by Andre Norton
Serpent's Tooth
Andre Norton
The haze was thinner than a drifting cloud, moving with the travelers... was no rain here to temper the burning of the rough soil under Rentam's bare and already scarred feet. Modic rode, even in this time and place he held to the dignity of a Seeker, but the trembling legs of the bony horse he bestrode (it was the worst mount of his train) threatened any moment to collapse, spilling rider on the ground. Only the Seeker's will kept the horse going along a wandering seam in the surface of the stones they had chanced upon an hour ago.
In Rentam coiled and wove the old fears which had been bred in his kind for generations. He had been sure of disaster to come ever since this thin-faced man, with a jaw and nose which had the side view of a sword, had come to the village to demand, with a certainty overriding all other wills, a guide for journey west. Neither had Modic followed the rules of the Betweener village but had stabbed with a gloved forefinger at Rentam and called for him.
Though Sequine, the Speaker, had argued it was not the tall youth's turn.
Modic had only grinned fiercely and shaken his head when the first two drawn properly by lot came to him, saying that Rentam looked sturdy enough to lead a Traveler into the Questionable Land. At last Sequine had shrugged and nodded. Each of them knew sooner or later a guide found the Gate of Death. Now women and children hid in the mud-brick huts as all had heard of Betweeners slain for drunken amusement, or because would-be Seekers had been irritated by some small matter. From the moment Modic had made his choice they knew that it was Rentam who must go.
A half company of riders appearing on the bluff above had been an open warning for the clan village to obey Modic's desires.
"No knife." The Seeker had ridden closer to inspect the guide's equipment which Sequine's own son had brought forth. Modic kicked out as the boy passed him with such skill that the knife, a little loose in the scabbard, flew to strike against a hut wall.
"Leave it, you!" Modic moved his mount again until it stood between the Speaker and the boy. The Seeker said no more, but Rentam nodded to the Speaker.
"Obey ... for the good of the clan."
In that last moment of boyhood the guide lost belief that truth and right were strong against any evil which might prevail. Now to be separated from his own people had only one meaning .. . this doom-faced warrior had a secret, and surely no one would live to betray its discovery. There were his men beyond; might he be able to get rid of them as easily?
"You pledge yourself.. ." That was no question. More like an order. Rentam nodded. He could sense the tension seep out of the rest of the villagers. A bargain had been struck and surely this one, who knew so much of their customs, would now leave. It was unfortunate about
Rentam of course, but he had no kin here closer than a cousin, and between them had been many quarrels. What was the life of one man compared to all the village?
They had set out at the first color of sunrise and had kept plodding on straight into the heart of the vast waste. The now risen sun pressed a blanket of heat down upon them. They all carried water gourds which they had filled at the village spring. Yes, Rentam thought, watching them when he believed Modic no longer checked upon him, these were indeed Seekers. Certainly they used water frugally at the rest stops Modic ordered each time the shadows of the towering stones standing here and there lengthened appreciatively.
Also they watered their beasts, first giving them to drink out of their helms and washing out the nostrils of each with a damp cloth. For themselves they allowed only what must have been a swallow or two.
Hereabouts the desert land was not still flat for there appeared a way which ran straight as if that had been cut by the force of man's desire for a road. Curiosity awakened in Rentam. At the third stop he pretended to adjust the webbing which held his water gourd and packet of journey food, while, with his left hand, he stabbed one of his long and narrow fingers into the sand and gravel, far enough to scrape against the webbing of flesh which united all six fingers into a more solid fist. Underneath there was indeed a solid obstruction. Two of his middle fingers met a solid surface with bruising force.
Now he pulled his sun-resisting cloak higher on his shoulders and, through narrowed eyes, surveyed the country. Here stood a third hill, a mount of stone, partly seen there some summer dried shrubs... Yes! Rentam's breath puffed against the edge of his cloak as straightaway he fought a sharp stab of emotion which he must not allow any of those about him to see.
Even the guides knew very little of this dreary world ... save of the paths to which one or two bolder explorers might add a few new lengths several times in a lifetime. He knew that hill right enough ... it marked the furthermost of his own rovings in this direction. Now, as
he sighted it, he believed that this curious sand covered cut ran directly towards that, as if the hill was indeed a marker on an ancient road.
It could lead where? Still aware of Modic he turned his head slowly, this time seemingly concentrating on the shoulder strapping of his supply net. He was somehow sure that he was right. They had camped on a portion of a forgotten road which ran straight ahead.
Rentam's pointed tongue slid over his lower lip as if, like his very distant cousin of the true lizard breed, he could pick up scent impressions cast by man or animal.
One kept away from these roads. Such could be traced easily enough, but they led to the spirit places where the haze, such as they had traveled through earlier, thickened to give shelter to things... things which he had heard described, legends of all guide villages. He slid his tongue out between his lips, startled past prudence into a grunt.
