by Andre Norton
His hand slid along the shaft of the staff; he raised it shoulder high, hurled it, the point of its fang aimed at the red blossom. A leaf whirred out to slap that weapon down, moving with such speed Jony's eye could hardly follow. So it deflected the staff.
But, as the weapon fell, the point ripped across the bag of pollen, cutting those areas of tension which worked to expel tire deadly burden. The lower leaves waved wildly. Some of them clutched, pulled at the opening of the bag. But that had shrunk back and was closed so that the beating of the growth about it brought no responsive scattering of lethal pollen.
Jony retreated step by step, still facing the thing. One of the spiked leaves had closed loosely about the staff. The plant-beast might be trying to raise the metal length, thrust it back upon its owner with a deadly purpose. Only the fibers and leaf surface could not contract tightly enough, so that the staff slipped out of its hold, clanged on the stone, and then rolled.
It still lay too close to those raking leaves for him to hope to retrieve it, Jony decided. He dared not risk such a try. So he began to move left. The plant-beast turned to match him as it struggled out of the water runnel. If its roots got a good purchase on the ground, Jony would have no chance at all. However, those fibers slid over the smoothness of the stone as if unable to find any stable grip. The whole creature rocked unsteadily from side to side like a storm-struck tree, as it strove to rush him. Awkward or not, the Red Head lost none of its threat that Jony knew. He was forced to slip and dodge, in evasion, never relaxing his watch upon its deceptively clumsy movements. The smaller lower leaves worked vigorously at the limp pollen bag, squeezing around that appendage. Manifestly the thing was still trying to release its deadly cloud by such pressure. The fanged upper leaves darted and lashed, until it required all of Jony's strength and speed to keep beyond its reach.
He retreated while the plant-beast followed, unable to spare a single instant of inattention to locate Otik who might now have a chance to reach the metal staff lying on the pavement. Jony had only one hope, that the clansman could take up that weapon and use it in place of his less efficient one.
Back! That time an edge of leaf raked Jony's arm, slashing the material of the ship suit as clean as if cut by a blade, leaving a smarting, shallow, blood-drawn line on his skin. Two of the roots writhed, began to uncoil from their normal tangle. Both crept out toward him; he could be tripped . . . Once down, he would be a helpless victim. Even if Otik moved in then, Jony would be already dead, caught between the fanged leaves, his body impaled on their armor to feed the hunger of this night-walking horror.
He dodged, skidded, caught his balance again just in time. As Jony gasped for breath, his whole body chill with fear, he saw a flash, brilliant in what light remained. Otik had the metal staff at last; the clansman swung it with all the force of his huge, strongly muscled arms.
Its sharp edge bit home just under the ball head, slashed on—not as easily as it had severed the stalk of the smaller creature, but with force enough to cut clean across. The blossom ball tumbled free, to be caught by a wildly flailing toothed leaf, which closed instantly, crushing it completely. Still the creature continued to totter on ahead; but Jony, keeping out of its path, no longer drew it after him. Rather it smashed straight on until its writhing roots tangled with each other and it fell forward.
There prone, it rolled back and forth on the ground. A paw-hand closed on Jony's arm tearing the ripped sleeve yet farther, jerking him back with a mighty heave as a puff of thick, dusty-looking vapor rose from the struggling creature. At last the pollen was loosed. Only there was no concentrated effort to wave it toward the prey, so the dust settled back quickly over the still heaving body.
They made a wide detour around the thing, allowing all the room they could to the lashing upper leaves, the snapping curl and uncurl of the roots. Otik shambled along at the fastest pace one of the People could achieve. Jony wanted to sprint ahead, but he could not desert the other.
Once across the paved space they came to another opening which gave onto a smaller, stone-laid walk place lined with structures on either side. Otik paused there, once more sniffing. He was again fully intent on their search with the single-minded stolidity of his kind.
