by Andre Norton
That beak struck the metal bowl with enough force to smash it back against Eric’s body, driving most of the air out of his cramped lungs. He lay scarlet-faced and gasping, waiting numbly for a second blow.
When that did not come he edged about, trying to rise from the crevice. Though his eyes smarted from the dust, he could see more clearly now—until a violent flapping of the wings stirred the litter into a murky storm cloud.
The bird, its wings beating frantically, was shaking its head from side to side. And there was something odd about that head, too, though the creature’s jerky movements kept Eric from a close examination. He got to his feet, the spoon held up before him.
A second time the head darted down. Eric, with all the energy he could summon, swung the spoon as he might a bat. The improvised club met the head squarely with an impact which crumpled Eric to his knees. Then the wings beat, lifting the creature into the air above the bowl. It made no sound and its head bobbed limply on its breast. Up and up it climbed and Eric stood to watch it. Was it going to strike at him from that height? Only the loosely dangling head, the now faltering beat of the wings, made him hope he had had the better of their meeting.
The birds were rising from the ledges to join the creature. But not for long did they escort it. The great wings clapped for the last time, closed against the half-feathered, half-scaled body, and the thing fell toward the sea. That it was dead, or at least mortally wounded, Eric no longer doubted.
Keeping the spoon in the crook of his arm for safety, he wiped the dust and dirt from his face. He was not sure yet just how it had happened, or why the bird had died. What Huon had told them of iron being poison to those of Avalon must be true. And he was grateful for that.
The walls of the crevice, uncovered for a good length by the bird’s last efforts, were waist-high about him and Eric started to climb out, eager to reach the spring on the ledge and rinse the dust from his mouth and throat. But there was something looped about his ankle and he stooped to free it.
He was holding a strap of leather, old, but well oiled and still limber, and it had small gold stars and symbols he did not understand set into it. It could not have been hidden there long. When he pulled he discovered it was anchored to something still wedged in the wreckage of the nest.
Eric scooped away the sticks with the spoon handle. Metal gleamed up at him, not gold this time but silver, banding a duller white. He had uncovered a horn of ivory and silver.
Shaking it free, Eric held his find up to the light of day. It could not have lain long in concealment for the silver was not tarnished. A horn! Huon’s horn! He had found one of the lost talismans.
Tempted, Eric rubbed the mouthpiece on his sleeve and put it to his lips. But he did not blow. There was something about the horn which was not of the world he knew. Telling himself that a call might bring another of the giant birds, Eric slung the strap over his shoulder and clawed his way back through the debris to the ledge spring where he drank deeply and ate of his food packet.
How long he had been on that island he could not have told. And time in Avalon and his own world ran differently—had not Merlin said something like that? It seemed as if he had been there for hours, yet just now it was drawing close to sunset.
Dared he try the trip back to shore by night? Eager as he was to be away from the nesting place, Eric was reluctant to set forth from the island. There was too much chance of being carried seaward in the boat. And he was too tired to paddle back. Every bone in his body ached with weariness.
Where could he spend the coming night? Eric shrank from the destroyed nest and the ledges about it. Better return to the sea cave and sleep in the boat, fearful though he had always been of water. And he had also better climb back before night.
Eric began the descent of the well which he had earlier climbed. He had believed the horn safe on its carrying strap. But when a handhold slipped, the strap slithered down from his shoulder and fell free, the horn with it.
Tense, Eric clung where he was, listening for the smash which would mark its landing. But he heard nothing. The thought of the horn’s destruction made him so weak he was unable to move, his eyes watered, his stomach churned. What had he done in his carelessness?
All the many times in the past when Mother and Dad, Mrs. Steiner, Uncle Mac, yes, and Greg and Sara, too, had scolded him for being too fast, too impulsive, sang now in his spinning head. If the horn was broken what would happen? What could he say to Merlin and Huon? He had failed in his part of the quest.
Because he could not remain where he was, Eric hunted for the next hold on the wall. The spoon fastened to his belt clanged against the stone, but he did not care. The sky circle above him was dimming rapidly, cutting the light.
Eric descended slowly. If the impossible had happened and the horn had not been splintered to bits when it struck the ground, he had no wish to land on it himself. He clung tightly to the wall as his toes touched the bottom and then looked down and around eagerly.
But here those dim rays from the sky were gone. Eric went down on his knees and felt about him—then moved his hands faster, sifting sand, coarse gravel between his fingers, finding and discarding stones, until he had searched the whole floor of the well. Nowhere did he touch the leather strap or a battered curve of ivory and metal. The horn had completely disappeared!
Twice he searched the space, unable to believe that the horn was gone. Had the strap caught on some projection of the well wall, he would have brushed against it during his descent. So—
Eric’s head was spinning, he was sure of nothing now. After one last sweep of his hands across the floor of the well, he headed back down the narrow passage to the sea cave.
The moist, salt-scented air of the cave puffed in his face, welcome after the ordeal in the nest. At the end of the short passage before he scrambled down to the beach, Eric lingered, peering out. The lapping of sea water against rocks was loud, but he was sure he heard another noise—a click—a grating.
