Valleroy spun around and leaped in front of the child, catching him by the shoulders. They struggled silently for several moments until the hood of the child’s cloak fell back loosening a flood of rippling black hair that fell over her face. “You’re a girl!” blurted Valleroy.
“And you’re a filthy pervert! Let go of me!”
“I will not. You’re trying to get me killed by the Runzi that are down in the next valley and I don’t like that. Even perverts resent being murdered!”
At the word “Runzi” the girl froze. “How do you know?”
“My partner and I watched them yesterday. They’re gathering their dead. We figure they’ll be gone in the morning so we can get home.”
“Home?”
“Zeor.”
Coldly passionate now, the girl said, “Get your hands off me.”
Valleroy let her go. She started away, trudging down the hill.
“I’m sure,” called Valleroy, “there must be Simes following you.”
She stopped and turned, obviously caught in a dilemma.
“It’s warm in the shelter. There’s food. My partner says we ought to be safe there until morning.”
“Your partner?”
“Sectuib Klyd Farris, Head of Householding Zeor. He doesn’t eat little girls.”
“I’m not a little girl any more. I’m a Gen.”
Valleroy could hear the self-hatred in that repeated admission. It was a horrible emotion to see on the delicate lips of a young girl just flowering with womanhood. He said, “And I’m Sectuib Farris’s Companion. He’s in need, yes, but I guarantee he won’t touch you. Your fear can hurt him, though, and maybe kill us all by leading the Runzi to us.”
“Perverts! I hope they do catch you!”
“But you’re here, too. Come. We have a warm shelter to offer. Share it with us. I promise we won’t try to convert you.”
The cold and the lonely flight through darkness had taken their toll on the young fugitive Gen. Lip trembling with suppressed tears, she stood silently. “Come,” said Valleroy one last time and led the way.
After a moment, he heard a furtive scrambling behind him. Soon they came out on firmer ground and climbed toward the almost invisible shelter. She began to hang farther and farther back until Valleroy was forced to go back after her. “Klyd’s really nice when you get to know him. Even when he’s in need, he’s very considerate. He’s never killed and he never will.”
She hung back staring at the cabin fixedly. Valleroy took her by the elbow urging her onward. “He’s waiting for us. Don’t be afraid.”
Reluctantly, she moved under his hand. Valleroy led the way through the door and into the brighter light where Klyd had built up the fire and put some grain on to boil. The channel turned from the hearth. Still sitting on his heels, he said, “Welcome to the Shrine of the Starred-Cross...and to safety.”
Leaning against the closed door, the girl made no move. Valleroy watched her eyes appraise Klyd’s dexterous handling tentacles. Klyd used them as he had when Valleroy had seen them for the first time, unselfconsciously, firmly, naturally. To Valleroy, they seemed the embodiment of all the grace and beauty the human soul could contain. His own arms seemed incomplete. Obviously, the girl didn’t feel that way at all. She was terrified.
Klyd spoke as if welcoming a guest to Zeor. “Naztehr, you can hang up her coat while I put her meal on the table. Thrino, I regret I have little to offer except what we found here. We, too, are fugitives from Runzi.”
“And I hope they catch you!”
“But not while you are with us. You are still low-field. You must have been warned quickly. You will escape.”
“To die savage in the wilderness.”
“To die your own death in your own way. If it is so hopeless, why do you run?”
She sagged limply against the door. “I don’t know! I don’t know or care any more!” Averting her face, she let the tears of weariness flow unchecked, but without sobbing.
Valleroy moved to take her shoulders. She came into his arms like a lost child deserted to die alone. He let her cry a few minutes. Then he shook her gently. “You do have a future to live for. Look into yourself! Are you any less a real person now than last week? You’re a Gen. Is it really true that Gens are mere animals? Do you feel any different? If you don’t feel any different, do you think any other Gen feels any different...any less a human being? And if Gens really are the same, what makes you think they don’t have just as much of a going civilization out there?” He waved his hand vaguely toward the border.
