by Andre Norton
Ziantha sat up, rubbing her wrists. Hands fell on her shoulders, drawing her to her feet, steadying her as she moved on stiff limbs.
"Do the Zacathans know about Singakok?" she asked as they went.
Harath had climbed up Lantee, was settled on his shoulder. But the man's hand was under her arm, ready with support when she needed, and they made their way down a steep slope.
"About Singakok—no. But there are ruins on X One that are in a fair state of preservation. Perhaps those who peopled this world—the survivors—fled there after whatever catastrophe turned Singakok into this. As Turan, I recognized a kinship between the buildings of the past and those ruins. And with the aid of the Eyes what will we not be able to discover!" There was excitement in his voice.
"You—you would be willing to evoke the past again—after what happened?" Ziantha was surprised at this. Had she been the one lost in that awful limbo that he entered when he could no longer fight off Turan's "death," she would have fled full speed from such a trip again.
"This time one could go prepared." His confidence was firmly assured. "There would be safeguards, as there are for deep trances. Yes, I would be willing to evoke the past again. Would you?"
To admit her fear was difficult. Yet he would learn it at once if she ever relaxed the barrier between them.
"I do not know."
"I think that you could not deny your own desire to learn if you were given free choice—"
He was interrupted by a wild clicking of Harath's beak. Lantee's arm swung up, formed a barrier against her advance.
"Ogan is near."
"You said you have what can safeguard us."
"Against mental invasion, yes. Just as you hold a barrier for me now. But if Ogan has some means of stepping up power it may be that we must unite against him, the three of us. I do not underestimate this man; he cannot be taken lightly even when he is on the run."
This was her chance. But, no, the word she had given was as tangible a bond as the tangler cords had been. Nor was she sure, even if that promise did not exist, that she would have left these two, sought out Ogan.
"What can he bring against us?" Lantee continued.
"I do not know," she was forced to confess. What equipment was small enough to be packed personally Ziantha could not tell. The Guild was notorious for its gathering of unusual devices. Ogan might even have the equivalent of the Eyes.
"I—" she was beginning when the world around her blurred. The rocks, the withered-looking vegetation, rippled as if all were painted on a curtain stirred by the wind. The change was such to frighten, passing from desolation to land alive.
She stood on a street between two lines of buildings. Before her stretched the length of a city, towering against the brilliances of sunlit sky. People moved, afoot, in vehicles—yet about them was something unreal.
Ziantha gasped, tried to leap aside as a landcar bore straight for her. But she was not allowed to escape; a grasp held her firmly in spite of her cries, her struggles. Then, the car was upon her but there was no impact, nothing! Another came the other way, scraped by her. She shut her eyes against those terrors and went on fighting what held her helpless in the Singakok returned—for this was Singakok.
The Eyes—they had done this! Yet she had not focused upon them. And if they were able to do this without her willing—! She raised her free hand to her breast. Unsealing her pocket slit, she snatched forth the Eyes, hurled them from her.
But she was still in Singakok! Locked in Singakok! Ziantha screamed. With a last surge of strength, backed by panic, she beat with her free hand against that thing which held her, fighting with fist, both feet, in any way she could, to break the hold. While around her—through her—the people and cars of the long-dead city went their way.
"Ziantha!"
She had closed her eyes to Singakok. Now she realized that, for all the seeming reality of the city, there had been no sound. Her name called in that demand for attention was real. But she dared not open her eyes.
"Ziantha!" Hands held her in spite of her fierce struggles. And the hands were as real as the voice.
"What do you see?" The demand came clearly, to compel her answer.
"I—I stand in Singakok—" And because her fear was so great she released the barrier against mind-probe.
Instantly touch flowed in, that same strong sense of comradeship she had known with Turan. She no longer fought, but rather stood trembling, allowing the confidence he radiated to still her panic, bring stability. And—she had been a fool not to allow this before—he did not mean her ill! As they had fought together in Singakok, as he had given of his last strength to aid her out of Nornoch, so was he prepared to stand with her now.
Ziantha opened her eyes. The city was still there; it made her giddy to see the cars, the pedestrians, and know that this was hallucination. But who induced it? Not the Wyvern-trained Lantee—he could not have done so and responded to her mental contact as he was now doing. Harath? The Eyes? But those she had thrown away.
"The Eyes! I threw them away, but still I see Singakok!" She quavered.
"You see a memory someone is replaying for you. Ogan—" Lantee's voice from close beside her, even as she could hold on to him. But she could not see him—only Singakok.
"Do not look, use your mind sense," Lantee ordered. "Do you pick up any thoughts?"
She tested. There was Lantee—Harath—nothing of those alien patterns she had known before. Just as the city had no sounds to make it real to one sense, so it had no mind-pattern to make it real to another.
"It is sight—my sight—"
"Well enough." Lantee's voice was as even as if he fully understood what was happening. "The hallucination is only for one sense. It worked in that it made you throw away the Eyes."
