Hiero Desteen: 02 - The Unforsaken Hiero

by Sterling E. Lanier

  Hiero dug deeper. There were clues, but ones hard to find. Real though the terror was, the man actually knew very little in the way of fact to bolster his nighttime state of constant panic. He had never seen a ghost. No one he knew had, either. Ghosts came in the dark. No walls, no huts, could exclude them. They took what they wanted. If they were annoyed for any reason, the person who annoyed them disappeared. They were wandering ghosts, for they were not always around. The priest of the community knew much more about them, and the priest said they were not always bad to have as neighbors, these ghosts. They kept away dangerous animals, if they were treated properly. Thus it made sense for the man and his fellows to sacrifice an animal of the herds once in a while when the ghosts wanted one. There was a smoldering resentment in the mind, Hiero noted, at this particular thought. One of the man's own animals had been taken recently. This made the ghosts seem even worse!

  The Metz withdrew, puzzled and rather annoyed. A crowd of superstitious cowherds was going to be no help to him at all. He had learned other and perhaps more useful facts from the dull mind, however. The southern fringes of the great jungle, the incredible forest of the South, lay no more than two days' march to the north. Hiero had no idea how far to the west of D'alwah he had come in the last weeks. But north of the jungle, at some distance, of course, must lie the Inland Sea. The brain he had examined had never heard of it, but the lummox had never heard of anything beyond his horizon. Apparently traders never called in this remote area at all. Maybe, Hiero thought, they had heard, of the ghosts! He smiled ironically as he fell asleep.

  He did not sleep as well as usual and, when he awoke, he felt strained and stiff. His dreams had been full of running and leaping, wild dreams full of excitement. Through his mind ran the thought of a hunt, for some reason. It must be the memory of his cast of the symbols and the little Spear. He stretched himself vigorously and did a few simple exercises to limber up before descending to start a hearty breakfast of yesterday's kill.

  At noon, he was staring at what must be the village of his mind search on the previous night. He could see for at least three miles, barring the blanks caused by other tall groves of timber. Then the heat haze closed in. But the sight before him was not half a mile away.

  There was a stockade, a good, strong one, with sharpened timbers planted facing out as a chevaux-de-frise. Even the great, tusked beasts would have found that hard to penetrate. Inside the stockade rose the smoke of small fires, and he could see the shapes of rounded huts, seemingly thatched. There were corrals for the kaws, and several small herds of these grazed not far from the village, watched by the tiny figures of men. One great tree grew in the heart of the village, but there were no others near at all. A small river lazed over the plain only a short distance on the far side of the village, and he guessed that this would provide all the water they needed, save for times of extreme drought, which was a rare occurrence in the well-watered land. The last one in D'alwah had been over a hundred years in the past.

  It was a peaceful scene and one that he had no desire to interrupt. But he needed information badly. This priest of whom his unwitting informant of the night had thought might be able to provide it. Hiero sent out his mind probe again, but soon learned that the man he wanted was away on some errand to another village just over the edge of sight on his left.

  He brooded for a while and then decided that he had little to risk by showing himself. He could see some small but well-tended fields on the outskirts of the village, and his keen nose had long since detected the smell of baking. He had not tasted bread for a long time and he needed salt as well. These simple folk with their fear of the night would find little to affright them in the appearance of one man alone in the heat of the day. They would be able to see quite clearly that he was not a ghost! In this supposition he was one hundred percent correct.

  Long before he was anywhere near the village, he saw men swarming out of the one great gate. Now that he was closer, he could see a small platform high in the big tree in the village and he realized that these people were not as unprepared as he had thought. They had seen him and taken action accordingly, and now a line of the men was slowly advancing on him.

  As they drew near, he laid his spear carefully down so that they could see it. Then he raised both empty arms, in the oldest gesture of amity. At the same time, he searched their minds for any trace of hostility. He found wariness and surprise at his appearance, but no anger. They were, as he had assumed, not afraid of one man.

  They were a short, swarthy people, heavy rather than graceful, but sturdy and not ill-looking. They wore simple leather kilts and sandals not unlike his own and also carried spears, though they seemed to have no shields. The spears were mostly stone-tipped, but here and there he saw the light catch a metal point. They had lowered them now and seemed to be waiting for him to make the first overture.