Really confused now, she lifted her tear-stained face to look into his eyes. What she found there, Valleroy never knew, but it stemmed the flood of tears. After that it didn’t take long for her to clean out the bowl of grain and apples. The warm food and the cheerful fire worked on her weary body. Within moments, she was asleep under Klyd’s blanket, leaving the two men in muttered conference over steaming bowls of a predawn breakfast.
“We’ve got to get out of here.”
“Yes, Sectuib. It will be dawn soon.”
“No. Now. She was followed.”
Valleroy sprang to his feet. “Where...?”
“Sit down. They’re still pretty far away. But the Runzi will probably spot them shortly if they have scouts out. As soon as the Runzi realize that only a chase could bring out nightriders, they are bound to check here. We must not be here when they do.”
“But what about her?”
“Naztehr. We can’t take her with us.” The grim resolve in the channel’s voice was the coldest death sentence Valleroy had ever heard.
“You lied to her! You knew she wouldn’t be safe here!”
“Unto Zeor, forever. Sometimes the things one must do for Zeor are not pleasant.”
“I won’t leave her here to be slaughtered!” Valleroy half rose to his feet, but Klyd’s right hand shot out to grip his arm. “Naztehr. Wake her and we die too. Now at least she raises no beacon of fear to guide them. Finish your meal. We must go.”
“You cold-blooded...”
“Naztehr. Anger carries well in these deserted hills!”
Valleroy gulped hard and settled back into his chair. The wisdom of Klyd’s proposal was undeniable. But Valleroy knew that his own mother had been just such a child once.
“Eat. The sooner we are gone, the better chance she has to survive. Together, we form a conspicuous deformity in the selyn field.”
“I’ve lost my appetite. Let’s go before I lose my dinner.”
Softening, Klyd said, “She does have a chance, you know. They might not spot her if she’s alone and has faith in the starred-cross.”
“You’re lying to me, now.”
“No. Just hoping. A perverse human habit that attacks Simes and even channels sometimes.”
They gathered up their things, but left Klyd’s blanket covering the child. Before stepping out the door, Valleroy moved the starred-cross from the shrine’s wall into the girl’s hands.
Then, grimly, he followed the channel out into the predawn dark. Moving over familiar ground, they deposited the closed cylinder in the niche where they’d found it. They continued along the top of the ridge, westward toward Zeor. There was still a chance they might avoid the Runzi and make it down into the valley.
But it was a slim chance and growing slimmer. The channel flitted from shadow to shadow as if he had merely to think of a place and be there without touching ground in between. Valleroy was hard put to keep in the position Klyd had calculated would bring their combined field resultant into an inconspicuous level with that of the Runzi. But Valleroy tried to keep up. In the process, he acquired a wrenched ankle that made him swear luridly.
The channel didn’t even drop back to investigate the mishap. Nor did he slacken pace to accommodate Valleroy’s limping progress. The Gen had to keep reminding himself that need drove his partner now. Only a stalking predator intent on his goal could move through the night with such ease. By keeping his attention on t
he goal ahead, Klyd was trying to avoid qualifying Valleroy on the spot.
And Valleroy had never been less certain of his ability to qualify. He’d spoken boldly to the girl, calling himself Companion and had felt proud at that moment. But with every passing hour, he’d become more and more aware of the signs of Klyd’s need growing beyond his control, the fact, flickering eyes always darting restlessly, measuring distances, hyperaware of everything; the laterals trembling almost visible throbbing of the ronaplin gland. Even the Sime’s voice revealed a tension that hadn’t been there hours earlier.
As Valleroy watched this transformation come over the channel, he began to doubt once more whether he’d be able to face the test if it came. Here, again, was the man he’d met that long-ago night in the rain. Since the second time he’d seen the channel, Klyd had become a different creature. Calm, strong, self-assured, dedicated, but never demanding. He could be arrogant and insufferably authoritarian, but never grasping, greedy, or thoughtlessly callous. But now, thought Valleroy, Klyd had become once again that hyperactive predator intent on nothing outside of personal survival. This time, the transformation would continue even farther.
