The Iron Breed (12 page)

Traveling along the sand of the stream's lip, he chewed at a handful of tart leaves from one of the plants he knew well as a part of the clan diet. For the moment he had pushed all questions far to the back of his mind, determined to be occupied only by the here and now, though he was unable to forget the weight about his throat, or what it meant.

Foraging proved so good along the stream that Jony disliked leaving the water's edge. But, though he had found pieces of drift caught among the rocks which might have possibilities for a staff, he vaguely mistrusted their smooth, bleached lengths. No, he would have to head outward toward a real stand of trees to locate what he wanted.

Even as Jony made to turn away from the bank, he caught sight of a bright glint from among the rocks just ahead. Curious, he went to see what had been caught there. Another bit of drift? No, for along the side of this piece a length of caked coating had flaked away, to release that gleam which the sun had betrayed to him. He knew of no wood resembling this.

In fact the shaft could not be wood at all. For, when Jony drew it out of the crevice into which it had fallen or been jammed by flood water, the straight length was heavier than any staff he had ever lifted. That coating around the bright slash appeared to be hardened clay, combined with a red substance which powdered off on his hands. Squatting down, Jony chose a stone and began to scrape at his find, his persistence revealing more and more of what he was now sure was metal. This was longer than the deadly red rods of the stone place, and not the same color at all. A little of his old curiosity kept him to the cleaning, first with stone rubbing, and then with handfuls of sand. At last he held something which was not unlike the staffs of the clansmen, though shorter. It even possessed a curve at one end, though that did not altogether resemble those crooks which were such useful tools. This curve (Jony held a cut finger in the flow of the stream) had a sharpened edge which was far more dangerous than any point a clansman could put on his weapon-tool.

The metal sides were pitted with small holes. However, when Jony lifted the rod high, to bring it crashing down on the nearest large rock with all his strength, the length did not snap or bend. Instead, the rock itself was scarred by that stroke. He rubbed it again, this time with leaves, cleaning off the sand and the last of the red powder. What he had was, he was sure, a tool which had been purposefully made, probably by those people of the stone place. However, the thing carried no taint of power as the red rods did. In form it was plainly such a staff as he could never hope to make for himself.

Jony sat fingering the pole resting across his knees. The feel was good, fitting to his hand smoothly in spite of the pitting. He liked the weight of it. And that cutting, edged part at the top—there were many uses to which that could be put. He had not taken this from the storehouse of the stone place, so it did not seem forbidden. Long ago it must have been lost, or discarded as useless. Therefore, Jony made his decision.

Right or wrong, this was his. He had found and cleaned it. If he must go a long way through this world for now, then he would have the best protection he could lay hand upon. He—

Only that shadow across the sand came as a warning! Jony had been so absorbed in his find that he had not posted the sentry of his mind which was his most important defense. He did not even have time to get to his feet to meet an attack launched from the sky.

There sounded a scream, so high and shrill, as to hurt his ears. The vor screeched aloud its triumph as it dropped, talons spread, its head weaving back and forth. Jony swept the staff upward with a frenzied hope of beating off that plunge. He could see above the first attacker, two others of that noisome species sailing about, perhaps the half-grown young of the first.

His wild sweep of the staff connected with the plunging predator. Only by chance, and no real thought, had Jony used the end with the curved blade. The jar of his blow landing sent him sprawling back, while fear closed in. For he was now totally defenseless before the death strike of the vor.

However the bird had been beaten out of line when his blow fell. It screeched again, not in triumph, but in rage and agony. One of the great taloned legs flopped loosely. Blood spurted from a deep wound opened by the sharp edge.

Up the vor soared with a strong beat of wings. Jony scrambled to his feet, set his back to the nearest rock. The other two birds were plunging down to meet their fellow. He had not escaped, he had only earned a breathing space.

Blood trickled down the length of the staff, was sticky on his fingers. He momentarily transferred hold of the staff, wiped his hand on the side of his kilt. Three vors, and, once they went into combat, they would not sheer off. He had no chance at all.

The wounded one screamed in on a second dive. But this time Jony was ready. He thought now he knew a little of what the staff could do. Only it would be very good fortune if he were able to land another telling blow. He forced himself to wait until the last moment of that strike, then brought the staff around in a sweep into which he put all his strength, aiming to connect it with the long, twisting neck of the raging creature.

He missed that mark. But the curved blade hit hard on the near wing about where it met the vor's body. The force of that blow hurled the flying thing away. Now the attacker could only use one wing, beat that frantically, its screams making a din in the air. Unable to continue airborne, the creature fell among the rocks on the other side of the stream, where it flopped and cried, blood spattering far from its two wounds. Jony, hardly able to believe in his escape, had no eyes for it. He strained upward to watch the two above. At that moment he also unleashed his concentrated sense of command. As with the People, he could not enforce his will on the brain of any creatures of this world. But he might be able to confuse them—a little.

The pair continued to circle over his head. So far he could detect no signs that either was preparing to strike. Perhaps because they were young, they were more puzzled, wary, than an adult vor would be. Jony edged back between two rocks. In the open he felt naked. Though these stones rose to only about his shoulder height, he gained a small sense of security when standing between them. Staff in hand he waited.

Then he tensed. One of the vors had made up its mind. Jony caught the slight change in flight pattern which meant attack. Though smaller than the wounded one yet flopping and shrieking across the water, the creature was still a very dangerous opponent. Jony gripped his staff, knowing that again he must wait. Only his superior weapon had saved him so far, of that he was convinced. But he could not rely on that good fortune to continue. He must be ready to—

The vor dropped, this time silently, without warning. Jony readied himself for a swing. He thought he had little chance of striking the neck, but his success in catching the wing of the other had given him a lead as to the best way to meet any attack. He swung again vigorously.