  He selected an. older, gray-bearded man and addressed him in batwah, the trade language used over thousands of leagues. The man jabbered an answer, though in a different tongue. But Hiero had rioted a look of surprise in his eyes and caught the fact from the fellow's brain that batwah had been heard before. He listened carefully as the man spoke again and this time he heard a few words that sounded familiar. While on the deck of the Foam Girl, a year back on the Inland Sea, he had spoken with her mongrel crew, culled by her owner, Captain Gimp, from all over the known world. Later, in the forest, he had gotten to know them all even better. This speech recalled a dialect he had picked up from an escaped slave who had become one of his especial admirers. In a few minutes, using the enhanced ability of his mind to read the fellow's thoughts, he was chattering away with enough skill to make himself easily understood.

  They were perfectly friendly and more than willing to give him any information that they possessed. Yes, they had bread, and he was welcome to take all he could carry. But he had better hurry. It was past noon now, and he didn't have much time.

  "Time for what?" Hiero asked. "I planned to get some sleep in your village tonight. I'm not in that big a hurry."

  The elder, whose name was something like Grilparzer, with a grunt in the middle, looked first baffled, then sad, and finally thoughtful.

  "I was afraid of this," he said. "You're like the others, the ones who came when I was a child. Come along and walk to the village. You cannot stay with us. I'm sorry, but it is not permitted. Only those born to us may live inside our walls. I'll send one of the boys along to get the bread, and it will be waiting when we get there. Then, Hiero, you have to go. For your sake, I hope you're a good runner." Several of the others, trudging along close by, shook their shaggy heads in agreement.

  "Why?" the Metz asked. "Is there some danger? Why can't I stay in your village? I don't eat babies." He was tempted to add that he certainly bathed more frequently than most of his new acquaintances, but decided against it.

  "No, no," Grilparzer said. "You don't understand. We won't hurt you. But you have to go. You can't stay in the village. That is the law. And if you're found outside when it's dark .....!" He shuddered, and Hiero caught the very real fear in the simple mind.

  "I can climb pretty well." He pointed with his spear to a distant herd of game. "Nothing that kills those things has been able to catch me yet. If you have some taboo about strangers, why don't I camp under your walls or in a tall tree over there in one of those groves? Then I can come and have a talk with your priest in the morning."

  This time, those walking close by suddenly picked up their feet and went on ahead at a faster pace. It was obvious that the conversation was one they chose to avoid.

  Grilparzer was made of sterner material. He was unhappy, but he felt he had a duty to this pleasant-spoken foreigner and he was going to do his best. He halted and put his hand on Hiero's chest, to make the Metz halt.

  "When I was a little lad, other men came. Not like you, but they spoke the way you did at first. They wanted to trade things with us. For hides and fur, they had metal and cloth such as we almost
never see. When we do, well, we get it the way we got theirs." He was obviously wrestling with a concept of utter horror to him, and again Hiero felt the sweat of mental fear. In fact, the man was sweating physically! But he persevered.

  "We tried in every way we could to get them to leave. They were well armed and laughed at us. They camped by the gate and lighted many fires. They put out guards and we locked and barred the gate." He paused again. "In the morning they were gone. All of them, as we knew they would be. A great company, two tens of strong men and all their beasts of burden. Most of their gear was left. After a while, we went out and took it and covered the ashes of their burned-out fires." He tapped the bronze hilt of a dagger thrust into his belt. "I got this knife then when we shared their goods among us."

  Hiero was silent as he thought. Whatever drove these people, there was no doubt of their sincerity. That could not be concealed. Ghosts! He still stood poised in thought, however. The ugly story he had heard must have had some basis in fact. Whatever had happened to the unfortunate traders of long ago, it appeared to have something besides irrational fright behind it.

  "All right," he said at length. "I see that you fear the night and what may come in the dark hours." Some stray thought stirred in his subconscious and he added, not quite sure why, "I do not fear that which runs in the night."

  The man who stood before him shrank back as if lashed over the face. Spinning on his heel, he ran for the village gate, bawling something as he went. An approaching youth hastily deposited some burden he carried on the earth and also turned and fled. All the other men were running full out, too, as if Hiero were some demon who would devour them on the instant.

  The gate, which was only a few hundred yards away, began to close as the last of the running men passed through it. Hiero heard it thud heavily shut behind them. He walked slowly forward and stooped to examine the parcel that the youngster had dropped so quickly. As he had thought, it was two loaves of the promised bread, still hot from some crude oven and wrapped in a piece of hide.

  He stood up and looked about him. The distant herdsmen also were gone, and so were their herds. The westering sun was now slanting down with the light of late afternoon. Hiero looked curiously at the palisade and the sharpened stakes of the village. Neither there nor on the platform in the great tree was any head visible. Some distant antelope raised a small cloud of dust far off in the path of the red sun. Aside from these, nothing moved, save for a few vultures, black dots in the high sky.