Absorbed in his own thoughts, Valleroy stumbled along peering at the ground just in front of his feet. So it was a double shock when he walked into an outstretched arm. He jumped back, stumbled, and sprawled against a fallen tree trunk. “Hugh! What’s the matter with you?”
“You scared me!”
“Quiet now. The hills are crawling with Runzi.”
“I don’t see anybody.”
“Gens!” snorted Klyd. “All alike. Blind, deaf, and dumb.”
“Save the insults. Just con us out of this.”
“From here we go down. Watch your step.”
“That’s what I was doing!”
“If you value your life, stay in position!”
“Yes, Sectuib. But you’ll have to go slower. I twisted my ankle. I think it’s swelling.”
“We’ll take care of it when we get home. For now, ignore it.”
Valleroy just grunted and started off in the channel’s wake. He tried to forgive his partner. It must be easy for a Sime to forget that Gens can’t ignore injuries. He gritted his teeth and concentrated on keeping up. A misstep might mean a long fall.
But it wasn’t the Gen who took the fall. Klyd stepped onto a jutting rock table and prepared to lower himself over the edge. Just as he was squatting on the rim, the whole rock table tilted, uprooting its deeply implanted end. Instantly the Sime leaped sideways out of the path of the falling and sliding rocks, but he wasn’t quite fast enough. The rubble carried him head over heels nearly fifty yards downhill where he came up against a lone, gnarled tree trunk. The cascade of rock continued down the hill. In its wake, slipping and sliding, came Valleroy.
Catching a overhanging branch, Valleroy danced to a precarious halt beside the Sime. He bent to examine his partner. The first flush of dawn was chasing the stars. It cast a vague gray light over the world. The ugly red gash on Klyd’s head looked even more ghastly by that light, but for Valleroy the first area of concern was the laterals.
He kneeled to draw back Klyd’s sleeves. There was an angry welt rising across the right hand dorsal sheaths, but apparently all four laterals were unharmed. Just as Valleroy ran a lightly probing finger along the fourth lateral, Klyd came awake all at once. He grabbed Valleroy in the transfer position but without the right dorsals. After the briefest instant, far too brief to allow Valleroy to react, the Sime withdrew and forcibly relaxed his body. “Your field is up and climbing steeply. You knew I had to augment to avoid being crushed by rocks...why did you have to touch me like that!”
“Well, it brought you back to consciousness, didn’t it?”
Sullenly, the channel propped himself against the tree trunk. “May as well not have bothered. We might have made it to the valley before dawn. They were withdrawing eastward. We might have made it.”
“Can you travel? That cut on your head....”
“Is nothing. But it’s too late. They’ve spotted us.”
Valleroy’s heart pounded a little faster as the realization of failure washed over him like black ice water. In the growing light, he could see little flickers of motion converging on them from every direction. The hillside was alive with the enemy!
“We’ll run for it,” said Valleroy. “Let me help you up.”
“Don’t touch me! If I could depend on you, I’d draw now and make them wait a month to watch me die. But your attitude toward me has changed in the last few hours. Attempting transfer in haste like this, I might hurt you.”
Dry-throated, Valleroy gauged the tightening circle of the Runzi. There was no escape. “Sectuib. If you can bring my field down low enough, it will grant me another month of life, too. A lot can happen in a month.”
“They won’t touch you as long as they believe you are immune to the kill. If one of them tries to take you, just remember that none of them are channels. Their draw is slow and shallow compared to mine...and you are capable of serving me. I’d require time to qualify you now....” He broke off, looking over Valleroy’s shoulder. “We don’t have any more time.”
The Gen turned, heart thudding madly, to find three Simes holding stilettos and observing them silently. Klyd rose to his feet, brushing the dirt off the proud Zeor colors. Glancing over his shoulder, Valleroy caught the hawklike intensity in the channel’s eyes. Here was the whole House of Zeor prepared to go down fighting.
Then the channel did a strange thing. Standing just behind Valleroy and to his left, Klyd rested his right hand on the Gen’s right shoulder, extending the nearest lateral to brush Valleroy’s neck. With his left hand, the Sime gripped Valleroy’s left hand, extending his laterals in the same position he’d used to accomplish the internal shunt.
