Eye of the Zodiac - E.C Tubb

A good answer, thought Vestaler, but Croft wasn't satisfied. He leaned forward on the table, still brooding over the imagined insult, the sense he had received of being corrected. Machines were the product of evil; because of them Man had become diversified. How could anyone who followed the creed believe otherwise?

He said, curtly, "I still think you lie."

"An easy thing to say when you sit in Council backed by your guards," said Dumarest. "Would it be as easy if we stood face to face outside? But then, of course, you don't believe in personal combat. Leon told me that."

"Leon Harvey! That renegade? That coward!"

"Coward?" Dumarest shook his head. "Call him what you like, but never call him that. Consider what he did. He, alone, left the valley and ventured through the wilderness to the town. A boy doing that and more. He found work, kept himself, gained money, traveled to another world. Coward?" His voice took on a chilling note of contempt. "From where I stand, it is you who are the coward, not he."

"Master!"

"You provoked him," said Vestaler shortly.

"But Leon-"

"We know what Leon Harvey did. There can be no excuse, that I agree."

"And yet this man defends him!" Croft was repulsive in his anger. "They are two of a kind. Has he come here to rob us further? A man who claims to have befriended a boy? That is enough to condemn him. I say he is a criminal and deserves to die. The rule demands it!"

The rule, always the rule, the iron barrier which Dumarest had yet to break. Croft was a fanatic as was Aryan, but hope could lie with the others. At least they had not demanded his life.

He said, slowly, "Have any of you ever stopped to think why Leon ran?"

"Can there be any doubt?" Usdon spoke before Croft could further vent his anger. "He could not face the ordeal."

"The ordeal," said Dumarest. "To climb to the summit of a pinnacle, to sit there during the night, afraid to sleep in case of falling, listening to the predators below, the things which climb and sting. A healthy lad should have no trouble in staying awake. A fit one to hang on. Agreed?"

Usdon nodded.

"Then why, always, do some fail?"

"Guilt," snapped Aryan. "Fear. A knowledge of their own weakness. A proof that they are unfit to survive."

"No!" said Usdon sharply. "My-" He broke off, unwilling to mention his own recent loss.

A reluctance Dumarest recognized. A fortunate circumstance which would back his gamble.

"We spoke of cleansing," he said to Croft. "You sneer at others who believe as you do, but who use machines. Use them, but are not dominated by them, that is the important difference. Power, in itself, can do no harm. It is like a spear which, in itself, is a useful tool. It is the man using it which makes it evil. A spear, a knife, a gun, all tools, all forms of power. Any form of power can be misused. The ordeal is a form of power. The power you have over the young. A power you have misused."

He heard the sharp intake of breath, the instinctive protest at what they considered to be an insanely unfair accusation. Bluntly he pressed on.

"A boy ran from the only home he had ever known. He left his mother, his friends, his people. He plunged into the unknown-and yet some of you call him a coward. You never even considered that he might have a reason. And none of you seem to care about the boys who vanish, or the ones who are found turned into ghosts. Do you want to continue sacrificing your youngsters? Do you enjoy the tears of their mothers? The misuse of your power?"

"It is a test," rapped Aryan.

"An initiation. We have always had it," echoed Croft.

Barog, more observant than the others, less blinded by pride said, "You misjudge us. We are not evil men."

"You know," said Usdon. He looked at his hands, they were trembling. Too late, he thought bleakly. No matter what happened now, it was too late. Sham was gone-nothing could bring him back. Nothing. And yet, others could be saved if Dumarest had not lied. If he could prove his accusation to be just. "You know," he said again. "Know what happens to the boys, what robs their brains."

"Yes," said Dumarest. "I know and I will tell you-for a price."

* * * * *

Iduna shivered as she stepped from the door of the house, a reaction caused less by the chill than the sight of armed men looming in front of her in the starlight. The waking had been abrupt, a touch and a whispered command, her demand for explanation ignored. Perhaps, now, she was to be taken to some secluded place, there to be quietly disposed of, speared to death and buried.

Varg Eidhal's voice was a rumbling reassurance.

"Don't worry, we mean you no harm. It is just that you are wanted in the Council Chamber."

"Why?"

"Just walk beside us."

To a mockery of a trial, questions which could have no answers. A sentence which, somehow, she had to avoid.

She stumbled a little as she entered the warmly lit chamber. Eyes, accustomed to the outer darkness, unable to see detail immediately. Then she saw men seated at a table, more guards, the tall figure of Dumarest.

