The Book of the Ler

by M. A. Foster

  From the relatively undamaged end of the ship, a fluting whistle began sounding in short bursts, each of the same duration, equally spaced, an unchanging rhythm. Now, there was a pause, and then the fluted tones began again. Broken by another pause, then starting over again. Something was changing . . . each time, after the pause, there was one less whistled tone. Meure counted as soon as he realized what was happening: seven, pause, six, pause, five, pause, four, didn’t the fools see what was happening inside the ship? It was counting down a warning. Pause, three, now the crowd sensed something was astray, and many of them drew back, pause, two, and the one by the entryport was shouting something into the ship, pause, one, the one inside appeared at the port, waving his arms wildly, and then there was light shining behind him, the figure was a dark blot silhouetted in a doorway losing its shape, the crowd was running away, then the Ffstretsha became an instant, rigid, white, spiky flower, a hemisphere of thousands of white streamers that came, and hung poised, even as the punctuation of the explosion rent the air with a sound never before heard on Monsalvat, and then the magnesium whiteness left the streamers, and the rising suns lit them from behind, suffusing the dust with lights of rose and old peach. Pea gravel rattled among the rocks. In the morning light, Meure could see that most of the former crowd were prone, all laid neatly and radially away from the place where the Ffstretsha had been, but that farther away from the ground zero, many were beginning to stir, to pick themselves up, to feel their bodies carefully, and to call to others.

  As explosions went, it was not worldshaking; neither was it extremely destructive. It did erase the ship completely. Where the ship had been was now a small crater, littered with small miscellaneous unidentifiable debris. Some were glowing, but their glow was fading even as they watched. The explosion cloud was now almost completely faded and dissipated.

  As the crowd below revived the merely injured, Meure now looked upward, again, to try to see the shapes flitting overhead, a motion which had ceased just before the explosion, as he recalled. He saw creatures flying through the air in swift, uneven courses that did not seem to be under too much control: the things zoomed and careened madly, sometimes barely avoiding collision with another by desperate, lurching maneuvers. Their speed and darting courses across his field of vision made details hard to make out.

  Meure looked away from the east and tried to follow one of the creatures; found one in a labored turn back into the scene of the action, followed it carefully now seeing it in all its improbability: size was difficult to judge, for he did not know the altitude of the flying creatures, but they seemed large, much larger than a person, all leathery wings. The creature he was following with his eyes was long and narrow, with two sets of narrow wings, one very close to the front of the beast, and a larger set, about twice as large, far to the rear. Each wing was narrow, tapering and tipped with a knobby cluster; the wings seemed to be partially rigid, partially stretched along bony frameworks. The front pair were swept forward, while the rear pair were radically swept backward, beating slightly out of time with one another, the front pair down-stroking first, the motion rippling to the back pair. Between the wings, the body was narrow, compressed. A third set of the knobby clusters was located at the narrowest part, about two-thirds to the rear, just before the broad rear wings. The fore end of the creature seemed to lack what could properly be called a head: the body, or central spine of the creature merely tapered down rakishly to a depressed point. There were features along that tapering, drooping prow, but Meure could not make them out. Sensory organs?

  Out of its beating turn now, the creature pitched up a little, and smoothly halted its fore wings in their downstroke, locking them together under the projecting fore part. The rear wings increased their stroke, in amplitude and rate, and the speed of the flying thing accelerated. It passed overhead, a little to the north, and Meure could see that the rear wings were curved a little behind, joining at the very end in a smooth parabolic curve. There was a tail, but it was very small. From the front point to the wings in the rear, the curved outline of the shape was smoothly concave, exponential in shape. Aft of the rear wingtips, the curve was shallowly parabolic and convex. It seemed impossible and improbable, but there was no quality about it suggesting humor, or decoration. To the contrary, it moved through the limpid air of Monsalvat with strong, confident strokes, powerful and purposeful, alert and probably dangerous. It paused, gliding over the scene of the action, rocking slightly from side to side, making microcorrections in course with the huge rudder in front formed by the down-folded wings and narrow headless neck. Gliding away, it lost altitude, then opened its fore wings to help support it, and began another hundred-and-eighty degree turn, both wings beating again.