Once more the blow hit home. The vor squalled. The creature seemed unable to halt its downward swoop, and hit the sand beyond the rocks, flopping. Jony took a chance. He burst from his rock defense and lashed down with several blows. One hit the darting head, smashing it.

Breathing hard, Jony backed into his poor refuge, looked up for the third and last vor. Unlike its fellows, it was not of a mind to carry on the battle. Instead, after circling twice and hooting mournfully, it flapped away. Jony stared at the still twitching vor near him, that other which tried to deny death on the other side of the water. Two
vors!
He was dazed at the fact of his escape. His staff was sticky with blood, more was splashed on him, on the rocks about. But he was
safe!
Weakly he leaned back on the stones which half-supported him.

Clansmen killed attacking vors, yes. But only when working as a team with a thought-out defense plan. Jony had never known one of the People alone who had finished off two of the great predators.

Near his feet the second one had gone limp at last. While that on the far side of the water was moving only weakly, loss of blood bringing death. Jony forced himself a stride or two forward, used the blade end of his staff to prod the near body. There was no sign of life.

The fetid stench of the creature, together with the blood about, made Jony queasy. He moved further upstream. There he not only scrubbed his new weapon with sand and water, but washed his own sweated body and stained kilt, so that no possible taint of his kill remained.

There was movement downstream. He saw some of the scavengers that were always quick to find any kill dart out of the rock's shade and scuttle toward the body. By tomorrow there would only be well-cleaned bones left. Jony eyed the vicious talons of the dread creatures. Those had uses. He might stay near enough to claim them as trophies when the feasters were done.

Suddenly he smiled grimly. Though the People did not adorn themselves with anything but their food gathering nets, he had a sudden idea. Those talons he might hang from the collar. If he ever returned to the clan and was able to loosen that yoke they had laid upon him, it would please him greatly to have added this proof of his own ability to survive the burden they had put on him as a punishment and warning.

This staff—never had there been one like this! His hands slipped back and forth along the surface, avoiding the sharp hook at the end, caressingly. Jony took time now to study that edged hook with great care. It was shaped not unlike a fang, a giant fang. He had no such natural fighting equipment of his own, as the People carried in their jaws. But now he could boast of a fang in his hand, use it well . . .

Prudence dictated a withdrawal upstream. Those dead vors would draw more than these small scavengers already busy. Also Jony wanted to get away from the stench of death and blood. He would find someplace near where he could make a night nest. Only, never again must he relax to the point he was unaware of life about him. His own foolish mistake had nearly provided him as fodder for the flying death. He must learn how to use his sense wisely. However, not with such a power of induced concentration that he would not also be conscious of what lay immediately about him. For here there was no one of the clan to give him the illusion of safety while he freed his mind for questing ahead.

He found a good space among rocks and made several trips into a stretch of grassland to pull up that wiry growth in armloads and bring his harvest back to his nest site. As he moved now, Jony kept instantly alert for any return of the vor, any suggestion that there was other danger abroad in this land. The time was still well before the coming of dusk when he harvested fruit from a couple of high growing bushes, returned with it back to his camp. The land here was rich in provender, but there was no sign that any clan had wandered into it. Perhaps there was a roost of vor too near to make the country safely open for the People's accustomed daylight roaming by twos or threes.

As Jony settled into his retreat, he thought once more of Maba and Geogee. Voak had stated the twins would not be held responsible for their visit to the stone place, so he believed that they would not have to fear an exile like his. And Yaa could control Maba, Voak would probably have Geogee under close watch. Neither would be allowed to return to the stone place.

All those questions which had filled Jony's mind in the morning were still to be answered, if he could ever find answers for any of them. The main one which troubled him now was: would his collar shut him off from the People forever? He did not want to consider what that might mean, yet he could not push the thought aside.

To be always and ever alone! There might be other clans near. There were such, he had contact with them during those meetings which were held from time to time. But he guessed that as long as he wore this collar he would not be accepted among any of the People.

Within his heaped nest Jony moved uneasily. It was one thing to spend the night thus, knowing that within arm's reach were curled companions. But he had never been alone. He lay back now, his eyes closed, though he did not sleep. Instead, Jony journeyed back and back, as far as his memory would take him. To escape the present, he thought of the past.

At first he tried to envision details of the lab in the sky ship. He had always been able to recall as mental pictures small scenes when he had wished. What had been the very first memory of all?

He had been with Rutee in her cage. She had patiently told him over and over who he was, how they had come there. They had once been as free as the People. Then the Big Ones had come, and they were caged. Some of their kind the Big Ones killed slowly, studying them as they died. Rutee had looked sick when she had told Jony that, but she had made him listen. Others they made into the mind-controlled. But a few could not be so trained, Rutee was one, he even more so.

The Big Ones had traveled through the sky away from Rutee's world. There had been other worlds visited, too. Other captives, though none resembling Rutee's own people. At last they had reached here. Though Rutee had never known where “here” was.

She had shown Jony the stars at night, pointed to this one and that. But she said that they were set “wrong,” that none of them seemed the stars she had known when she had lived outside before. Therefore the sky ship had taken them very far from her colony world. There was no chance of their ever getting back to their own kind again.

Her people had also had sky ships. They had flown out from a world which was their own, settled on other worlds. For a long time they had been doing that. Rutee was not even sure just where their first home world was. It had not been the world on which she and Bron were born, before they joined to help make up another colony. Long and far . . .

Could it have been this world?
Was that why he, Maba, and Geogee looked so like the stone people? But Rutee had not known the People, nor heard of them before. However it might still be a world her people had found once and lived upon.