Eric could make out the blot which was his boat, still out of the water as he had left it. He stood quite still, trying to keep the sound of his breathing to the faintest whisper. Although he could see nothing but the bulk of the boat, he believed there was another thing out there, a living creature with perhaps the power and will to attack—or damage—the boat on which his escape from the island depended.
Once again that sound—louder now as if who or what was making it had no reason for concealment. Eric saw a dark shape flip into the air, outlined against the faint glimmer which marked the sea inlet.
That line ended in a monster claw, a claw which slowly opened and then snapped shut, as if its owner were flexing it before use. Then the clawed limb fell against the boat, and the light craft stirred in the sand, pushing toward the water. Eric knew he must act or the boat would be out in the pool beyond his reach.
His trust lay in the power of iron and he held the spoon as though it were a spear, the end of its bowl the point. Then he rushed that dark thing.
The spoon struck the side of the boat, bouncing off to a dark bulk which flinched and whipped away as if the tool were a branding iron. A jointed leg with its fearsome claw flashed up at Eric. The boy went down on one knee, holding the spoon to counter the blow, as he had held it to ward off the bird’s beak. The claw struck forcibly, jamming Eric against the boat where his cheek rubbed raw on its scaled substance.
He cried out in pain, but there was no answer from the thing he fought. Eric could see only a black lump humping to the water. If it were able to escape into the sea, he could expect another attack.
Desperately Eric got to his feet, and holding the spoon over his head he ran forward, bringing the odd weapon down with all his might on the shambling creature. It slumped under the blow. He felt a stinging slash across his leg just below the knee. But he had won; the thing was no longer trying to reach water.
There were scrabbling sounds, as if many legs tried to lift a helpless weight of dying body. Then all was qu
iet.
Eric could not bring himself to touch the thing; he shrank from knowing what manner of creature he had fought. Sliding the spoon bowl under its bulk, he levered it into the pool. Then once again he felt the tangle of a strap about his foot, and eagerly he dug into the sand where the monster had lain, recovering the horn from where the dead thief had dropped it.
The Ring
The wood world awaited Sara now. As she sped toward the spider-web walls of the Castle of the Wood, strange new scents, smells which made her cat’s nose twitch with excitement, arose from the ground under her paws and filled the air about her. She had never known before what it was really to be able to smell! Just as she had never known what it was to see. To her human eyes it had been dusk, a dimming of all color, a thickening and spreading of shadows. But now she could see into the heart of those shadows and so lost any fear of them.
But, though she was excited and pleased with her new body, her uneasiness returned in part as she neared the weirdly glowing spider webs. When she was still several feet away, she dropped the knife, planted both forefeet upon it for safety, and held her head as high as she could for a better look at the dead forest.
Sara shrank from touching the web. She had hoped to find a place where her cat’s body might spring over the sticky band. But nowhere in sight was there any section where the outer trees were not coated from roots to lower branches with the stuff.
She must use the knife—but where? Some of the inborn caution of the animal whose shape she now wore came to her. She slipped through a growth of tall grass and crept on, the knife again gripped in her teeth.
Fearing unpleasant sentries, she dared not make too large and easily discovered a hole in the wall. So Sara hunted until she discovered a place where two mighty tree roots stood half out of the ground. Strands of web closed the gap between them, but it was a small gap. She crouched low and used her paws as well as her mouth to guide the knife. It was a clumsy business and took much longer than it would have done had she used hands and fingers. But the strands withered away and she had a free passage into the forest.
As she entered, flattening her body between the roots, Sara could see well enough. Very luckily the web did not extend beyond the first line of trees, and there were blobs of greenish-yellow light ahead.
The blobs were fungi growing on rotten wood. Sara’s paw broke one, and the air was instantly filled with drifting motes of dust. She sneezed and then crowded her front paws against her nose. When she sneezed she had dropped the knife and that was dangerous. Quickly she picked it up again.
Any leaves which had fallen from the dead trees had long ago turned to dust, because the ground was bare black earth. She hated the slippery feel of it against her paws and, whenever she could, she walked along exposed roots or the trunks of fallen trees.
A human without a compass might have been lost in that maze where every tree copied its neighbor and the fungus lights confused the eye. But Sara’s cat instinct took her without trouble toward the heart of this evil place.
She had not sighted any animal, bird, or insect. But she had a queer feeling that something lurked just beyond the limit of the eye, spying, waiting. And that Sara did not like at all.
Once she had to detour about a pool where the water was black and scummed. Bubbles rose slowly to the surface and broke. There Sara saw the first living thing, a pale, bleached lizard on a slimy rock, watching her with hard, glittering eyes.
At the other end of the pool Sara came upon faint traces of a path and she turned into it, eager to reach her goal. She had not forgotten caution, however, and it was with a cat’s instant response to a danger signal that she halted at a faint sound. Was the lizard following?
Then she saw the enemy, not behind but to her right. A cluster of the fungus lights displayed its full horror. Sara tried to scream and the sound came from her furry throat as a hiss.