Once away from the dying plant-beast, he had handed the metal staff back to Jony, who took opportunity, offered during their pause, to tear loose the rest of the sleeve of his garment, with that wiping all he could of the evil smelling stains from the fang edge. Hurling the rag as far as he could from him, he was ready to go on. He felt almost weak with sheer relief.
It was then that the quiet of the early evening was broken by a cry which brought him out of his concern with the battle.
“Maba!” Though Jony had not tried mind-search since they had encountered the Red Heads he recognized that voice with his inner sense as well as his ear.
“Maba!” He called once, then knew the folly of that. He must not alert any danger which faced the girl, give knowledge that help was on the way. But he did know she was along this way, within one of the side dens. Jony began to run, not waiting to see if Otik would follow.
Before he reached the right opening Maba cried out again. There was such terror in that scream Jony picked up a stab of her fear. Something—someone—threatened her. But where was Geogee with the stunner? Surely . . .
Here was the hole which led to Maba. Jony slowed his pace sharply, trying to creep in without noise. The alien coverings on his feet prevented such a soundless advance. He wished he had had time to shed this hated garment.
The space within was very dark, with only lighter spots to show the wall openings. Jony must use his eyes as well as he could, but he could employ the talent too.
As he had shared Rutee's pain in the long ago, now he knew the full force of Maba's terror. And he could not get any idea of what menaced her from the disjointed thoughts marred by her strong emotion.
He listened. Though there was no sound in the outer part of this den, from beyond came a broken whimpering. Maba! Only—he could pick up no other life trace, not even that blocked-out deadness which marked Geogee while wearing the helmet. Maba—alone . . . ?
Jony did not take the straight path from the outer opening to the other large one he could see ahead. Instead he chose to slip along the wall. He dared not give full concentration to touch with Maba, only keep an outer alert to prevent sudden attack.
Now! His hand was on the side of that other opening. The dark inside seemed to whirl about oddly, as if the air therein was full of black particles in constant motion. Jony lifted the staff, thrusting it tentatively through the opening. He waited a long moment, his imagination painting for him an only half-visible lurker, something which could close upon any who entered even as the fanged leaves of the plant-beast had tried to do.
But in his slow sweep the cutting part of the staff moved freely enough. Jony slipped through quickly, got his back to a solid wall, held his weapon at ready. A scream sent him into a half-crouch, so sure of some attacker that he could almost see one existing as part of the dark itself.
“No!” Maba cried out from the other corner of the room.
“Please, Geogee, don't leave me. Geogee . . . ?” There was a broken pleading in her voice which tore at Jony.
“Maba . . .” he called softly. Her mind was such a whirlpool of frantic panic he could not get through to her. “Maba!” He dared only try to reach her by voice alone.
She did not call again, but he could hear a harsh breathing which was more like half-strangled sobs.
Jony moved away from the wall. He was sure now that only fear itself filled this darkness. Slowly he approached the corner in which he could very faintly see a huddled body.
She cried out again. “No—go away!”
“Maba,” he tried to make a soothing call of her own name. “This is Jony.”
Her ragged breathing continued. Then—
“Jony?”
That he had gotten that much of an intelligent response from
her was promising. He went to his knees, felt out in the dark, his hand finding and moving along her shuddering body. There was something abnormal about the way she lay. Had she been injured, maybe by one of the plant-beasts? But where was Geogee?
Moving slowly, gently, mainly by touch, Jony gathered her up into his arms. Her skin felt chill and her shivering did not ease. He must get her out of here into some kind of light so he could see her hurts, whatever those might be.
She did not move of her own accord, but her breathing seemed less labored.
“I hoped, Jony. I did hope so you would come,” she said brokenly. “I knew that maybe you couldn't. Because Geogee did that to you. But I just kept on hoping that somehow you would.”
He cradled her close against him and strode for the door.
“Where is Geogee?” he asked.
Her shivering was worse. And her voice was very low when she answered: “He—he just went away.”