Sent to force her to discard the Eyes? Then it had succeeded.
"I did. I threw them—"
"Not very far. Harath has retrieved them. Now listen, this was meant to engulf us all. But because I am Wyvern trained, and because Harath is alien, we were not caught. But if we stay here to fight for your freedom we may be courting another and stronger attack. Therefore we must push on. You must discount what you see, depend upon mind-send and your other senses, so we can reach my scout. Do you understand?"
"Yes." Ziantha kept her eyes tightly closed. Could she walk so blind, even with them leading her?
"We can do it." Lantee was confident. "Keep your eyes closed if you must, but follow our directions. Harath will work directly with you. I am now putting him on your shoulder."
She felt the weight, the painfully strong clutch of Harath's claws.
"Keep your eyes closed. Harath wishes to try something."
She felt the touch of the alien's tentacles about her head; then their tips were lightly touched to her eyelids. It—it was like seeing and yet unlike—the sensation was strange. But through Harath she could visualize the scene as it had been before the illusion entrapped her. And, with her hand in Lantee's, as he drew her on, with Harath's shared sight, Ziantha started ahead. She went with only a shaky belief that this could be done, but her confidence grew.
They were following one of the small stream trickles now, and, remembering the poisonous lizard, she projected a warning. Lantee reassured her.
"We are sending warn-off vibrations. You need not worry about the native life."
"This is the long way round," he added a moment later. "Ogan may have more weapons. We have the shield; but since he has been able to pierce that in your case, we cannot be sure he will not try more direct methods of attack."
More direct methods of attack—laser fire from ambush? No, she must not let herself think of that, she must concentrate on the journey. There were differences in Harath's sight and her own as she speedily discovered, a distortion that was a trial. But it was far better than being led blindly.
They toiled up a rise where Ziantha found the going harder than it had been before. And there was a second descent as both Harath and Lant
ee cautioned her, taking so long on the passage down, she felt they would never reach bottom.
But before them stood a ship. Far smaller than the Jack craft that had once been a trader, this, she presumed—though through Harath's intermediacy its outlines were odd—was the Patrol scout.
"Wait!" Lantee's hand was now an anchor.
"What is the matter?" Through Harath Ziantha could not see anything that might be amiss. But this perception could be deceptive.
"The ship—it was left on persona-lock—with the ramp in!"
"But the ramp"—with Harath's aid she could see that—"it is out!"
"Just so. Walk into a trap. Does he think he has panicked us into being utter fools? If so he is wrong—but—"
Ziantha stiffened. "It is not the ship. He wants you to try for that—"
She could hear his heightened breathing, so still he was. Harath had tensed in turn on her shoulder until his claws cut her flesh. She welcomed that pain as a tie with reality.
"A distort! Can you not feel it?" Surely he was aware of that stomach turning, that inner churning, as if mind and body were swinging about.
It was growing so much stronger that she knew she could force herself no nearer. Now she felt Harath's tentacles slip from their hold about her head, their touch gone from her eyelids. She no longer had his sense as her guide, while that terrible feeling of disorientation grew and grew.
Harath uttered a shrill cry, carrying the force of a human scream. Apparently he was more susceptible to this attack than even the other two. He lost his hold, and Ziantha caught him, felt the shudders in his body. As she cradled him against her he went limp and she lost his mind-touch.
"Back!" Lantee drew her with him. But the distort centered on them, followed their retreat. Whatever defensive barrier her companion trusted in had not held. And if they were caught by the full force of a powerful distort they could lose all coherent thought.
"I am stepping up barrier power." Lantee's voice had not changed; he still seemed confident. "But," he continued, "that cannot hold too long."
"And when it blows—" she added what he had not said, "we can be overcome."
"There is one thing—" He pulled at her hand. "Get down, behind these rocks." Gently he forced her to her knees. The distort broadcast lessened.
"You say there is something we can do?"
"You have the Eyes."
"I threw them away back here. Harath—"
"Harath returned them to me. Here." His hands on hers, opening her fist, dropping on her flattened palm those two pieces of mineral.
"Since you have used them, they will answer best to you. Now, Ogan has plunged you into a visual hallucination. He is hiding near here somewhere. He could not have forced entrance to the ship, although he hallucinates for us that he has. We must reverse on him his own illusion."
"Can this be done?" She had heard of the master illusionists of Warlock, these Wyverns who ruled with dreams and could make anyone falling under their influence live in a world they had created. Lantee was Wyvern trained, but she had never heard of engulfing someone in his own hallucination.
"We cannot tell until we try. Singakok is your illusion. If we can—we shall send him to Singakok!"
Ziantha gasped. She had never heard of such trial of power. But then she had heard strange things of what the Wyverns could do with their dream control. And—she was suddenly sure of one thing—that Lantee could be depended upon in a way she had never dared to depend upon anyone in the past. Yasa, Ogan, for them she was a tool. Lantee sought to use her talent now, but as a part of a combined action from which they might both benefit.