  Now the folk who had survived the explosion seemed to notice the creatures flying overhead; indeed, some of them were making passes over the site where the ship had grounded, at quite low altitude. Meure could not tell if their behavior was caused by fear of the flying things, or rage at their losses to the explosion. But they seemed to go completely crazy, running madly back and forth, gesturing at the sky, looking about for something with lunatic energy. Clellendol whispered, “They are looking for us, I’ll wager!”

  Flerdistar said, from the side, “I’d not care to face that mob. But you’re correct: They know the ship was essentially intact, and that it was open, and there were no bodies.”

  Clellendol added, “And that someone set a bomb and left it running. No, indeed; this is not to my liking at all!”

  Meure volunteered, “The flying things distract them; perhaps they will overlook us.”

  Almost as if Meure’s voiced hope had been a cue, the large beast he had followed overhead, which had circled around from the east to the south, now approached the shallow depression where the strange folk were gathered. Meure and the others, from their elevation, could see the flying creatures circling back, but those below apparently could not; they were oblivious to the creatures save those they could see overhead. It barely cleared a low ridge, both sets of wings beating madly, as if for speed, not altitude. Now they were looking down on one of the creatures as it set its wings to glide, its speed much too fast for conscious reaction by the people who had come to the ship. The flying beast had already calculated its trajectory. They could only glimpse parts of features along the narrow forward end: several paired spots that seemed to be eyes, and something else that emitted a deep red light in pulses . . . one of the people was running, and some sound, some feel, some perhaps sixth sense warned him. A single glance back over the shoulder, and he made his decision: run faster, turn to the left, there were some rocks not far away.

  Meure watched helplessly; to run upright was clearly useless, as the flying creature was closing on the intended victim at a velocity easily ten times the man’s top running speed, probably more. At the last moment, the man also recognized this and dove for the ground, almost under the forward-swept fore wings. The creature made a last microcorrection, dipped, covered the spot where the man would have been; something talonlike reached from the narrowest section of the creature, and it pulled up into a steep climb and began beating its wings again. No man was on the ground.

  Audiart made a choking sound, turned away. The two remaining Spsom looked on stonily, saying nothing. Clellendol muttered something under his breath. Then he said, more clearly, “We needn’t worry about any suffering of that thing’s prey: acceleration alone would break every major bone in its body, never mind any other trauma the creatures might inflict upon contact.”

  Meure paused, and wondered what kind of structure the flying creature had that was resistant enough to take those impacts itself.

  Now the creature was climbing to the north. Some of the other creatures, mostly smaller, made half-hearted attempts to pursue it, but soon returned to their circling overhead.

  Below, the people now became wary and cautious. But they retained their older sense of urgency and mad activity as well. Now taking cover wherever it could
be found, they gathered in little knots, now and then shouting from one group to another. These groups now began to spread away from the spot where the ship grounded, some members watching the morning sky, while others carefully looked over the ground. None of the groups headed back to the east.

  Flerdistar observed, “Now they are looking for the survivors. They already know we are not to the east, for they came from that direction. Their activity has obscured any track we might have made near the ship, but they will find it farther out, soon enough.”

  At the onset, the cautious searching by the little people in the depression, watching as they also were for attacks by the flying creatures, seemed to gain them nothing. Others among them began to see to the injured, helping some to their feet, calling for assistance with others. Some were examined, and left behind. But after a time, the results began to bear fruit. The depression was examined carefully, and one by one, very systematically, the possible hiding places began to be eliminated. Various groups called back and forth across the natural amphitheater in harsh, nasal voices, coordinating their efforts.

  One industrious individual found something on the ground that interested him greatly: others he called to his aid and concurrence. Several more joined him, and a discussion ensued, accompanied by extravagant gestures and much waving of the arms. They started out carefully in the direction of the rocky eminence in which the survivors of the shipwreck were hiding, occasionally looking up to the rockpile to verify their progress. In the rest of the depression, others began drifting over to join the group, while still others started back to the east.