SEVENTEEN
Out in the open, even though they were still surrounded by the stone dens, Jony drew a deep breath of relief. Maba's head rested heavily against his shoulder, as if she had no control over her muscles. In his arms her weight was flaccid. Geogee must have used the stunner on her!
But, as he went, Jony could feel the fear draining from her. That was the poison which had tormented her as she lay in the strange darkness. As he reached the open Otik was waiting, his large eyes surveying the girl. The clansman signed: “She was struck by the evil . . .”
Jony nodded assent.
Nostrils widened as Otik turned toward the den in which Jony had found her. “There is none else here.”
Again Jony agreed. Even in this dim light he could see Maba's eyes were open. She watched him. Now tears gathered to brim over, run down her cheeks.
“Jony,” her voice was hardly above a whisper, she might have exhausted all its power during her own ordeal by terror, her screams through the night, “Geogee—he used the stunner, on me. Then he went off . . .”
“Why?” Jony made his question blunt, hoping thus to get a sensible answer out of her quickly.
“He said I was helping the People. He—Jony, he's all changed in his head somehow.” Her words were choked now with the same sobs which made her body quiver in his hold. “He—he hates the People because he thinks they have done something to Volney. Volney means more to him than I do . . . and you . . . and Yaa, and Voak, and all of us! Why, Jony?”
For that he had no answer. “Do you know where he went?” he asked what might be now a matter of importance. Geogee lurking in the city, hostile. Suppose the boy was hiding out somewhere among these dens, ready to use a stunner without warning? Jony could not guess what so altered Geogee's thinking. But if he would do this to Maba, then indeed perhaps he was mind-controlled by some subtle method the spacemen practiced.
Jony let his mind search free. He could not contact Geogee directly while the other wore that protective helmet, but perhaps he could pick up the boy near by that very blank he touched. Only he met nothing he could so define.
“He is hunting for Volney,” Maba continued. “Jony, I feel so queer . . . what if I never am able to move again? Jony!” Once more her hysteria was rising.
Jony drew her closer. “It will pass,” he assured her. “With me it did.”
Or had that full recovery been because he had taken into his body the strength the stone woman had to give? And—Jony caught at this new idea—could it possibly be that such a strength could be passed in turn from person to person as well as from the stone to him?
He lowered the girl to lie on the pavement in the beginning light of a slowly rising moon.
“Maba, listen to me. I am going to try to break you free. I do not know whether I am able to do this, but I can try.”
“Oh, yes, Jony!” Her voice was so eager that he was disturbed. Perhaps he was doing wrong to give her even a fraction of hope that this would work. Bending closer, he took one of her hands in each of his, held them fast. Then he began to concentrate on sending, not the mind-thrust he had always used, but rather a sensation of returning energy into her body. When there followed a slight tingling of his flesh, he had to stifle quickly his own sense of wonder and triumph, keep his mind occupied only by the need to pass to Maba a portion of that strength he had won from the stone woman.
“Jony—Jony, I can feel!” she cried out. “Oh, Jony, it is true you can make me feel!”
He, in turn, was aware of a feeble flexing of her fingers within his hold. Then her limp arms arose a fraction, her head moved from side to side on the stones as if she must learn for herself that this was again possible.
She was sitting up, though still weak enough to need his support, when Otik joined them. Jony had not even noticed the clansman missing. Now as he stood there, he held not only his staff, but Jony's. He must have gone into the blackness of the den to get that.
“I thought maybe you would never find me,” Maba said, the remains of her sobs still making her voice shaky. “I thought I would just lie there . . . maybe forever!”
“But you did not.” Jony put what he hoped would be a bracing briskness into his voice. “Now, do you have any idea of where Geogee was heading?”
“It was the helmet, you see,” she answered, and then went on to make her explanation clearer. “He believed me at first. I thought I could lead him far enough away from the People so that he could not hurt them. But I didn't know about the helmet, except that you could not mind-control him if he wore it. I didn't know they could!”