Could the Seeker know of this? Was he now aware that such roads led to the death light? A shadow fell across his face as he watched, Modic, wondering for a moment of real fear if the man had guessed at his own discovery.
The Seeker dropped to the sand and crossed his legs, his hands playing with the hilt of his sword, drawing the blade out an inch or two from the scabbard and then thrusting it forcefully back again, as if he foresaw a need for its use. Rentam had regained full control... he could hear the snick of the blade, however his narrow gaze was on Modic's face not the Seeker's hands. It was always the eyes into which one must look, Rentam remembered clearly Sequine's warning. For it is by the changes in a man's eyes one could read the coming of violence.
"So," Modic's voice was hardly above a whisper, certainly it could not reach anyone farther away then Rentam, "you have found it. Dig!" His lazy tone sharpened into an order, he motioned toward where the guide had been secretly delving. Obeying, Rentam dug both-handed now. Within a number of breaths, lightly drawn breaths (lest he could take into him some danger of this place), he scooped out parched earth, throwing it to one side. He was right, it required very little in the way of labor to lay bare a section of a road of the waste devils.." the black surface of it un corroded by time and as smooth as his own scratched and bleeding skin.
Though Modic leaned more closely forward, Rentam perceived he did not lose sight of the guide for more than half a breath at a time.
"Right." When the Seeker spoke it seemed more to himself than to Rentam.
"The road to Lonscraft... at last!"
This time Rentam's astonishment was rooted in fear. He jerked back his hands from hand contact with the damnable thing. Fighting to remain impassive, knowing within him that Modic was well aware of his inbred fear and was now studying the Betweener closely, a small evil smile about his lips.
"Ah, yes." The Seeker kept his voice low and confidential in tone, as if he and Rentam shared some secret which was unknown to the others.
"This is the way to Lonscraft. Though that was not the name it bore in other days when the world was still all for men and not for sand-dwell
ing rats!"
He scrabbled inside his outer robe with his left hand, bringing out a small sheet of dull metal, near as thin as the skin of a ripe wavel. Still keeping one finger firmly on the edge of it he pushed the plate a little closer to Rentam.
"Do you know the reading of maps, Guide, or do you only carry such information in your scaled head?" His slight smile now held no amusement, rather cruel, taunting humor.
So this one did not know of those treasure places located by villages... to which the youths went to learn ... by heart and deep in the mind ... the ancient roads and more than roads, the dangers and few secrets of the Sand Sea. One quick glance told Rentam much. That which Modic held must have been graven by a master worker in metal. However only as far as the hillock behind them now did the lines assume any kinship with the records he himself had long ago memorized. This map displayed the warning blue of the Before Time road leading to a city of even darker blue, a color which seemed to pulsate in the light as if a breathing, and perhaps sentient, creature.
"Well, and what have you to say to this, Guide? I needed your steering to that hillock, knowing that what I sought lay beyond."
Dry as it was, a droplet of saliva gathered at the corner of the Seeker's mouth, as he no longer gazed at Rentam ... rather at his map.
It was the colors which confused the sight, Rentam decided.
Certainly those lines did not really coil or quiver. From which clan had Modic stolen this record ... one of the forbidden ones used to warn?
"It is true!" There was a sharp note in the man's voice as if Rentam had openly questioned that fact.
"Lonscraft lies awaiting us."
"That is a death place," Rentam replied evenly.
"He who rashly adventures into one of those gathers to him an ill for which there is no treatment. His skin rots upon his body, pain wrings him to death. There is nothing worth such a death ... all the Betweeners know that."
Modic laughed, "Guide, you and your kind have been content to exist for years on the border of this demon-haunted land with no reason for it. Every illness runs its course and then disappears.
Have you not heard of the burning fever which may strike out of nowhere for a season and then be utterly gone ... or the Great Cough which has devastated whole cities, such as Quaadad, yet men may, live there in comfort now. There is no death which lingers forever ... especially in a desert city where there is naught to feed its hunger. Long ago Lonscraft must have been deserted even by demons. Yet there still lies within its walls secrets...." The fingers of his hand clenched over the map as if he would pluck what he wished from the surface.
"Riches beyond richness. Guide think on it!"
Riches, of course, were what had drawn this Seeker and his following of ragged men (who, nevertheless, carried well-kept arms) into the desert. How many such maps had been shown briefly to the Betweeners in the generations since they had begun their very cautious ventures into the parched land? Rentam knew that it was not in the inner walls of Lonscraft which he himself feared, but perhaps the fact that he knew too much now. He guessed that Modic, on the threshold of what he thought an exciting and profitable discovery, would not parade and plume himself before his rag-tag crew. No, but he might talk freely before one who was destined never to come out of the Forgotten land. That sword which the Seeker held so tightly would put an end to any chance of another's betrayal. Not that Rentam would fare better than any one of the men clinging to the shadows about them, seeking for some small answer to the burning of the sun. Murder was the practical move for Modic, and the Betweener already accepted the drastic end before him.
