Children of the Gates (14 page)

“It was as if there were a barrier.”

“Just so. A barrier raised by disbelief. Or so I think. Do you understand that?” He asked his question not of Nick but of the others.

Nick saw Lady Diana nod her head, reluctantly, he was sure. And Mrs. Clapp’s lips formed a “yes.” The others stood stolidly. But someone spoke from Nick’s right.

“If we believe in him, then he can do it?”

Linda moved out. On one side of her paced Jeremiah, on the other Lung bounced along, his silky ears flapping.

“Nick.” She did not wait for Hadlett to answer. “Nick, take my hand!”

That was no request but an order, and, without meaning to, he obeyed. She drew him away from the wall, and the others fell back to let them past. Once more they approached the knife. But Linda did not relax her hold. Instead she said:

“Try it again—now!”

Nick wanted to resist, but that seemed petty. Somehow, a new confidence was flowing into him. The knife—to move the knife—

Concentrate—see only that sliver of steel—a hand—fingers to grasp the hilt—pick it up—

There was still the barrier, but also—a new strength flowing into him. That came from the clasp of hands, from others—Linda—the two furred bodies at his feet. Nick had a moment of wonder and then shut that out. All he must think of was the knife.

Once more he saw that thickening in the air. From it developed the ghostly hand, building up finger by finger, not misty now—seemingly solid. From the hand his thoughts went to an arm. That, too, appeared inch by inch, a chain reaching from him to the hand.

“Come!” He thought that order.

The arm shortened, drew in toward him, and with it came the hand, fingers laced about the knife hilt. It drew back to his feet and then was gone. The knife clattered on the rock.

Linda’s hand dropped from his. But it was she who rounded on the others.

“You saw that!” she challenged. “And I have been under your eyes all the time,
I
have had no dealings with Heralds! But I loaned Nick my energy to combat the wall of your disbelief, and so did these two.” She stooped to scoop up Lung, laid her hand for a moment between Jeremiah’s ears.

“Do you now judge all of us liars?” she added.

“Jeremiah!” Mrs. Clapp moved forward. The cat had turned his head at her call. She lifted him as if she feared him injured in some fashion and he moved his head to touch her cheek with his nose. Then he stiffened his forelegs, pushing himself out of her hold. But he stayed beside her, rubbing against her skirts.

“The two of you—” Hadlett began, but Linda corrected him instantly.

“The four of us! And I believe you can all do this—but you haven’t tried. Nick had to, to save his life, and now you want to punish him for it!”

“He did it all right.” The Warden picked up the knife, weighed it in his hand as if to assure himself that it was just what it appeared to be. “I saw it.”

“Yes, he did it,” the Vicar agreed. “My dear,” he spoke to Linda, “you may be very right. We have never been put to such a test ourselves, so how could we know. Are you really sure about the animals?”

Nick had regained some of the strength the concentration had drawn out of him. He was not as worn by it as he had been the previous time, perhaps because the others had backed him up.

“The animals—they know—” He was puzzled—what could he say for sure that Lung and Jeremiah knew? His only contact had been with the cat. Would they believe Jeremiah had materialized a mouse? As for Lung’s abilities, he had only Linda’s assurances as to those.

“They know,” he began again, “a lot—how much I can’t say. Jeremiah can materialize things.” Nick again braved disbelief and told of the mouse. But he said nothing about the apple, having no intention of turning against the cat the fury he had earlier faced himself.

“Jeremiah did that!” Mrs. Clapp gazed down. “But how—how could he, sir?” she asked the Vicar. “He—he’s a cat. I’ve had him ever since he was born. He’s old Floss’s last kitten. She had a bad time an’ she died. I couldn’t let him, too—the poor mite! I got me a little doll bottle an’ fed him milk an’ egg an’—an’—Jeremiah’s a cat!” She ended explosively, as if to think any differently would mean an end to all security.

“Indeed he is, Maude.” Lady Diana put her arm around the bent shoulders of the older woman. “But it could be that this world changes animals somehow. See, he’s worried about you now.”

The big cat was sitting up on his hind legs, his forepaws reaching above Mrs. Clapp’s knee, as he hooked claws in her skirt to balance himself. He opened his mouth in a soft sound that was not quite a mew.

“Jeremiah!” She hunkered stiffly down on the floor to gather him into her arms. This time he did not push against her to gain his liberty, but butted his head against her chin and sounded a rumble of purr.

“I don’t care if he can do strange things,” she declared a moment later. “He wouldn’t do no harm, not Jeremiah. He did good—lettin’ us know that the lad was tellin’ the truth. Jeremiah’s a good cat.”

Hadlett and Lady Diana between them drew her to her feet, still holding Jeremiah.

