Web of the Witch World - Andre Norton

They were in a valley between high walls and the water was pouring down very fast. Objects bobbed on its surface, arguing of a flash flood. Simon struggled to the wall and eyed it for possible footholds. They were there, but to make that ascent with Aldis was a task which exhausted them both. So that once at the top of the rise he lay again with Jaelithe, his back to the rain, his head pillowed on his arm as he breathed in great sobs.

Neither of the women stirred as at last he levered himself up to gaze about. The sky was dark and the rain continued to pour. Not too far away loomed a bulk promising shelter. Simon shook Jaelithe gently until she blinked up at him.

“Come!” Perhaps she did not hear that word in the fury of the storm but she wavered to her hands and knees and then to her feet with his support. He got her under cover and went back for Aldis.

It was only when he returned that Simon was aware of the nature of their quarters. This was no rock nor crevice cave such as they had used for refuge in the Kolder territory, but a building. Lightning flashes revealed only fragmentary glimpses of the remains. Remains because in the far end of the room in which they stood the roof was partly ripped away, the wall had a great gash down it.

That the break was old was apparent by the straggling bunches of grass which had rooted here and there on the broken flooring. And, in spite of the freshness of the rain-filled wind, there was a musty smell to the whole place.

Simon moved cautiously down the length of the room to that break. There was debris on the floor, twice he nearly lost his footing in a stumble. He trod upon something which crackled and broke under his weight, and caught a glint of lightning flash. With his hands he felt about, Fabric—something rotten which went to slimy shreds, making him wipe his hands on a bunch of grass. Then metal—a rod. Simon picked that up and came back to the doorway where the gloom of the storm seemed lessening, or maybe his sun-dazzled eyes were now adapting to it.

What he held could only be a weapon, he decided. And it bore some resemblances to the rifle of his own world. There was a stock and a barrel. But the metal was lighter in weight than that of any firearm he had known.

Jaelithe had her hand on Aldis’ forehead.

“Is she dead?” Simon asked.

“No, she must have hit her head when she fell. This is the world from which the Kolders came?” There was no fear in her voice, merely interest.

“It would seem so.” One thing he was certain of: they must not get too far from this spot, from where they had come through the gate. To lose their way meant perhaps no return.

“I wonder if there is any sign of the gate on this side.” As usual now Jaelithe’s thoughts had followed his. “They must have some guide if they come through and wish to return again.”

The wild storm was dying. The night-darkness which had enveloped them when they had come through the gate was now modified with a gray approaching dawn light. Simon surveyed the terrain with the intentness of a scout. This was not desert such as lay on the other side of the gate. There were evidences of one-time occupation of the country all about him, as if this had once been thickly settled land. What he had first believed rocky hills on the other side of the cut, turned out to be the shells and ruins of buildings.

There was a familiarity about all this. He had seen such before when armies had fought their ways across France and Germany years ago. War-torn—or at least visited by some great disaster. And sometime in the past, for vegetation grew among the ruins, rank and high, as if the very destruction of those buildings had provided fertilizer for the plants and shrubs.

No sun showing yet, but the light was that of full day. By that he could see the scars cutting deep into the ruins, where the very ground seemed frozen in a curdled slag, and the nightmare of his own world hovered. Atomic war? Radioactive land? Yet on a closer inspection Simon did not believe so. An atomic bomb would not have left buildings still erect on the edges of those congealed puddles, taken half a structure and spared the balance to stand as a ragged monument. Some other weapon—

“Simon!”

He did not need Jaelithe’s alerting whisper for he had seen that movement behind a ruined wall. Something alive, large enough to be formidable, perhaps on the stalk, was moving in the general direction of the hideout Jaelithe’s hand went to her belt where sword and knife still hung. Simon looked for the weapon he had found on the floor.

Its similarity to a rifle, in spite of its light weight, made him consider it seriously. But the narrow opening in the barrel puzzled him—too small to emit even the needle darts of the Estcarpian sidearms. What had been the purpose of that slender tube? Simon held it in firing position. There was no trigger, merely a flat button. And, without believing there would be any result, Simon pressed that.

The bush on which he had sighted the alien weapon shivered, rain water shaking from the leaves. The whole plant quivered and it continued to quiver while Simon watched, hardly believing what he saw. Now the limbs bent earthward, the growth was withering, the leaves shriveling up, the stems twisting visibly. He heard a gasp from Jaelithe as the mass was at last still, a seared and wrinkled lump on the ground. There had been no sound, no visible ray—nothing, save that result of his firing the alien gun.

“Simon! Something coming—” Jaelithe looked beyond the withered bush.

He could see nothing; but feeling—that was different The sense of danger grew acute. Her hand touched the arm which still supported the weapon.