The Seeker would use him (in spite of that map) to follow the ancient way.... He might even test the authenticity of legends by dispatching Rentam alone into the midst of a dead city perhaps as bait to spring a trap.
One slight figure, cloaked against the heat, stood alone here.
However, the death blow had not yet been openly delivered.
Though every breath Rentam drew brought him closer to that time of challenge.
Warnings known to his own kind worked in him. With those a small spark of excitement flashed into life, turning his thoughts in another direction. If this Modic was right and he could win through to return with such knowledge for his own clan ... I Their own perilous situation
might cease to be. There were other "cities" each reported to the Seeker.. . and the information was shared with two other villages within a three days' walking. No longer would they have to point these arrogant and cruel Seekers to the Dry Land, instead they would venture inward for their own loot and trade their findings openly at the Mus-fair, year's end. As long as Modic made no outward attack Rentam would serve his own people, forcing into his memory a picture of here in relation to the hill point. However he must also watch for a chance of escape. It would indeed be strange ... even without belief... that one of the guides could be tracked and captured traveling a country he knew well. Though he had kept his advance with Modic to a shambling trot which matched the pace of the bone rack of a horse ... he could summon the speed of his far, far kin, tailed and going four footed here. Let him but get Modic thoroughly interested in something other than himself.. . say, a forgotten treasure house .. . and Rentam could slip away before anyone here could use lance or sword. The one thing he had to fear (bow bolts) was lacking among the troops.
He must play a perilous game. His thought, as well as his body, was intentionally slow.
"You seek a great treasure?" he asked, apparently taking no interest in the Seeker's hand upon the sword hilt.
Modic showed his yellow stained teeth in a wider grin.
"Treasure? Yes, but not perhaps quite as you and those ..." he gestured to his men with his chin, "would so see it." Then he snapped his jaws shut and scowled at Rentam and the others with narrow measurement, as if, of a sudden he regretted the revelation of even so little.
"You are a guide." He changed the subject abruptly.
"Let us now see that vaunted power of such talent beyond the boundaries.
Get me to Lonscraft or within sight of it before that sun is gone.
He gave a quick glance over his shoulder as if to measure where in the sky the light-giving ball now rode.
"There are many cities .. ." Rentam said quietly.
"It can well be that this trail," once more he patted the sand about that pocket in which lay the traces of the very ancient way, "could lead somewhere else than Lonscraft."
There came a sharp bark of laughter from the other.
"No, it is here!" He had picked up his bit of engraved metal and thrust it back into hiding.
"I have been long at this game, Guide, but not so long as to become weary and make such an error. Ten times over have I come across the Between lands... and more times than that have I listened to the tales told at Mus-fair. First, that hillock which you have found for us is
pointing to Lonscraft."
Rentam blinked, he had indeed believed that the Seeker was an old hand at the game of invading the uninvadable. But what could keep one of a sane mind so long at searching? It was true that the hill behind them was relatively unknown. He, himself, had chanced upon it only last
season... it had been his first addition to the clan lore. However there were signs of others who visited there .. . horse dung dried into powder where the wind rolled it here and there, some scrapes on one of the upstanding stones which were too regular to be of natural fashioning and which Modic had studied with care as long as there was light enough to see both last night and again early this morning. Messages?
The clan no longer wrote such notes. He would report again what he had seen so that mention was made of it in the training of the young. Who needed scratches set on rocks when he could summon into memory ... full and vivid as any picture ... what he had seen over Modic's hunched
shoulder?
The Seeker made no protest against Rentam's watching.
Though when one of his own men came near he had
lashed out at him with a barbed tongue and an order which was to be obeyed.
Another reason for Rentam to nourish his own belief that to find Lonscraft would mean his death. In fact he had wondered why that had not yet come. Modic had his road well ready to follow.
What more did he want from Rentam?
The Seeker swung around to give a hoarse, rallying cry which brought up the heads of his men, summoned their attention. He loped towards them at a curious one-sided, limping walk which was his pace when dismounted, meeting them part way. His own mount stood head hanging as others were saddled and made ready to ride.
Modic still bestrode the poorest of the lot, Rentam noted, his eyes more than half shaded by wrinkled, greenish lids. Why such a choice, and why was Modic waving his men on that straight line which was the work of the ancients? Why would Modic share a treasure find with those
ragged and brutish riders at all? Rentam did not doubt in the least that Modic could have found some other track for them to follow. Yet he stood there, watching them ride on, as Rentam rose to his feet behind him. They were indeed swinging into the trail Modic indicated.