Three Hands for Scorpio (9 page)

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Authors: Andre Norton

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“
T
hat is the way of it.” I licked dry lips, having finished the telling of our tale. Bina and Tam had left it to me, and neither they nor Zolan had interrupted.
“And a black way it is!” He turned his head and looked to the seated figures of the unknown beings.
“We must keep watch,” Bina struck in. “If our father traces us this far—”
“I suppose,” Tam said, her attention strictly on him, “no other way is known out of the Dismals?”
“None!” His answer was harshly abrupt.
“You have lived here long?” I asked. “Were you also captive dropped, as we, into this ill-omened place?”
“I have”—he spoke slowly and with an emphasis that signaled importance—“no other memories than this.” His hand moved in a gesture to encompass all that lay about us.
“No others have been left here as we were?”
“Yes—five. But all had been hard-used, and they did not live long.” Zolan was open enough about those facts.
A flash of red kindled behind him. Climber appeared, to stand on his hind legs, both forepaws on the man's shoulders, his head raised until he
could look directly into his companion's eyes. For a long moment the two held that position; then the beast dropped to four feet again.
Zolan arose. “Tasks must now be done,” he stated. “But first, let me ask something of you—for your own safety. The perils are many in this place, which is apart from your own world. I have hunted through the seasons for a way up, which I have never found, yet still will I search for one for you—this I promise. In the meantime, do not venture forth by yourselves. Now I must go.”
The tone of his voice kept us from any question. Go he did, leaving us with much yet to learn.
“If Father's forces come, they will have the sleuthhounds in the lead. We have fed Bell and Swiftfoot since they were puppies, and they will know our scent well. To keep a watch where we were lowered—that is only a matter of good sense.” I was on my feet. Then I stooped to take the shallow bowl from which fragrance still rose.
Curling a finger into its depths, I brought out a smearing of the slightly greasy substance. With a gob of this I touched my body, breast, both knees, and last of all my forehead. I could not rebuild our Wards by ceremony, and this anointing was far less potent, but it must serve. Was its worth not so proven when it drew Bina back to us?
I passed on the bowl to Tam and Bina, and they followed my example.
“We were warned,” Bina said. “And we have no weapons.”
“We were warned,” Tam echoed her, then amended, “and we have no weapons of
man's
making.”
The plan in their minds was as clear as if it had been scribed in words: they would return to the cliffside from which we had been lowered. The stream gurgling at the other end of the cavern would be a guide.
I had another thought to share. Twice Zolan had come without sound, seeming to materialize out of the shadows. I wanted to know a little better the extent of this stronghold of his, beginning with the seated figures. I was sure that they were of importance to our host. Also, why had he turned his Power upon us?
Tam nodded. “I think you have the right of it.”
I had not put my idea into speech, yet they agreed. I moved forward, not to plunder the supply shelf this time but to approach as closely as I could those alien watchers.
Now that I had fully centered my attention on them, I began to see
many more oddities. Though the bodies were stiffly human in shape, they bore no patterns to suggest clothing. However, raised lines that appeared to be ornamental scars crossed shoulders and chests, writhed down arms and legs.
Patterns
—patterns had always served me well as far back as I could remember. I began to trace a certain scar-cutting down the nearest arm of the figure directly before me. That line—no, not quite—it should turn here, but it did not. Again I saw a design not unlike the one I had dreamed. And I had seen it still more recently. I caught at the massive brooch, which clipped my jerkin modestly together across my breasts. Yes, here was a plain copy of the motif in the hardened clay above.
“We see,”
Tam's Send came. I felt her use her probe sharply; however, no tinge of Evil answered as it had so quickly when we had dealt with thread and cloth.
“Cafthouli”—Tam lifted a hand and just avoided touching the patterned arm.
“Who?” I demanded. Certainly I had never heard that name, if name it was, before.
Without turning from her staring appraisal of the figure, as if she had not heard me, my sister suddenly put both hands up, one to each temple and bowed her head.
“Cafthoulis sanis varton, Vo, Vo, Vo!”
I sensed that I was hearing an invocation, and I caught at Tam's arm, pulling her back against me.
“Lord of Light,” I cried toward the curve of stone roofing us in, “deliver her!”
I felt Tam's body grow tense in my hold. Then she gasped—she might have been walking in peril and now saw a trap gaping open-jawed before her.
Bina had joined us, a frown between her brows.
“What would you do, Tam?” Her demand was quick, on the edge of anger.
Tam shook her head from side to side. “I do not know,” her voice was scarcely above a whisper. “What have I taken on me?” She clapped both hands over her mouth, adding after a moment, “From Zolan I received—not a Send such as we know, but still a message-of-mind, and I obeyed it. I—I drew Power out of him, into me; surely it was our own Power I reclaimed. But if it had mingled with his essence, then I have a force in me I do not know how to control.