  Meure said quietly, “I think they know we’re here.”

  Halander added, “Fight or run, and I don’t see how we can fight a crowd of that size; besides, the action would bring reinforcements.”

  Audiart asked quietly, “Where can we run to? Do we even know what continent we landed on?”

  Vdhitz held a brief discussion with Shchifr, and then said something more toward Flerdistar, still in his own speech. The girl reflected a moment, nodded, and said, “We’re on the northwest continent, Kepture, somewhere in the middle of it. Neither Spsom got to see too much, coming in; Vdhitz thinks he saw a large body of water extending to the south, and it seemed too large for a lake. If that’s true, then we’re in the west of Kepture . . . I suppose it doesn’t really make any difference which way we go. No native can be assumed to be friendly, so there’s no reason to go in any direction save to retain our lives. They agree: we should leave this place immediately.” Suiting action to words, she stood up to begin climbing through the rocks to the west.

  The motion was noted by sharp eyes below, and an immediate outcry was raised. Clellendol roughly jerked the girl to her feet, but it was, of course, too late. Meure could see them clearly now: the people below were now converging in their direction. Meure looked around, and saw Vdhitz bare his muzzle, exposing fine, needle-sharp teeth; he also drew a slender, dully finished knife. Audiart looked at Meure, her eyes blank, staring. Meure searched through the rubble, grasping, measuring, finally settling on a wicked, flinty shard of rock.

  The vanguard of the mob drew closer, now rather silent. They no longer shouted back and forth, but said small phrases to one another, making gestures of anger. Now Meure could make out their features better; no longer were the people abstract and generalized human shapes, but identifiable, with perceptible characteristics. They were smallish in stature, rather ler-sized, but more angular. Their skins were light brown to pale, with an unhealthy pallor that seemed at some variance with the clear air and bright, ruddy sunlight. Their hair was lank and stringy, off-brown or dirty blond. But their faces arrested his attention the most, for in every face he could see the upper lip was cleft in two; more in some than in others, but never absent. The appearance of the people was dichotomous and contradictory; the cleft lip lent their faces an engaging, rabbity look, but the obvious expressions on those faces were, to a one, those of rage and hatred. They moved up the slope with maniacal, detached deliberation, always talking back and forth, watching each other carefully. They were a people used to joint activity, and to large crowds.

  Their clothing seemed to be whatever scrap each one could have found, arising in a hurry; some wore patched, loose robes, hardly more than a sheet with holes poked in it, or perhaps unfair advantage had been taken of holes already in place. Others wore shabby leather breeks, made of some limp hide and held in place with rope belts. There seemed to be no leader, no order, no sense of formation. But they were approaching now quite close, only meters away. Meure was certain they could see them all.

  Clellendol now stood, facing the group climbing up the scree, holding a slender rope in his hands. Meure also stood, holding his rock flake at the ready, thinking no thoughts at all. And the two Spsom now stood as well, stretching to their full height, both holding knives. No words were spoken, no gestures were offered.

  The foremost of the crowd climbing the rockpile now stopped, carefully considering that which lay ahead. He could almost hear their thoughts, considerations of how many lay ahead, in the rocks. Perhaps a bad place to attack, with three aliens of unknown powers. Who among them knew what a Spsom could do? The front of the group crept slightly forward. Though now still, they emitted a palpable emotion of crazy ferocity, an utter disregard for personal safety. Short, rippling glances whipped back and forth across the faces of the crowd. Meure thought it would be any minute, now.