"Earl! What-"

"It's nothing serious, Iduna." He was, she saw, relaxed, apparently in command of the situation. She drew a deep breath of relief. "I just want you to answer some questions." He nodded to where Vestaler sat at the head of the table. "The truth now, there is no need to lie."

He watched the ring of faces as she verified what he had already told the Council. Yes, she had accompanied her brother on an expedition. They had crashed. He had died in the crash and their guide had also been killed. By a beast? Well, yes, in a way.

"In what way?" Aryan was quick to note the hesitation. He frowned as she explained. "So Dumarest killed him. Are you accusing him of murder?"

"No, the man was badly hurt, dying, in great pain. There was nothing else we could do."

"We?"

"He, Dumarest, he was merciful."

A type of mercy to which they were unaccustomed, and Vestaler frowned. Yet, the point was not worth pursuing at this time.

"Tell us of the Kheld."

"The Kheld?" She glanced at Dumarest. "Why, we, that is my brother, thought they could be found in the mountains. An ancient form of life native to this world, which at one time had threatened the town. My brother," she added, "was suffering from strain."

"He was deranged?"

"No."

"Deluded, then?" Vestaler rapped the table as she hesitated. "You must answer the question. Was your brother wholly normal?"

"Yes. It was just that he had this determination to find the Kheld."

"Did he?"

"No."

"Have you any proof, any kind of proof whatsoever, that such creatures exist?"

Again she hesitated, not knowing just what to say, wondering what the assembly was all about. To lie and perhaps damn herself and Dumarest, or to tell the truth and perhaps do the same.

"Shall I repeat the question?"

"No, that will not be necessary." The truth, Dumarest had said. For want of a better guide she obeyed. "No, I have not."

"You have never seen them? The Kheld, I mean."

"No."

From where he sat Croft said, harshly, "A lie. I knew it. Another to add to the rest."

A logical summation, but Usdon wasn't satisfied. A stubborn hope, perhaps. A confidence in the boy which had never been shaken. Sham could not have failed. There had to be an explanation.

Dumarest gave it.

"Iduna did not share my experience," he said. "She was asleep at the time. I told you that, but you insisted on questioning her."

"With reason," said Aryan. "Your story is preposterous. An invisible something which you heard, but did not see. The stuff of legends, stories to terrify children. If they exist, why haven't we seen them?"

"Or heard them?" said Croft, triumphantly. "Answer that if you can."

He was trapped, thought Vestaler bleakly. Dumarest had bargained well. His life and that of the woman, to be spared for the sake of his information, the proof. The information he had given, the lack of proof would snap shut the jaws of a trap of his own making.

"You haven't seen them," said Dumarest, quietly, "because if you had, you would have become a ghost. As for hearing them, perhaps you have. Think," he urged, "remember. You have all undertaken the ordeal. Did none of you hear a thin sound in the air then? A chittering? Feel an impression of menace?"

He waited for an answer, but it was too long ago. Even if they remembered, none would admit it. Perhaps with cause. To be the first to back his claim would be to share his implied guilt.

"The Kheld are old," he said. "Perhaps now very few in number. They must be an aerial form of life, and so would never enter the valleys. The updraft would be too strong. The pinnacles are high, ideally placed for the creatures to reach. On them you set boys, easy targets for such predators. They come, take what they need, leave without trace."

"If what you say is true, then why are not all the boys affected?"

A shrewd question, Barog was no fool.

"I said they were few," reminded Dumarest. "Perhaps they maintain a territorial area, perhaps each boy provides food for more than one. Frankly, I don't know. But I can guess what happens. The boys are lone, afraid, each a prey to his own fears and imagination. And then the Kheld draw near. I have heard the sound. It numbs, clogs the brain-and I am a grown man. A boy would be terrified. Perhaps the very emotion induced by the Kheld is what they feed on. That, or some form of nervous energy-again I am not sure. But there is a way to find out."

"And that is?"

"You are all grown men. Prove it."

Usdon sucked in his breath, quick to understand.

"Prove it," snapped Dumarest. "Do what you demand children do. Undertake the ordeal." His finger rose to point at Aryan. "You!" At Croft. "You!" At the others, one after the other. "Prove that you are men-if you dare!"

* * * * *

Eidhal was a boy again, a child who clung to the summit of his pinnacle and tried to forget all the rumors and inflated tales, the fears, the memories of those who had undertaken the ordeal and had not returned. A young lad, alone and frightened, as he watched the wheeling of the stars, heard the soft sough of the wind as it rose from the valley.

