Doom's Break (21 page)

As dusk fell across the mountain, he saw a tiny light break forth in the darkness far ahead, under the looming mass of the mountain. Staring at the light, he wondered what the men were doing there. Why had they come so far? What drove them to this madness? He prayed that the captives were alive and that he would be able to find some way to free them.

At last he settled himself to sleep, wrapped in his blanket, sword and bow to hand in case he was disturbed by bear or pyluk in the night. He slept fitfully. Several times in the night he awoke and found the faraway fire still burning while the drums throbbed on.

They were still beating when dawn broke over the Drakensbergs. Amazed at such persistence, he roused himself, rolled up his blanket, and took several deep breaths of the cool air. The early light had cast a magical pink spell upon the hillsides. The beauty of the scene was breathtaking. He drank from a small stream splashing across the hillside and ate a little more bushcurd. Then he pushed on, moving down into the valley until he came on the rocky streambed on its center. He looked about carefully. The drums and the firelight would have drawn pyluk from miles around by now.

After progressing for a few miles up the streambed, clambering over the boulders, Thru felt the nag of some sixth sense inspiring caution. He flattened himself into a crevice between two rocks where the water ran at ankle depth. Closing his eyes, stilling his own breathing, he listened.

Upstream, he heard several runners, slapping barefoot over the rocks. A splash told him a foot had gone into the water. Cautiously he raised his head to study the terrain ahead. He glimpsed the ends of long spears above the bushes fifty yards ahead. Then they were gone.

Thru knew whom those long spears belonged to. He recalled the time he had collected some and thrown them off the cliff by the small temple in the Farblow Hills. He recalled the ferocity of their owners.

He crouched down and froze in place for a long time, listening intently for any sound, while he nocked an arrow and readied himself to die fighting. However, the minutes ticked away with no further sounds, and eventually he emerged from cover. He stepped forward to the point where the pyluk had crossed the streambed.

Here he found their tracks, at least seven individuals, perhaps more. The tracks showed the long, narrow feet with the distinctive claw marks. Now he had no doubt about their presence. They were out there around him.

Still the drums throbbed, beating like some primordial pulse in the Land, reverberating off the hillsides, pulsing over the stones.

Late in the day, he finally came over the crest of a hill and was rewarded with a clear view of the men's camp about half a mile away. In the center burned a large fire tended by a clump of men. Surrounding it was a circle of a dozen tents, one of which was significantly larger than the rest. Farther off, a crude corral had been erected from fallen tree limbs. The horses made a dark mass inside. The smell of wood smoke was mixed with the smell of roasting grain cakes. Thru found himself salivating while his belly rumbled. It had been days since he'd eaten more than small amounts of bushpod curd.

Forcing thoughts of food from his mind, he concentrated on studying the camp, searching for some sign of the captives.

In front of the large tent, four men pounded on long, tubular drums. This was the source of the steady throbbing that echoed back from the hills. A few other men could be seen engaged in various tasks. One seemed to be putting bags of feed down for the horses.

The sight of this camp produced more questions than answers for Thru, however. He'd tracked these men for many days, climbing all the way up into the mountains, and now they had pitched camp and begun beating drums? It made no sense.

A sudden sound behind him caused him to duck down behind a massive fallen pine tree and freeze. Listening carefully, he heard stealthy footsteps approach. Soft thuds, heavy exhalations, and then a burst of guttural, hissing speech sent a chill down his spine.

Nearby, perhaps just on the far side of the tree, was a party of pyluk! Feeling like a mouse among a gang of cats, Thru crouched there, scarcely daring to breathe.

The pyluk had not seen him. They remained on their side of the thick trunk of the tree while they hissed and gabbled together in their harsh tongue as they studied the camp. Gradually, Thru became aware of their odor, a sharp smell like wet leather. He wondered if they would smell him out, too.