“Of course he is, Maude. And like all cats,” the Vicar continued, “he doubtless sees things in a more sensible way than do a great many humans. Don’t you worry about Jeremiah.”

Stroud brought attention back to Nick. “Look here, mate.” He held out the hand which, fist hard, had left the darkening bruise on Nick’s face. “If you want to dot me one for what I gave you, you’re welcome to do it. I shot off then before I aimed. I’m willin’ to say it.”

Nick met the hand with his own. “No hard feelings,” he gave ready answer. “I thought no one might believe me, I hardly believed it myself. And I don’t want a crack at your jaw in return.” He laughed a little too loudly in relief. “What I would like is for you, all of you, to listen to something I have been thinking about—”

Whether this was the time to be frank he did not know. But they were predisposed in his favor now just because they had been so quick to misjudge him. Suspicion might rise again and he had better make his plea while they still felt a little guilty and ill at ease.

“And what’s that?” Crocker’s voice was neutral. He, Nick guessed, was not feeling guilt.

“Just this—you heard me repeat what the Herald told me. Stroud has reported what he saw. You all know the drifters are on the move and that trouble seems to be coming from the north. There is only one place of real safety that we know of—the city.”

Nick waited for their anger to rise again. What he was suggesting was opposed to all their ways.

“You mean—take the Herald’s bargain?” Crocker asked fiercely. “I think not! You see what he’s doing?” the pilot demanded of the others. “Just because he pulled that knife across the floor doesn’t mean he didn’t sell out! I say he did—let him prove otherwise!”

They had drawn away again. Nick had made the wrong choice after all. Would Stroud be as ready with his fists? And the Warden had a knife in hand—“How can I prove it?” Nick countered. Stroud was not looking at him but to the Vicar. “Best have him do that, if he wants to, sir. It’ll stop all the trouble—”

“Yes.” Hadlett sounded tired. “If you will come with us then, Nicholas—”

He did not know what they wanted of him, but as Stroud had suggested, he wanted the matter settled. Either they accepted him now or he would have to clear out. And he found himself disliking the thought of exile very much.

Stroud and Crocker fell in behind as the Vicar led the way into the small cave they used for storage, though the supplies there now were pitifully few. Inside Crocker spoke.

“All right. You said you’d give us proof. Strip!”

“What?” Nick was confounded.

“There are certain physical changes. I believe I spoke of them to you, Nicholas,” the Vicar explained. “They appear very shortly after the bargain is concluded. It has been well over two days since you admittedly saw the Herald. If you have accepted his offer, you will reveal these.”

“I see.” Nick began to pull off his shirt. If they wanted proof they would get it now.

14

There was a fresh wind blowing and the morning was clear. Nick longed for binoculars. He had won his way this much—with Stroud he was back on one of the ridges above the city. They had traveled by night to reach this point, in spite of the Warden’s reluctance.

But conditions around the cave had worsened. They were virtual prisoners there as saucers clustered to prey upon the drifters. And the still hazy plan Nick advanced, of trying to discover the secret of safety in the rainbow towers, had won some support. Now he was trying to line up enough cover on the plain ahead to give him a chance to scout closer.

Grass grew there but he judged, and Stroud agreed, that tall as that was, it provided no safe cover. And whether his own plan had any chance at all Nick could not know. Only he could not stall here much longer. Let a saucer home in on the city as Stroud said they did at intervals and they might be pinned down here for hours.

“All right, shall I try it?” Nick got to his feet. So much depended upon him now, upon his ability to use that wild talent. He had practiced with it, but hardly enough—

“You do, or we go back,” Stroud returned. “We came to do it.”

Did he believe that faced by a final choice Nick would back down? Did he hope for that? If he did, his disbelief had just the opposite effect: Nick was forced into action.

The Herald.

In his mind the American built up a picture of the Herald. Then that was not in his mind at all. He had done it! He had actually done it! Not captured the Herald physically as he had first thought to do, but projected him—

“I got him!” Nick was exultant.

“So it looks,” Stroud agreed. “But can you keep him?”

“I’ll have to. Here goes—”

Nick swung down the slope. The Herald was gone, winked out when Nick no longer willed him. But when it counted he could produce Avalon again—he had to. Stroud would remain behind, watch him into the city. They had not been sure whether this illusion of the accepted guide would hold for two, and since Nick’s was the talent he went alone.

Now as he slipped and slid to more level ground he was excited, tense as one is before any testing. In a way his self-confidence had grown from that moment in the cave when he had been able to prove that he was not a traitor to his kind and his power had not been fostered by surrender to the People. Two days more he had tested it, and the others with him.

