d sent Domaru down and tried to question some of them.

They had attacked, snarling curses and epithets at him, and he was forced for the first time in many years to use the great power of the Agitar in combat. The little satyrs were masters of electricity; they were immune to its effects and could store charges of thousands of volts in their bodies, discharging selectively at a distance using long, copper-clad steel rods called tasts. They always maintained quite a charge; it was required for proper health and was built up when their wooly blue fur generated static electricity as they walked.

The Twosh on the Trader had been right; the Ecundo in that crew had been nice people compared to their brethren back home.

What kept Renard going was his confidence in that strange woman he’d not seen in over twenty years. She wouldn’t change; her successful flight and demonstrated resourcefulness proved it. He wondered how they had managed to keep her down so long.

A glance at a map had convinced him that she would have only one goal: Gedemondas, a fixation of hers. He’d been in that cold hex with her and watched as the engine module was toppled by the echoes of the observers who crowded the valley; he had watched the unit break through the lava crust and melt. But none who had been there could remember seeing the mysterious Gedemondans themselves; only Mavra insisted that they not only saw them but were their guests, and that the strange snow creatures had somehow doctored or hypnoed all the minds but hers.

Sometimes in his dreams, Renard seemed to see them, and occasionally it worried him that she might have been right—she’d always been right before. An Agitar psychiatrist using the most sophisticated mind-retrieval techniques had been unable to expose any blocked memories, though, and had finally convinced Renard that he, not Mavra, was right, and that his dreams were reflections of her delusions heightened by his respect for her.

Still, Gedemondas was the only destination that made sense in light of her route; she never panicked, never gave up, and never did things aimlessly.

The only land connection between Ecundo and Wuckl was a 355-kilometer border lined with an effective electrified fence. He’d started at the southeast end and traveled by land and air along the border, looking for any signs that might indicate passage. Few Wuckl lived near the border itself; he didn’t blame them, considering the nasty dispositions and brutal table manners of their neighbors.

Then, just a little more than halfway up, Renard noticed that a fairly large area had been landscaped as a park or wildlife refuge, and there was a small complex back in the woods. Just before that stood a relay house, which managed the current and monitors for the next kilometer of fence. He’d stopped at many and talked to the strange creatures who serviced them, all to no avail.

Suddenly he caught sight of a Wuckl emerging from the relay house; it had been about twenty houses since he’d found one manned, so he descended for another talk.

Like all the others, this Wuekl’s bill opened all four ways and its head bobbed back and forth in amazement as the great flying horse flew in low and landed.

Quickly Renard jumped from the saddle onto his two thin goat legs and walked over to Wuckl, which towered over him.

“Good day and service,” he called to it in the manner he had learned was common to Wuckl. The language of Wuckl contained no gender, although the people had three.

The Wuckl stared curiously. “Good day to you as well,” it replied, a little uncertainly. It glanced at Domaru, a little awed.

“I have traveled long and far in search of one who looks like this,” Renard told it, pulling out a photograph of Mavra Chang that had been supplied by Ortega.

The Wuckl took it, looked at it, suddenly becoming very agitated. Renard understood that it was excited and upset, even though it appeared to be undergoing convulsions.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, concerned. “Have you seen her?”

“T—two such,” Toug stammered. “About a ten-six day ago. I picked them up from when they hit the fence.”

Renard was both excited and nervous. “They—they weren’t killed, were they?”

The Wuekl’s head made a circle, which meant no. “I took them to the gamekeeper.” It seemed uncertain. “You mean they were—were not—not—animals?”

Renard was suddenly filled with foreboding. “No—people. Like you and me. Just a different form.”

“Oh, my!” Toug managed an almost whispered exclamation. “You better come with me to the gamekeeper pretty damn quick.”

Renard took Domaru’s reins and followed the anxious creature, not certain what the Wuckl’s distress was all about, but feeling that whatever it was, it was bad.

Toug’s reaction was as nothing compared to that of the gamekeeper, who, after it had heard the whole story, realized just what it had done.

“I didn’t touch the brains,” it told him, somewhat relieved. “If there was no permanent damage from the shock, then the conditioning would wear off in a few days—it’s mostly to establish an animal routine or to change old habit patterns.”

“Can it be reversed?” Renard asked, worried.

The gamekeeper thought about it. “More or less, yes. A thorough set of photographs or some good sketches, and, yes, I suppose so. Not exactly, though. I suppose it would be up to them.”