At one point they broke into a bubbling sound, akin to that made by frogs in the spring. Appalled, Thru realised this was pyluk laughter. It stopped after a while then started again. Whatever had amused them, it was very funny. Finally the weird noise ceased altogether. The pyluk muttered among themselves a little more, and then Thru heard them rise as one and file away quietly, back into the trees. Scarcely daring to breathe, he raised his head to scan the surroundings. They were gone.

With extreme care, he worked his way down the hillside, through scrub and small trees, toward the men's camp. He had observed that the men had just three lookouts posted, set around the perimeter of the camp. Clearly they did not fear attack by the bands of pyluk that they had drawn to them with their crazy drumming.

He had also noticed that an old tree had fallen quite close to the edge of the camp, near the largest tent. Its roots lay in the forest, but the broken top of the trunk lay quite near the back wall of the large tent. When he got to within a hundred paces of the tents, he saw that this fallen tree was hollowed out. He realized that if he could get to the tree, he might be able to crawl unseen to within twenty feet of the tent.

Now he could see that the drummers were stripped to the waist, pounding on the drums with long sticks tipped with white cloths. Their bodies were strangely rigid, their faces taut with tension.

He had reached the camp's perimeter. Some sixty paces to his right stood one of the lookouts. After studying the man carefully, Thru turned his attention back to the fallen tree. The lookout kept his gaze on the hillside above. He seemed to be fighting off boredom.

Slowly, Thru slithered toward the near end of the hollow tree trunk. The approach was hidden by a dense stand of spiny bushes. Working his way in under these bushes cost Thru any number of prickles, but he kept at it and managed at last to get into the cover of the hollow tree trunk without being seen.

It was dark and quiet inside the tree. Even the boom of the drums was muffled. There was a strong smell of wet ground and mold. Thru crouched there in silence for a while, then crawled forward. The hollow part of the tree ended with an opening at one side, filling the interior with a dim light. In some places there was just enough room to crawl on his belly, while in others he could get up on his knees.

Eventually, after considerable effort, Thru reached the opening. From this vantage point he could look along the side of the tent and on to the fire and the men tending it. Cooks had set up large iron griddles and small trestles, on which they worked. Other men came and went, fetching wood to the fire or wheat cakes from the cooks.

Thru noticed that the light was fading from the sky. The sun had set. He had arrived at a good time. When the darkness had fallen, he would see if he could move closer, perhaps get a look inside the nearest tent.

Then he saw a figure stroll past the fire, and for a moment he felt his jaw drop.

It was a mot! There could be no doubt about it—the fur covering the head and shoulders was unmistakable. A mot was wandering through the men's camp unharmed, unmolested, unchallenged.

The mot went on, past where the cooks labored over biscuits, and disappeared into a tent. Thru stared after him with bulging eyes. A traitor? How could a fellow mot betray the Land to these terrible men? Thru felt as if he'd been kicked in the stomach. It was hard to breathe.

He was still struggling with what he'd seen when the huge man, towering over everyone else, emerged onto the scene. Thru imagined that the man had come out of the big tent, the front entrance of which lay out of Thru's line of sight.

The giant rubbed his hands by the fire. The men looked up to him with something akin to reverence.

"Well, boys," he said, "I can feel them. They're out there, hundreds of them. They're watching us and thinking about eating us."

The men laughed nervously. Thru understood the man's Shashti perfectly well. The occasional word stumped him, but he got the gist.

"I'm serious, boys. It's like I told you: These fellows aren't like you and I; they happily eat their enemies. But we don't have to worry about that. Tonight we will play the flute of bones."

The men responded with a forced sort of good cheer, applauding their massive, towering leader. Thru wondered if he'd heard correctly, and if he had, what it might mean.

The evening swiftly faded on into darkness while Thru crouched inside the hollow tree. It was uncomfortable, but he had developed an iron resistance to discomfort long before, and he drew on that now.

While he watched, the men went about their business. Some worked on equipment, others on the horses. The cooks were busy much of the time, cooking up cauldrons of stew and hot grain stirabout. Occasionally one of the cooks would take food and water over to the drummers, who continued to pound out the rhythm hour after hour.