  At the rear of the vanguard, they were beginning to crowd and jostle, their numbers being ever increased by those arriving from behind. But the ones in the forefront, who had been looking from figure to figure calculating, now looked as if through the survivors, and at one another again, and the feral light in their eyes began to fade, translating into apprehension, doubt, then badly-concealed expressions of fear and loathing. Some comments were passed up and down the line, quietly now, as if the members of the crowd wished not to disturb something. The crowd stopped piling on at the bottom of the slope. The members of the vanguard began backing down the slope, always keeping their attention on the rocky outcrop. Slowly and cautiously, the people began to retreat back down the hill. Meure looked out over the depression and now saw the others leaving, moving off in the direction of the east, not hurriedly, or in panic, but with many a backward glance.

  Meure relaxed, breathed deeply, realizing that he could not remember the last time he had breathed: Something had changed their minds, but he hardly thought it would have been the Spsom. Alien they were, but there were, after all, only two of them, and armed with no more than knives at that. He looked down the slope now at a retreating mob, fading away as fast as they could in good order. He risked a glance at Audiart; she was still sitting, completely still, her face an expressionless mask. She sensed his gaze, turned to meet his eyes. They both wanted to see what it was that had turned the crowd, if they could. Together they met each other’s eyes, and turned to see.

  Meure felt ice in his veins. In the rocks behind the Spsom were standing, absolutely still, three elongated figures in hooded robes that swathed them from head to foot. He could see little of the shape of what lay within the robes, but the figures were Human, judging by what suggestion of facial outlines he could make out, and they were holding long spears tipped with leaf-shaped blades whose edges gleamed silvery in the morning sun. Their hoods shadowed most of their faces, but what Meure could see was no less frightening than the faces of those he had seen on the slope; save that these faces were thin and gaunt, and focused on large, bladelike noses. Above the ridge of the nose, heavy, hairy brows shaded deepset eyes that seemed to have no color at all—merely pools of darkness.

  Two remained in the same unmoving posture, gazing eastward rather into the unfocused distance instead of directly at any particular object. The third, ignoring the mixed group in the rocks, moved fluidly and quickly around them to a better vantage point, the better to oversee the people now departing the depression. This third newcomer stepped out onto the slope and
again became still for a moment, looking.

  Meure watched intently. There was nothing about the figure he could identify as male or female, but he found himself thinking unconsciously, “she.” Something about the effortless, flowing movement; or the appearance of slighter stature. He didn’t know. The creature now lifted its free arm, shaking folds of the sleeve of the voluminous robe to reveal a slender and shapely hand of long, tapering fingers. This it lifted to its face, and emitted a long, piercing cry, an almost-soprano howl that set Meure’s nerves on edge and struck fear into him.

  Down in the depression, those departing heard, and looked back, over their shoulders, not turning full around. As they heard the sound dying, most immediately broke into a quick-time trot; some began running hard at once. Atop the slope, the creature shrugged, made an indescribable wriggling motion, and the robe simply fell away, revealing a naked, slender girl of long limbs and wiry, taut muscles, whose long, black hair was tied tightly at the neck in a folded braid. Her skin was a rich olive brown. The girl tossed the spear she held to free the robe, re-catching it, and stepped off onto the slope, letting gravity accelerate her, now guiding and controlling the motion, flowing down the slope in lengthening, beautifully exact, flowing paces. And below, in the depression, the entire field broke into a dead hard run, as if they were to a man stricken with the utmost in stark terror. The girl reached the flat ground and lengthened her stride into a ground-covering run, easily moving more than twice as fast as those who were now bent solely upon escape. Meure, watching, did not know what the girl was doing, but it certainly seemed as if she were hunting the rabbit-faced people, that they were prey.

  He looked at the rest of the group, who had also watched the scene in the depression, and were now looking away, as if not to see the logical conclusion, turning also to look at one another and to the two remaining newcomers. Now there were five, the three additional newcomers indistinguishable from the first. For a long moment, each group looked at the other, making no moves. Then one of the hooded figures made a gesture with the hand, motioning toward itself and half-turning to the west, from whence it had come, seemingly. The meaning seemed clear enough. They were being invited somewhere. The gesture was made without motion of the weapons the creatures carried; indeed, it seemed that the leader went to some pains to avoid attention to his spear.