The Vicar had some ability to project, oddly enough Mrs. Clapp even more—though she tired easily. Crocker firmly refused to try. His antagonism to Nick had increased, Nick was sure, instead of diminished. The talent flared higher in the women—Linda, Jean (though she showed the same reluctance as Crocker), Lady Diana, could all produce some phenomena. Linda had formed a linkage with the animals again and produced stronger and longer-abiding illusions.

But all of them found it impossible to hold such for long. And the more one struggled to do so, the more one’s energy was exhausted. Nick was not sure now how long he could hold the Herald, even if he could use that illusion for a key.

He did not believe that the People were active enemies of any of the drifters. From Avalon’s words it would seem that when refugees from Nick’s world refused alliance they were simply ignored.

However, if he were able to break through the invisible defense, enter the city, and be discovered there as an alien, would that indifference hold? During the past two days Nick had prevailed on the English to pool all their observations concerning the People and the city, even though they had shied away from that before.

It was from the city, or cities (they had seen others), that the Herald, or Heralds, issued. There were others of the People, such as the Green Man of the forest—some of these lived in water, more on the land—and these did not appear bound to the cities at all. Yet all were native, Hadlett thought, to this world.

The Vicar drew, as he readily admitted, on the half-forgotten lore of his own native country for his identification and evaluation of those he had seen here. Perhaps his guesses were of little value, but they were all he had to judge by.

In addition to those of the People who seemed neutral, there were others who were definitely a dangerous threat. But these in turn were bound to certain baneful portions of the land. And if one avoided those sections, refused to be drawn by such lures as the singing Nick had heard in the rain, they were no great menace.

Nick reached the level ground. He wished he could work his way closer to the city before he produced the illusion. But he had no way of telling whether or not he was already under observation. He concentrated with all the power he could summon.

Once more the Herald appeared. Nick did not try to make every detail of the illusion sharply clear. It was enough that the general appearance of his “guide” tallied with the real one. With the thing born of his will ahead, he started at a swift pace to the towers.

Stroud had pointed out where he might expect to meet the unseen barrier, and he was doubly eager to reach that, to make his entrance. Yet most of his attention must be on the phantom.

They were past the barrier point—though he could not be entirely sure, because Stroud might have been mistaken. Nick refused any triumph yet. The strain of keeping the Herald was beginning to tell. What if he could not hold? Would he be a prisoner on the inside of the barrier?

Doggedly he fought his own weakness, holding the necessary concentration. Then—

The city—he was in the city!

The transition was quick, as if the buildings had risen about him. Buildings—Nick forgot the Herald, his need for the illusion.

There were buildings, yes, towering up and up, doors, windows, streets. But where were the people? The streets were deserted, no one walked the white-and-green blocked pavement, no vehicle moved there. The doors were closed; the windows, if they were open, still had the appearance of being shuttered. The walls about him had glassy surfaces as if they were indeed crystal, backed by some opaque material. And up and down them ran those opaline changes of color, green, blue, yellow, red and all possible shadings between.

Nick hesitated. There was no sound in the city. He could be in a ruin deserted centuries ago. Yet this was no ruin, there was no sign of erosion, nor breakage, cracking—

Slowly he approached the nearest wall. He held out a hand hesitatingly so that just the tips of his fingers touched its surface. Then he snatched it back again. For what he had fingered was not cold stone or crystal, rather a substance delicately warm, alive with vibration.

Energy, some form of energy was encased in the walls. That would account for the radiance. The whole city might be a generator or storehouse of energy.

The avenue on which he stood ran straight. If Nick did not turn into any sideway how could he be lost? Summoning his resolution anew, Nick began to walk forward. But it was all he could do to hold control.

For he knew, was as certain as he was of every breath he drew, that the city, or those who dwelt here, knew him for what he was—an interloper. Twice he came to a stop, turned to glance behind. But no new wall had suddenly arisen, no guards were in view to cut off his retreat. The street was as silent and deserted as ever.

Where were the people? Had the population shrunk so that only a handful lived here at its heart? Or was the city really a city? Perhaps those terms from his own world did not apply here. This vast site might have some entirely different purpose. But the Herald came from here, he had returned with those who accepted Avalon. Nick had seen that happen.

He sighted ahead an open space with something standing within, flashing a brighter light, so bright that it hurt Nick’s eyes and he wished he had Linda’s dark glasses. To escape that he moved closer to a wall, tried to look up. But the tower rose so high it made him dizzy to attempt to see its tip against the morning sky.

Now, a little daring, Nick set hand to the door in the wall. This had a different texture than the wall. It seemed a single slab of silvery metal. And at close inspection Nick could see it was engraved with a pattern of many lines in intricate design. When again he tried to touch it, there was no vibration, but as his fingers moved along those lines he perceived a meaning sight alone could not give them, and they were more visible than they had been before.