"I—I have never tried this." She moistened her lips, unwilling to let him think that she was more able than she was.
"I have—a little. But this is a full test. Now—open your eyes. Look upon Singakok, if we are still within its boundaries. If not, look upon the land about, focus on it through the stones. Make it as real as you can."
She was afraid, afraid of the city, of what might happen when she did focus, afraid of being once more drawn back into the past. Resolutely she made herself face that fear, acknowledge it, and set it aside.
Pressing the Eyes against her forehead as D'Eyree had to release their maximum energy, Ziantha opened her eyes. She was not on a city street this time, rather in a garden, and before her was the rise of a building that was not unlike the palace of the Lord Commander, though she was sure this was not the same. There were guards at the door; men came and went, as if this were a place in which important affairs were conducted. Since she had not Vintra's memories now she could not identify this place. But it was so real except for the silence that she could hardly believe she had not been plunged once more into the past.
"Hold!" At this order she concentrated with all the power she could summon on the scene, trying, where any detail was hazy, to build more solidly.
What Lantee was doing, she could not guess. And Harath was still a limp weight on her arm. But she held the scene with a fierce intensity. Though it was getting harder to keep those details in such clear relief.
There was a sudden fluttering of the whole landscape before her. It became a painted curtain, torn across, and through those rents Ziantha could see rocks and beyond them the ship standing like a finger pointing to the freedom of space.
Then—the illusion was gone!
At the same time that sick feeling, born of the distort, also vanished. She was free! Ziantha scrambled to her feet, Harath stirring against her. Crouched still on his knees, his face in his hands, was Lantee. When he did not move she took a step forward, placed the hand still holding the Eyes on his shoulder.
He quivered under her touch, raised his head. His eyes were shut, his skin beaded with moisture.
"Ris?" She made a question of his name.
He opened his eyes. At first she feared he was caught in just such an illusion as the one which had held her for so long. Then he blinked and knew her. But before she could speak there came a cry from beyond. As one they turned to look.
From between two mounds of earth staggered Ogan, his hands to his head. He uttered sharp, senseless cries as he ran, making curious detours as if he swerved to avoid things which were not there.
"Come." Lantee held out his hand.
She held back. "He'll see us—"
"He sees Singakok. But how long that will continue I do not know. We must go before the illusion breaks."
Ogan, still crying out, was running along beside the rocks behind which they had taken refuge. Hand in hand they sprinted for the ship, passing him, but he did not heed them. Lantee had a com to his lips; he uttered into it the code to open the hatch, really extend the ramp.
Panting, Ziantha drew herself up that boarding way as fast as she could, Lantee serving as rear guard. She expected at any moment to be struck again by the distort wave, yet she reached the hatch and that attack did not come.
"Up!" The interior was cramped in comparison with the two ships she had known. She climbed the ladder in the same breathless haste as she had taken the ramp. Behind Lantee the hatch clanged shut.
The control cabin at last and Lantee pushed her into one of the webbing seats, pressed the button to weave the take-off binding over her and Harath together. He was in the pilot's place, his fingers busy with the controls.
She felt the shock of lift-off and blacked out.
A trickle of moisture down her chin. Lantee bent over her, forcing the spout of a revi-tube into her mouth. As that instant energy flowed into her, Ziantha straightened within the webbing.
"Where—?"
"Where are we going? To X One."
"And Ogan?"
"Can wait for the Patrol."
"He will talk." She was sure of that. Perhaps Lantee had given her a breathing space, but he could not stand against the Patrol. Sooner or later they would be after her.
She had forgotten her mind-barrier was down; now she saw him shake his head.
"If they come—that is not
going to do them any good. The Zacathans do not often take a hand in human affairs, but when they do, it is to some purpose."
"Why would they protect me?"
"Because, Ziantha-Vintra-D'Eyree, you are about the most important find, as far as they are concerned, of this age. You opened a new doorway, and they are going to bend every effort to keep it open. Do you suppose they would let your gift be erased?"
He seemed so sure; he believed in what he said. She wished she could, too.
Again he knew her thoughts.
"Just try to—try to believe one impossible thing a day, and you will find it the truth. What you did down there"—Lantee waved to the visa-screen, where the world of Singakok was fast growing smaller—"was impossible, was it not? You died twice, I died once, but can you deny we are alive? Knowing that, why can you not think that the future is brighter than your fear?"
"I guess because it never has been," Ziantha answered slowly. But he was right. Death was said to be the end, but twice she had passed that end. So—she drew a deep breath. Maybe this was all illusion, like the one they had left Ogan trapped in. If so—let it hold.
Lantee was smiling, and in her arms Harath gave a soft click of beak.
"You will see—it shall!" Somehow both their thoughts came at once with bright promise to warm her mind, just as the Eyes waited warmly in her hand. Waiting for the next illusion—the next adventure?