“Yet one thing I do know.” She looked to me and then to Bina, a child again, seeking reassurance. “This strange Gift is not of Evil. And of this I am also sure: we stand in a very ancient place, and those who wrought it were not human as we think ourselves to be. They had Power, a force as alien as themselves. Perhaps we cannot judge in truth whether it be Light or Dark, for it cannot be measured by what we know.
“I—I may have called a Summons.”
I stiffened. This day we had already been near drained of what force we had, and I feared we could not stand so well-armed again.
Bina loosed her hold on Tam and moved to front the figures. She raised her right hand, crooked her fingers so the tips pointed to the seated pair.
“By heart and hand, spirit and body,
Be you Dark, or be you Light,
Open, to the Power of the Seer of All,
And let the truth be known!”
From her fingertips shot needle-thin spears of light. They struck the figures, and a light like fire blazed up, lashed the boxlike figures, and was gone. Our tension eased. These beings held no menace. Had they ever dealt with Power, perhaps under the command of living creatures, they were harmless in the here and now.
Bina rubbed her hand across her sweat-beaded forehead.
“This is not one of those ever-lurking dangers we have been warned against,” she said quietly. “Tam, if you fear a taint, we shall have a Cleansing, but such a rite cannot be held here, in this time-past stronghold of a Gift we cannot understand.”
Thus we left another puzzle behind us and began to work our way around the cave walls. The stream now faced us. Tam sat down, unlaced her fur-lined footgear, and rolled up the scaled leggings. Bina suddenly left us, running back into the cavern depths; then she returned, carrying the longhandled fork and the two stone knives.
Tam, having worked her shoes into her belt, took up one of the knives, testing its edged with a careful finger.
“Little enough, but the best that fortune appears willing to grant us.”
So armed, and prepared for water-traveling, we entered the stream, a return to the cliff point firmly in our minds.
As we reached the mountain door to look out, we found its greenery dappled with patches of pale sunlight, which was all the heavy growth about us would allow to reach the ground. I surveyed the opening doubtfully. So thick was that wall of dark green, cut only by the stream, that it could conceal a number of perils. My imagination was swift to suggest such threats, though mercifully not in detail.
Without words Tam took the lead, as she had before, and we splashed along behind her, causing gauzy-winged insects to rise. We halted as a raucous scream cut the air. At its second sounding, wild movement shook the vine-draped trees to our left. More cries arose, the agony in them plain. A dark shape broke through the curtain of leaves. It fought vainly to keep its hold on a vine, then landed with a thud below, hidden again.
Something like a huge, thick green stick burst out of hiding, fanning up on thin wings into the air to descend again with force enough to slash leaves, tear vines from their grip. Then the stick-creature fastened onto a tree trunk and tensed. We could sense it straining to hold. A ripple coursed along its length—hair! Hair, or a like substance, clothed its form. A second stick, in the air, lashed back and forth through the trailing ends of dislodged vine. We retreated under the arch of the cave entrance but continued to watch.
The flying thing managed to seize upon two thick vines that were still firmly attached above it. Apparently satisfied by its anchors, it strove to draw upon both. Resistance of the lower growth defeated it at first; then that pull stiffened. The sounds of more tearing leaves and snapping branches were followed by another agonized shriek of pain. Out upon the open bank of the stream plopped what seemed a vast tightly stuffed bag, covered with green bristles that stood erect save for where torn skin hung in shreds. Four more of the furred sticks now unfolded limbs to beat around the mutilated body, while the other two creatures still clung to the support of tree and vine.
Its struggle had brought the bag-beast around to where its head, a mere ball, was now visible to us. Eyes, huge—and numbering six—bulged, green as its stiff hair, staring, though I could not be sure it saw us.
Scarcely aware of what I did, I raised the toasting fork as I might a boar spear. A red and white froth was gathering about the clashing movement of—jaws? I doubted that; the thing must be equipped with different parts for the managing of food.
“Spider!”
Tam cried. And the creature, evidently hearing her, went into an even greater frenzy.
It certainly was not a spider such as could be found in dark corners in Grosper, for it was larger than one of the sleuthhounds, which are particularly bred for size. The spiky growth it bore had the look of rank fur and equipped it well for life among the trees.
“Back!” Tam gave warning.
WE WERE WELL under the archway of the water-path. I realized I should have sent Cilla and Bina farther back as I heard a new droning rise above the sound of the wounded spider.
Many—perhaps even most—of our species have no great liking for insects. With some pests we wage an ongoing war, but those are small enough to be destroyed in the open with various mixtures fatal to them. But this spider, still pounding the earth, could have met any armsman on equal terms.
Down dropped the thing in the vines. A goodly portion of this one was made of forelegs folded against its body, those supports being edged with a jagged series of teeth, like a saw. The head, which bore huge and bulbous eyes, aroused in me not only fear but also a feeling of revulsion. It settled on the far bank of the stream and unfurled wings that appeared too small to support it. The upper part of the long body reared aloft, while the serrated forearms stretched forward, one after another, toward the floundering spider. It was a figure of deep and menacing cruelty.