For an instant, Valleroy thought he was being asked to serve despite the emergency. He was nerving himself to give it a try when he saw the Raiders’ reaction. Klyd’s need and Valleroy’s intent to serve were tangible to the Simes. They’d heard of such things, but the reality was still a compelling strange, luridly daring, repellently fascinating attraction.
Knowing now that Klyd had clamped down a rigid control that allowed him to make contact without surrendering to instinct, Valleroy was able to dampen down the last vestige of apprehension. He played his part with calm assurance that captivated each Raider as he arrived at the scene. Beginning to enjoy holding his audience, Valleroy conjured a genuine concern for Klyd’s feelings. He tried to project the impression that he wanted to serve.
Evidently, he succeeded too well. Simultaneously, Klyd whispered. “Ease off. You’re tempting me.” And the latest arrival who appeared to be the leader said, “All right, perverts! Step apart.”
Klyd answered calmly, “A channel and his Companion do not separate.”
“You try for a transfer and you’ll wish that rock slide had buried you both right here. Move.”
“I’m tempted to call your bluff,” said Klyd levelly. “You wouldn’t dare try to break up a transfer. Who would be the worse pervert then?”
“Even afterwards you’d be no match for all of us. But to avoid bloodshed, I’ll give you my word that you’ll get your transfer. Now just step apart so we can search you.”
The ring of Simes surrounding them tightened until it seemed to Valleroy like a wall bristling with wicked steel blades. Loosening his grip, Klyd whispered in English, “I’ve given you the best credentials I could. Now, you’re on your own.” Disengaging gingerly, Klyd moved aside and stood to be searched.
Valleroy struggled to retain his concentration on serving Klyd. It was the only way he could endure the probing and poking of the Simes. They confiscated every loose item on his person except the starred-cross, which they didn’t seem to notice. Valleroy was thankful for the layers of warm clothing that protected it and for the Sime’s reluctance to expose merchandise to the cold. The talisman was all he had left now, and it was little enough against t
he heavy manacles, collars, and ankle chains in which they were marched back to the local Runzi rallying point.
The sun finally cleared the horizon, but the sky remained filmed with a slate-gray haze that dissipated all the warmth. The chains were searing cold against Valleroy’s skin. Where the cruel barbs dug in, they were torture. The collar made him walk erect with his eyes fixed on the horizon. It took two Simes, one on each side, to get him down off that hillside. But the comparatively level valley floor wasn’t much easier walking. His ankle had begun to swell. The pain brought freezing tears to his left eye every time he took a step.
He kept telling himself over and over that the ankle didn’t matter because he was going to die anyway, and very soon too. He didn’t believe the squad leader’s promise to allow Klyd a transfer. But even if the Runzi had meant it, he’d worded it in such a way that it was doubtful if that transfer would be from a Companion. If the Runzi lived up to their reputation, they’d offer the channel a kill—probably some recent captive who’d never heard of channels. They’d wait to the last minute so that even a channel couldn’t resist the Gen’s fear. And then they’d gloat.
Somehow that humiliation of Klyd and of Zeor seemed more dreadful to Valleroy than his own fate. It never occurred to him that he might be taken all the way to the main encampment.
CHAPTER TWELVE
CAPTIVITY
The next three days were a nightmare for both Klyd and Valleroy. For the most part, the time passed in a blur of meaningless impressions for Valleroy. But several events did stand out with a stark clarity that haunted the Gen ever afterward.
When they had arrived at the rendezvous, the squad leader had turned them over to his superior, who was in charge of the entire burial operation. There was no spit and polish to this army, Valleroy noted, but the discipline was stiffer than he’d ever seen anywhere.
No sooner had they arrived than they were given hot food and drink, better than they’d had for days. Ignoring the heavy chains, Valleroy started to dig-in but then noticed Klyd watching him. He looked around to find the other Simes also watching him. Experimentally, he moved his spoon over the plate, observing their reaction out of the corner of his eyes. It wasn’t poisoned food, no. But a lot of it was for Simes only. He ate greedily, but only those things he recognized.
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