A horn was blown. More wood was thrown on the fire and it blazed up. Men came out of the tents and gathered round. Their leader appeared. He spoke to them about their mission and how they were going to help exterminate the monkey men.

"They must die, all of them!" roared the giant man.

"Death to the monkeys!" the men hurled back at him. They kept shouting this for several minutes until the huge man bellowed at them to be quiet.

"They must die, because they pose a deadly threat to the pure blood of Man. If we left them to breed, they would create a swarm and in the end they would come to Shasht and devour our children before our very eyes. They must be annihilated to stop this threat! So says He Who Eats!"

The men shouted their allegiance to the Great God.

Now the leader spoke more casually. He called out to some of the men by name and told jokes. He spoke of the good lives they would lead someday, when the new lands had been cleansed of the monkeys and all their works. They would be back home in dear Shasht. They would have titles and lands. They would have many women and even more slaves.

The men roared their appreciation of this vision of their future.

While they cheered, Thru abandoned the safety of the hollow tree and crawled quickly across the ground to the back wall of the tent.

No shout of alarm came. The drums continued to throb. The leader had begun his harangue once more. Thru lifted the tent wall and peeked underneath. A lantern gave a dim light. He glimpsed camp chairs, a bunk, a heavy wooden chest. On the farther side of the tent, huddled together in a crude pen, was a small group of mots.

Noticing something, Iallia raised her head. For a moment their eyes locked. Thru raised a finger to his lips and slipped under the tent wall. Just then there was a noise from the front entrance, the flap was pulled back, and the leader pushed inside.

Thru froze in place behind a folding chair. The leader did not notice him. His attention was fixed on the captives, crouching in the pen. The man stood over the mots, rubbing his hands together while the captives shrank back in fear.

"Wriggling won't save you, my little worms. Some of you will be honored tonight. I will dance in your blood."

The huge man leaned forward and seized three of the captives. He pulled them out of the pen and stood them before him, where they trembled in abject terror. Two older mots and a mor, none of them known to Thru.

"Yes, you'll do," said the giant man to himself. "You will have the honor of being trampled into the mud by my lordly feet. Such a privilege is not given to all."

He herded the mots ahead of him and thrust them outside the tent. The mor gave a shrill wail as she was shoved into the open. Then the tent flap fell back behind them.

Thru was about to get to his feet when the tent opened again and the man came back in. Thru crouched down behind the folding chair and prayed he would not be seen.

The huge man went to the chest, opened it, and removed a small box. From it he pulled out a complicated object. Thru had but the briefest of glimpses. Then the man set the box on the table, closed the chest, and went out once more.

Thru breathed a huge sigh of relief.

Iallia whispered, "Thru." He again put a finger to her lips to quieten her. The others, a handful of older mots and mors, stared at him with wondering eyes.

"They killed everyone but us," whispered one of them.

"I know." Thru bowed his head for a moment in sorrow and reached out to the captives in the pen. Their hands all came together. "Be brave. We'll get you out of here."

There was a loud surge of noise outside. Thru crept to the front entrance and peered outside.

The mots were being held in front of the fire by men. The leader stood beside them, arranging his fingers on a set of handpipes. He appeared to be practicing the fingerwork for some tune or other and was quite concentrated upon the task. The mor wailed as one of the men took hold of her ears and tugged her head out straight.

The leader saw that everything was ready. He handed the odd-looking pipes to a Red Top and drew a large, shining knife. With chill nonchalance, he slit the mor's throat. The men lifted her body and held her so that her blood ran out on a patch of ground in front of the fire.

Thru noticed that this patch of ground had been covered with a circle of white powder. The blood spattered down in the center of this small area, about six feet across, and slowly formed a red slick.

Meanwhile, the two mots were held in a similar way and the knife applied to their throats. They were drained into a large cauldron, however, which was then set over hot coals.

Thru shivered. The works of Man the Cruel were often horrifying, but this seemed incomprehensible. The bodies were cut up by the cooks. The great ring of men beyond the fire were intent on the spectacle before them.