“Be ready.” On the words came another sound from her throat, low—no words—just a murmur.

Cover—three good patches of cover out there. Whatever lurked could hide in all or any. Jaelithe’s purring call was louder. He had once seen her spill a Kolder ambush out of hiding; was she trying the same tactics now?

The alert in him was reaching a climax. Then—From all three covers they came, running silently. One from behind a wall, another from a thick brush, the last from behind a half-fallen building. They were men—or, Simon corrected that as they came into plain sight—they had the general appearance of men. Rags of clothing still covered parts of their bodies, but that only added to the horror, rather than made them more human. For those bodies were thin, arms and legs showing as bone covered with skin, no flesh or muscle underneath. The heads they held high on stick necks were skulls. It was as if the ruins had given up the long dead to stalk the living.

Simon swung up the alien rifle, swept it across that trio. For some heart-choking seconds he thought that the first firing had exhausted whatever strange ammunition that weapon held. Then they halted their silent rush, stumbling only a step or two farther. Their bodies jerked as the bush had quivered.

They were no longer silent, instead there came a thin, high, squealing unlike any human speech, as they jerked and danced, until they toppled to lie still. Simon fought down the nausea which was a bitter taste in his mouth. He heard Jaelithe cry out, and he put his arm about her, drawing her close so they clung together.

“So—”

Both of them were startled by the voice from behind. Aldis, on her feet, one hand steadying her against the cracked wall, came to the door of the building. The smile on her face, as she looked out at the row of doubly dead added to Simon’s sickness. It accepted that scene and was pleased by it.

“They still live then—the last garrison?” She paid no attention to either Jaelithe or Simon; they might not have existed. “Well, their vigil is about to end.”

Jaelithe moved out of Simon’s hold. “Who were these?” She asked in a voice which demanded an answer.

Aldis did not turn her head. Still smiling, she continued to study the dead.

“The garrison—those left to hold the last barrier. Of course, they did not know that that was their only duty—just to hold while the Command reached safety. They believed, poor fools, that it was only a withdrawal to re-form, that help would reach them. But the Command had other problems.” She laughed. “However, this is a surprise for the Masters, for it seems they have held longer than was expected.”

How could she know all this? Aldis was not Kolder born. In fact, as far as any knew, there were no women at all among the Kolder. But somehow Simon did not doubt that it had happened just as she said. Jaelithe made a small gesture with her hand as a scout might wave caution.

“There are more—”

Again he did not need her warning. The sense of danger had not greatly lessened. But he could sight no movement about the stretch of open ground before them. And this time Jaelithe did not strive to bring them out. Instead, she turned to gaze at the cut from which they had climbed.

“They gather—but not against us—”

There was a sound from Aldis—not a laugh, but a titter which scaled past the bounds of sanity.

“Oh, they wait,” she agreed. “They have waited, a long time they have waited. And now come those who would hunt for us—only there will be a second hunt.” Again that titter which was worse than any cry of pain or terror.

But what she said was not insane; it made sense. The Kolder could be coming through the gate to hunt for the three of them. And these—these things—which lingered here were gathering to meet them. Did the Kolder know what they faced?

Simon gave a hasty glance along the edge of the drop. To go out might make them the quarry for those who were moving in. but only so could they see the gate in action. And the nagging fear which had ridden him since they had crashed through had been that return might be denied.

There was a solid-looking base out there, perhaps it had once supported a superstructure of which only a single rod pointing skyward remained. With their backs to that base they would have a vantage point from which to watch the gate. Cradling the rifle in his arm, Simon caught at Aldis and pulled her along, Jaelithe following fleetly.

What Simon had believed during the storm to be a stream bed now showed as the remnants of a paved road, half covered by falls of debris from the heights. A stream still ran down its middle. A little to the right of their present stand, but down on the level of the road, the wall of the cut, on either side, had blocks of green metal set as pillars.

“The gate,” Simon said.

“And its defenders,” Jaelithe added in a half whisper. Those were to be seen now, moving along the cut. For all their unearthly, unhuman aspect, they were setting up an ambush with the cunning of intelligence, or what had been born from intelligence which had once existed. Here and there Simon marked such weapons as the one he held in his own hands.

“They are coming through!”

There was no change in the metal pillars, no sign that the gate was in use, until those men suddenly appeared as if from the air itself. Possessed fighting men, yet they showed caution as they fanned out, moved up the break. There was no hint from those in hiding. And the controlled warriors of the Kolder advanced without facing attack. A full company of them came through, were well along the cut from which every sign of those in ambush had vanished. Now the nose of one of the crawlers appeared, followed by the rest of its ponderously moving bulk. One of the possessed at the controls, but beside him a Kolder agent.