The thing ran along a tree trunk in a burst of speed she could not have bested and then halted. When it rested it was hardly distinguishable from one of the fungus lumps. Sara’s claws dug into the ground as she flexed them. Warily she looked about, studying fungi which might not be fungi after all.
Her alarm grew. There were three, maybe four of the giant spiders drawing in about her. Had she not been alerted by the carelessness of the first, they might have surrounded her before she knew it. One she might attack, but not a whole ring of them.
A strand of thread floated lazily through the air. It drifted down, lay on Sara’s furry back. There was another—and another! A web was being woven to enmesh her. But at that moment she feared the spiders themselves more than their handiwork and she planned desperately. She must allow herself to be trapped. Then, when they were sure of her, she would use the knife to escape.
It was very hard to do, waiting for the floating threads to coil about her. But Sara flattened her body to the ground, her paws drawn under her, the knife between them ready to be pushed forward. She shivered as the mat of threads caught on her ears and hurriedly shut her eyes.
Once the net covered Sara’s back and head it fastened her tightly to the ground in a few seconds. She had to depend now on nose and ears to guide her. Legs raced across her imprisoned body and she shuddered as the spinners tested the silky bonds.
What if the spiders stung her now, left her paralyzed and helpless in the wrappings? She could smell their foulness, hear the faint rustle of their passing. They were circling, adding to the weight of the web.
Then a last tug on the smothering cover over her. The strong odor of the creatures faded. She strained to listen, to smell. If they left a sentry, there was no more than one. And one alone she could handle. Moving her paws against the ground, Sara pushed out the knife to touch her bonds.
There! Her right forefoot was free! Iron magic worked again. Sara arose from her crouch as the web broke and shriveled. She opened her eyes.
Facing her, standing erect on all its eight legs to challenge, was one of the spiders. It teetered back and forth and sprang. Sara struck with a front paw, knocked the creature to the ground, then swung the knife to touch it. She was not sure Huon had been right—that iron was poisonous here. She could only hope so.
The spider pulled its legs under it, becoming a white-yellow lump. Sara took the haft of the knife in her mouth and jumped, pulling the blade across the insect’s round body. The spider wriggled in sharp jerks, its legs flexed, and then drew up again. Sara prodded it with the knife, not wishing to touch it with her paw. When it did not move again, she laid the knife on the ground, keeping one paw on it, and with her tongue cleaned the remnants of the web from her fur.
Then, carrying the knife, she circled the dead spider and went on. But she was alert for another meeting with the creatures, watching every near fungus cluster with suspicion. It was very quiet in the dead wood, for there were no leaves to rustle, nothing but damp soil underfoot. Now that earth was giving way to flat stones which might have been old, old pavement.
The path dipped with banks of tree-grown earth rising on either side. Sara kept to its center, for in between those trees were more thick webs.
That sunken road brought her to a stream. This was no scummed pond but brown flowing water running in two ribbons about an island.
The outer rim of the island was a wall of stone so old and overgrown with dead vines and shaggy moss that it was hard to tell it from native rock. Once there might have been a bridge connecting it to the road, now there was only a series of water-washed stepping stones.
Sara prowled back and forth on the bank eying the stones doubtfully. Though she had not been told, she believed that the island was the center of the wood and held what she had come to find, but how to reach it was a problem. She could see unpleasant-looking water creatures swimming or moving back and forth on the stream bed, and she did not want to battle them. But could she leap from one wet stepping stone to the next without losing her footing?
She crouched, balancing the knife carefully in her mouth, and jum
ped to the first rock. It was slippery but she held fast. The second was flatter and better footing. There she sat, the knife under her forepaws, to study the third—for that had a rounded top and was green with slime. However, the fourth was another flat one. Could she leap to that from here? She crouched again, her hindquarters quivering, and tried.
Her hind feet splashed in the water as she scrabbled for a hold with her forepaws. There was a sharp pain in her tail and she heaved up and out. A clawed creature was pinching her tail tip, and Sara growled, swinging the creature against the knife so it tumbled off limply into the stream.
Wet fur made her cat body miserable, but she could not pause here to lick herself dry. For there was now another and longer jump to reach the top of the island wall. Clenching her teeth upon the knife, she made it. The wet hair on her spine rose in matted spikes, her ears folded to her skull, and her tail swung as she stood stiff-legged staring down at what that circle of ancient wall guarded.
The spiders of the forest were nasty creatures which she hated on sight, but here was worse—a toad three times the size of her present cat shape. It squatted motionless in the exact center of the open space, but its yellow eyes were fixed unblinkingly upon her and Sara feared it more than the spiders.
Her small body was shaking with more than the chill of the water. Those eyes—they were bigger—bigger—they were filling up to the whole world! They were open places into which she might fall!
Sara blinked. It was dark, night had settled in. But those yellow toad eyes were bright enough to light up the island. The huge stretch of lips below them was opening—
She made herself as small a target as possible, the knife in her teeth. But the toad was so large, and the power of its eyes held her still. A black lash of tongue flickered out from between those huge lips, striving to whip her into the waiting mouth. But it touched the knife and snapped back.