“How?” Jony's instant distrust of any of the equipment used by those from space gave him a core of belief already.
“There is a way they can talk through the helmets—I didn't know about that, really, Jony. I thought they had to use those boxes they have in the flyer and the ship. But there are talk places in the helmets, too—inside somehow. And Geogee heard Volney calling through his. He knew somehow that the call came from another direction. But he did not tell me at first. We came to the place where the Red Heads were,” she shuddered. “Geogee, he used the stunner. They all went stiff and did not move so we could pass them. But, when we got here, he was all of a sudden very mad. He yelled at me about taking him the wrong way. And he said he'd show me what it meant to tell lies! He—he wasn't like Geogee at all! Those space people made him like them. I got afraid, Jony; he was so strange. So I ran, and then I tried to hide. But he found me and used the stunner. He laughed, Jony, he just stood there and laughed. Then he said he'd find Volney all right; Volney would tell him just how to go. Only first he was going back and get one of those rods. And when he had that—he'd know what to do with it, too . . .”
Jony tensed. Geogee running wild with one of the destructive rods! Supposing he did, by some chance, find the People and their prisoners? He believed now that Geogee was as much under the control of this Volney as those poor creatures of his own species had been when in tire lab of the Big Ones.
“We have to stop him,” Jony said more to himself than to the girl. Nor dared he keep the seriousness of this action from Otik. Still kneeling beside Maba he signed to the clansman what had happened as best he could.
Otik said nothing in return. Rather he turned around, facing the way down which they had come. Once more he was sniffing. Then he made a negative gesture. Whichever way Geogee had gone, he had not doubled back. Now Otik did something that Jony had very seldom witnessed among the People: he went down on all fours, bringing his massive nose close to the pavement about them. Several shambling steps away from the door of the den he stopped short, made a prolonged inspection by smell, and then raised a hand-paw to beckon.
Clearly Otik had found the trail. But, though Jony knew that they must follow, he did not want to take Maba. She had recovered in part, but that she could keep up, he greatly doubted. Yet he could not leave her here alone in the dark either.
As he hesitated, Otik moved back. His head went down to sniff at Maba. Then, without wasting time on explanations, he stooped
ponderously and picked up the girl, setting her on his shoulders, one thin brown leg on either side of his short neck. In this manner the People carried small cubs on a long trail, and Otik moved as if Maba's weight were nothing.
The problem of her transportation was only part of it. If Geogee was waiting in some ambush . . . But perhaps Otik could give warning of such danger also, and they really had no choice. Once more Jony took up his fang staff; Otik already held his. Letting the clansman take the lead, they moved on between the dens.
Jony went uneasily, glancing from one side to the other, trying to see farther into shadowed holes. He feared Geogee, yes. But also, by night, this place of stone had an uncanny kind of life which was beyond his powers to explain. It was as if, just beyond the fringe of his natural range of vision, things moved, so that he was aware of a vague fluttering he could not really see. In addition there was a dampening of spirit; not fear, as Jony had known it so often in this place of many surprises, but rather as if the inner core of his spirit was weighted down with a vast burden he could not understand.
He wanted nothing more than to flee from the sight of all these dens, get out into the open land which meant freedom. Yet he must follow Otik who now turned left into an even narrower slit running between high walls. They were heading back in the direction of the central building again, for Otik had made a second turn, moving with the certainty of one following a well-marked, open trail.
Before them reared a wall taller than the others, and in it an opening, through which the clansman padded confidently. Here the moonlight was brighter. Jony saw in detail the bulk of the structure ahead. Yes, he was certain now that they had come around, back to the place of storage. At least they were approaching the place from a different direction than that treacherous path of vegetation where the Red Heads rooted.
Otik did not lead them to one of the large ground-based openings, but to a smaller one up in the wall. He halted there, his muzzle just topping the lower edge of it, and sniffed. Jony needed no gesture to understand that this had been Geogee's entrance.