Renard accepted that, and sympathized with the gamekeeper. It was a big world, and a complex one, and Wuckl was very isolated. The veterinarian still seemed beside itself with guilt. “I’m so sorry,” it kept telling him. “I just didn’t know.”

Arrangements were made, and the gamekeeper called the preserve in the capital to prepare the way. It was then that he learned for the first time that his two specimens had escaped.

“It’s to be expected, I suppose,” the Wuckl sighed. “I should hardly like to be kept cooped up in such a place myself. Here! I’ll give you a map that will get you to the preserve, and you can start out from there. A notice has already been placed about them in all the papers; the fact that they are sentient beings will have to be added in case they fall into the hands of another bumbler. But they will be found!”

Renard doubted it. “You haven’t had much luck so far,” he pointed out.

“But that was for two harmless animals,” the gamekeeper retorted. “Now the search will be intense.”

He nodded, still more confident of Mavra Chang’s abilities than the well-meaning but unknowing Wuckl.

“If they’re found, get word to Ambassador Ortega of Ulik at Zone,” he instructed. “Then get them into the Gate as fast as you can.”

These instructions were noted, and Renard took his leave of the strange creature. He still didn’t understand how it was possible for the gamekeeper to have done so extensive a job with such limited facilities.

As he walked toward Domaru, a huge shadow fell over him. Suddenly nervous, his internal charge coming to the fore, he whirled and looked up. A Yaxa was descending almost on top of him.

Fully charged, he reached out his arm to ward off the expected attack, but the Yaxa flapped its wings, lifted a bit, and called, “Wait! Do not fear! For the moment we are not enemies!”

Renard hesitated, but maintained full charge. He didn’t know the true capabilities of the Yaxa, but they were a tough bunch who’d led a war and come out whole. He’d rather listen than fight if he could, for his own health.

The Yaxa put down between him and the pegasus Domaru, who started and stared suspiciously at the newcomer.

“You are the Yaxa who the crew of the Toorine Trader said was Iqoking for Mavra Chang,” he surmised, “A long way from home, aren’t you? Trying to eliminate the competition?”

The Yaxa’s cold, impersonal voice did nothing to reassure him, although all the Yaxa, he’d been told, sounded this way.

“I would not harm her,” responded the great butterfly. “I give you my word on that. My sole interest at the moment is her welfare and safety. I can assure you that over these many years I have been the one who has safeguarded her from plots by my people and their allies, not threatened her.”

Renard was skeptical. “Why?”

“I can not say for now. One day, perhaps. I know it is ridiculous to press this matter with you. Shall we place it in more exacting terms? I and my people are bitter enemies of Antor Trelig, as are you. For now, will it not suffice to say that the enemy of my enemy is my friend?”

Renard looked puzzled. “Trelig? How does he enter into this?”

“It was Trelig who made the attempt on her in Glathriel. It was Trelig’s hired killers that drove her to this escape. He has no way into the North. This was the only way. It is in our mutual interests to see that she does not fall into his hands.”

Renard still doubted; “You think Trelig will try again, then? From what I got from the Trader crew, they’d blasted the raiders to bits.”

“That is true, but they were mere hired hands—a few among tens of thousands who would do his bidding for gain. Some are even now combing this place for her. My associate is currently trying to gain some knowledge of their plans; she is small and can get into places neither of us could.”

That interested him. “Your associate is a Lata?”

“You have good information. Yes, a Lata—like you, not one of the trusted friends of the Yaxa, nor the other way around; but we have decided to work together rather than battle each other. You should join with us. It will avoid needless violence and duplicated effort—and you will be two to one against me in case you still mistrust my motives.”

Renard did in fact totally mistrust the motives of the creature, but there was some sense in what she said. “All right, for now we’ll be a threesome. I am Renard.”

The Yaxa’s death’s head nodded slightly. “I know. I am called Wooly. The Lata I believe you know—Vis-taru.”

It was still a surprise, even though he’d guessed it. Vistaru, too—after all this time.

“When will she join us?” he asked.

“She will meet us here as soon as she can,” Wooly replied. “In the meantime, we will share our information and try to narrow the search.”

There seemed little point in holding back. If he refused, the Yaxa would simply go to the gamekeeper and ask the same questions. He told.

Finally, Wooly asked, “If she is making for Gedemondas, then undoubtedly by now she is at the coast. How will she cross the Sea? She can not even talk.”

Renard considered that for a moment. “If there’s a way to do it, Mavra Chang will figure it out.”