Cilia cried out in sick horror and splashed back into the stream, Bina following. I remained where I was. The winged hunter had crossed the water and was aiming the sawtoothed front legs at its prey with cruel efficiency. It was entirely intent upon action and had given no sign of noticing anything but the pulsating body now helplessly awaiting attack.
“Know your enemy as best you can.”
Our father's words rang out from memory. Zolan told the truth—perils existed in the Dismals that we had not imagined. The stench of blood reached me, but I continued to study both victim and victor.
The spider must have been attacked while in the trees. Yet this other
monster was winged. How could it have been able to hunt where its wings would have been a hindrance rather than a help? Swooping down, it could take us easily. Against such a demon, what good would be a toasting fork and stone knives for weapons?
Were both of these creatures common in this world here below? We would be the greatest of fools not to understand that we were easy prey to such nightmares. Still—we had traveled some distance from the cliff edge with Climber before he had brought us to the water trail, and I did not remember that he seemed suspicious of any attack there.
I wanted no further sight of the noisome banquet and was about to withdraw after my sisters, when movement behind the feaster drew my attention. The winged monster paid no heed; however, a growing quivering was shaking the green wall.
A flash hurtled through the air, in movement so swift that I could see only a red streak. Jaws closed upon one of the feeder's hind legs. The insectgiant reared and gave voice, and pain thrust hot needles into my ears as the cry reached a pitch beyond my ability to hear.
Climber—or one of his kin! New blood joined the crimson wash already sprayed about on leaves and muck underfoot. However, the killer could not reach its assailant easily. Attempts to fend off the attacker by scrapes from its razor-edged midlegs sent tufts of red hair flying. Still that traplike hold remained unbroken, though darker patches of rent flesh began to show as the leg raked and beat on. Drawn by the need to aid the beast, which had saved our lives, I was out in the stream again.
The stone knife in my hand was a futile weapon, I thought. One of the thin legs of the spider trembled, rose. That the creature was still alive after being so ravaged was hard to believe, but even if the motion were a death throe, fate served me. As might a war mace, that blood-smeared limb crashed down and clamped onto one of the forelegs of the killer.
Again my head rang with a cry so shrill in pitch it became a weapon in itself. The flier's body rocked, then a snap of one of its forelimbs struck at the spider's leg, severing it with quick ease. However, when aiming for this strike, the fighter had slewed around so it was now facing me.
Without realizing it, I had come well out into the open. Bulging eyes fastened on me. With Climber still clamped in its hold, the creature half threw itself forward. One of the clawed and blood-dripping forelimbs shot out. My knife was up and ready, and long training rather than conscious
thought took over. My arm swung down from the force of the blow, and the knife was ripped from my grasp.
Control—command; I did not summon these Powers—they simply
came,
as weapons of steel might have been thrust into my stinging hand. Nothing remained but those eyes, and because they were not human, they could not be read for anger or fear.
I—will! I—will!
There was no time for any incantation, nor did I know how words of Power could be attuned to what must be done. Something new had been aroused in me, and it took full hold of my body in that moment.
My hand went up, though now I held no knife. From my fingers burst blue fire, dispatched in separate darts. Straight at those bulbous eyes they streaked through the air.
The monster reared back then, and, even with the weight of Climber still attached, it attempted to open its wings wider. Suddenly the air filled with a burst of nearly overpowering stench. At the same moment, the head of the thing was engulfed in fire. I threw myself back as it lunged toward me and went down, falling partly over the ravaged body of the spider.
My hand, still shaking, dropped nerveless against my side into the full current of the water. What I had done, I could not accept. When Bina had wrought with Power she had not sought to kill—in fact, we had never thought to use our Gift except as a test against some rival force manifested by the Dark. That it could
kill
—!
Shaking my head, I continued to stare at the two dead creatures. Then I remembered—Climber! That scouring leg, which had attempted to scrape him away, must have left grievous wounds, and those should be tended.
I could not see any sign of scarlet fur. Had the flying creature, during its last struggle, succeeded in flinging the cat-creature off? The stream about my legs was tainted with ichor from which a stifling smell arose, and I forced myself through stinking scum that lay upon the water.
Now I felt a faint mind plea and followed it. Climber had indeed been hurled away. Coming to the clearer bank, I won up the slippery earth to see the walling brush shiver as Climber's head broke through, and he crawled on his belly to join me. Protruding from his well-toothed jaws was a portion of the flier's limb. The nightmare insect might have shaken him off, but he had taken his battle trophy with him.
He had been wounded indeed—the attacker had raked long grooves on his sides. I drew a hand gently over his head. We might not be able to
communicate beyond emotions, but I Sent, as clearly as I could, a message praising the heroic deed he had done. A moment later I Sent again, this time for Bina, a call that her skill in healer's aid was needed. Being careful where and how I touched him, I strove to settle Climber's head on my knee. He spat the foul limb from his mouth and heaved a great sigh, as I sought to reassure him by mind-touch.

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