There were queer beasts, some like the ones he had seen in the woods, a unicorn among them, and creatures that were humanoid. Around them, encircling them, were ribbon bands that bore marks unlike any lettering Nick knew.

As his fingers passed he could see them plainly for a moment or two. Then they faded so they were discernible only as faint scratches.

Having tried one door he passed to the next and once more put it to the test of touch. Again he saw pictures, though these were different in both form and arrangement.

What lay behind these doors? Nick gently applied pressure. There were no visible latches, locks, knobs, or any aid for their opening. And they remained fixed, immobile, against all his strength.

Locked doors, deserted city. Nick returned to the middle of the street and forged ahead. Though the belief that someone—something—was watching him held, Nick had regained a little confidence. He sensed no threat in this place. If he had violated some sanctuary then as yet those who guarded it had not made up their minds whether he was a threat to their purposes or not. And the longer they held off the more confident he felt. That in itself might be a danger, he began to realize.

Nick advanced resolutely toward the flashing point ahead, shading his eyes to its glare. So he came out into what might be the heart of the city, though he had no way of knowing if that were so. This was an open space into which fed five avenues, like the one he followed. The shape he could see was that of a five-point star, one street entering at each point.

Now that he was close to that which flashed, it did not glare as much as earlier and he recognized its shape. For this he had seen in his own world, and that it had a very ancient significance he knew.

Set up straight in the middle of the star was a giant representation of the Egyptian ankh—the looped cross. It appeared to be fashioned, not of the crystal of the towers, but of a ruddy metal. And in the mid-center of the two arms, on the arms themselves, and around the loop were shining gems. But could those be gems? Whoever heard of precious stones of such size they could not be spanned by two hands together?

It was from these that the light flashed, green, blue, white—but no red nor yellow. As those rays shot well over the level of his head, Nick judged that the height of the ankh was equal to that of a four-or five-story building.

From it came such a force of radiant energy that he felt dizzy, weak. He staggered back. Was this the source of the safety devices of the People? But what powered it? He saw no evidence of machines. Or was it some receiver or booster broadcaster?

Nick wavered. For the first time, stark fear broke through his wonder. This—this was overpowering. His skin tingled, his dizziness grew. He must get away.

But could he? The avenue—Somehow he managed to turn, though the gem lights nearly blinded him. There—get—out—Nick broke into a stumbling run, heading for the opening to the avenue. But it was as if he were trying to wade through deep mud. Something sucked avidly at his strength, his very life-force. He must get away!

He stumbled, fell, but somehow pulled himself to his hands and knees and kept on at a crawl. The buildings rose on either hand, he was within the avenue. But not far enough. And he was not going to make it—

Nick gasped, fought for breath. Now it felt as if the air about him was being sucked away, that he could not get enough into his lungs—he was choking.

He lay flat, his arms outstretched above his head, his fingers still moving feebly, trying to find some crevice between the blocks of the pavement into which they might fit and draw him forward, even if only for an inch or two.

“Come!”

Had he heard that? Nick still fought to move. There were hands on his shoulders, he was being dragged away from the star, down the avenue, out of the baleful influence of the ankh. He could not summon strength enough to look up and see who—or what—had come to his aid. Not the Herald—the Herald had been his own illusion. Stroud? His thoughts were weak, slipping from him. He no longer really cared who saved him.

The tingling in his flesh faded. But he was not regaining his strength. However, the hold on him relaxed and he made a great effort to roll over so he could see his rescuer.

She did not have that misty outline of light about her this time but looked thoroughly solid and substantial. Nor were there tears on her cheeks.

“Rita.”

He must have said her name aloud. Or else, like Jeremiah, she could read his thoughts.

“I am Rita, yes.” There was in her speech that same toneless quality that marked the Herald’s.

But her face was not as expressionless as Avalon’s. There was concern there, and something else. She studied him, Nick thought, as one might study a tool before one put it to service.

“You might have died—back there. You are not of the Kin.” She made statements, she asked no questions.

“Are you alone here?” he asked.

“Alone?” Plainly that had startled her. She glanced from left to right and back again, as if she saw what he could not and was astounded by his speech. “Alone—why—” Then she paused. “You are not of the Kin,” she repeated. “The sight is not yours. No, though you do not see, I am not alone. Why did you come if you would not be one with Avalon?”

“To find out what keeps the city free from attack. Your people—they are in danger. They need protection.”

“There is no danger for the Kin, Safety those others can have for the asking. It is so. I have gone to them and they drove me out. They are blind and will not accept sight, they are deaf and they will not hear. They—” For the first time her voice trembled. “They will be lost because they choose it so.”

“They say that you changed.”

“Yes. I have become one with the Kin. See.” She went to her knees beside him and laid her arm next to his, not quite touching.