An illusion, he was not a child and he was not alone. Aryan sat on the finger of stone to his right, Croft beyond, Dumarest to his left. Two other volunteers from the guards further down, Usdon beyond them.

A bad place but he had insisted, insisted too that there be seven of them, the smallest number to undertake the initiation. The others of the Council were admitted to be too old. Barog would never have managed the climb, Vestaler had been overruled.

A scrabble and Eidhal kicked, a multi-legged body falling to the ground. Trust the ilden to scent prey. A nuisance more than anything else, but a sting could burn, cause a hand to slip, a body to fall. Below, the codors would be waiting.

He relaxed, forcing himself to ease an inner tension. There was nothing to worry about. He had done this before and remained unscathed. True, four others of his batch had failed and another had turned into a ghost, but that had been years ago. Yet, they had been as strong as he. Had he survived only because of the luck of the draw, as Dumarest had suggested? One of those who had not been attacked by the mysterious Kheld? Would he have survived if he had?

Odo, he had been strong too, a virile lad with a zest for life, quick at games, the delight of his mother, the pride of Chart. He had died a year later, slow to lift his spear, wanting to find a clean end, perhaps. Lyd also had not lasted long. She had mourned her husband and then had gone to walk among the predators which had taken him. Eidhal had followed her, too late. She had died in his arms, his only sister-why was life so unfair?

He stiffened as he heard a faint sound. The wind? It was possible. The soft breeze could play tricks with a straining ear. He listened again, concentrating, hearing a thin, high cluttering which died as soon as it registered. A familiar sound, one he had forgotten, his skin prickling as he recalled the past. Even then he had not been sure, dismissing it as a figment of imagination, remembering the advice he had been given.

"Remain calm, keep your head, be resolute." Advice he had passed on.

A puff of wind and again the weird, eerie sound, this time accompanied by another. The soft impact of climbing boots, the rasp of a human breath.

"Varg-can you hear it?"

Dumarest, clinging to the stone, looking upwards, his face dim in the starlight.

"I'm not sure. I-"

"Come down. Quietly. You can handle the predators?"

"Yes." Glad of action Eidhal climbed down the high pinnacle, stood at Dumarest's side. "What is it?"

"Over there. Where Croft is. Don't make a noise."

He moved to the right, soundless, Eidhal like a shadow at his side. He had expected the ground to be thick with codors, but none were in evidence. A chittinous body crushed beneath his foot, proof of their stealth. The things were normally wary.

"Listen!"

Dumarest had halted, looking upwards to where Croft sat perched on his finger of stone. The man was visible only as a blur against the stars. A blur which moved as the air filled with a faint stridulation, a chittering which grew stronger, lowered, seemed to hover over the dim shape, to engulf it.

Croft moaned. It was a sound barely louder than a sigh. A release of breath from constricted lungs, a prolonged exhalation. The chittering increased in volume and then, abruptly, stilled.

"God!" Eidhal felt his stomach contract, his skin crawl as he looked upwards. "What the hell's happening?"

On the pinnacle, something was feeding. It was diaphanous, a thing of gauzy membranes which caught the starlight and reflected it in wispy shimmers. A web of near-invisible filaments which could ride the wind, falling as it condensed, rising as it extended. A web which was formed of a diffused kind of life, alien to human experience.

"Croft! We must-"

"No!" Dumarest held the man fast. There was nothing they could do-and a point had to be proven. "He's gone," he said. "It's already too late. If he doesn't fall and kill himself, he'll be a ghost."

Chapter Fourteen

"Croft." Vestaler shook his head, conscious of his guilt, his relief that it had not been Usdon. Wine stood on the table and he poured himself a measure, sipping, his eyes thoughtful as he stared over the rim of the goblet. "Why?" he demanded. "Why Croft?"

"He was afraid," said Dumarest. "His own fear killed him."

His own terror, the sweat of fear perhaps, attracting the Kheld to its scent. Usdon's face darkened as he remembered what he had seen. It had been a mercy the man had fallen, crushing his skull as he landed, to lie helpless for the predators.

They had been denied their prey. The body was taken, buried now with all honors. A ceremony Croft had deserved. By his death, he had saved the lives of others. No longer would the ordeal be held in the high places. The initiation would be changed, young lives saved, the uneasy presence of the ghosts eliminated for all time.

Usdon poured wine, handed Dumarest a goblet, lifted his own in salute.

"For what you have done, we thank you," he said with formal courtesy. "May your life among us be long and pleasant."