  His mind went out and he sought to probe the village. All he could get was an amorphous mass of stark terror, even for him almost impossible to penetrate and pick out individual minds. The strength of the fear amazed him. Why, it's as if it were ingrained, hereditary or something, he thought.

  Picking up the bundle of bread, he shouldered his spear and set off at a walk for the nearest trees, perhaps half a mile away. Be damned if I'll run, was his last thought.

  -

  7 - Hunters and Their Prey

  Hiero lay stretched along a great fork, far up on the outer limb of the tree. In the distance, the roar of the saberfang rumbled, to be followed by silence. It was a cloudy night, and the moon came and went fitfully from gaps in the racing clouds. He was staring in the direction of the distant village, but he could see only its outline, a black and lightless mound in the intermittent moon gleams. No sound had come from it since he had found his present perch, save for the occasional restless mooing of a kaw somewhere in a pen.

  He lay at seeming ease, but his spear was firmly held in his right fist, and his shield was strapped on the other arm. In need, he could drop the haft of the spear and draw the ancient short sword from over his shoulder in a second. There was no way he could get into a better position for defense. Now he could only wait and see what the night brought.

  The tree had been reached and his site selected well before the last light faded in the west. He had eaten, and the coarse bread tasted fine, after many weeks deprived of grain. With the coming of dark, he had cautiously begun to probe with his mind, sending out his thoughts on an ever-widening sweep. And it was then that the surprises had commenced. Almost instantly he had touch with another mind!

  As soon as his own feather caress struck it, the strange mind withdrew, flinching away and out of reach like a snake whipping back into a coil. There was no communication, only the instant retreat. He felt that it had neither known what had touched it nor sought to know. It had simply used a trigger reflex, one as good as his own, an automatic cutoff, so to speak. Whatever the mind was, it had a built-in safety factor, which snapped it out of any contact almost before the contact had been established. This gave one to think. His own abilities along those lines had been patiently learned under pressure, the pressure of the Unclean. But he had a feeling that this mind needed no such training, but was born the way it was.

  In the coolness of the night, with a fine, fresh breeze rustling the leaves all about him, he set about trying to find the mind again. And this time he received a fresh surprise. His muscles tensed in reaction as he felt the new contacts. There was a whole group of similar minds, perhaps as many as a dozen!

  Again came the trigger reaction as they evaded him, hiding behind mental shields so tight he could gain no opening. This time, though, he felt that at least one of the strangers had sensed him, but only fleetingly. He caught the shadow of awareness as it vanished. It might not know what had touched it, but it knew something had done so. He decided to lie quiet for a bit and try nothing further. Perhaps he could learn something by different methods. His mind stayed open, receptive to any outside thoughts at all. If he waited thus, the elusive creatures he had detected might come to him, hunting for contacts in their own way.

  For a long time thereafter, nothing happened. When something finally did, it seemed to have nothing" to do with him. His first notice of it was a physical one. Far out on the savanna, to the northeast of both the Metz and the silent walls of the village, he heard the squeal of a frightened animal. Hiero had idly wondered earlier at the absence of the larger animals from the vicinity of the village. Earlier, there had been plenty of them about, but only in the middle distance. Now in the dark hours, there seemed to be none at all of either predators or those they hunted. All the life about him was small in size. There were snakes and lizards, rodents and weasels, plus a few foxlike beasts. The cry from far out in the dark was that of something large, something hunted and terrified. He felt for it with his mind and also listened with his ears. Presently, he detected it with both. He could hear, though only faintly, the drum of racing hoofbeats, and in his brain came the panic of a big herbivore of some kind, running at its hardest, running until its heart was bursting. He could feel the direction and knew the animal was coming closer rapidly.

  The moon broke through the flying clouds and he now actually saw the chase, etched in black and grays. The figure of a big buck with tall lyrate horns was galloping for its life. Behind it, the hunters came—and they were an amazing sight.

  They were bipedal and they were running at a speed the man would not have believed possible. The fastest Mu'aman racer of Luchare's kingdom would have been left far behind such runners. Hiero knew well what a pace one of the big antelopes could set, and these things were hauling it down!

  Straining his eyes, he could see that there were perhaps a half dozen of the pursuers and that they were very thin and tall. Whatever they were, he decided not to try to probe their minds at this time. The hunt was rapidly drawing close to his clump of trees. If they were the elusive minds he had tried to track earlier, and he was quite certain that they were, this did not seem the time to call their attention to him. Then he realized that he was to have little choice in the matter. He saw suddenly that the hunted beast was not trying to reach his area at all! Being a creature of the open, it was attempting to flee to the outer savannas. It was coming toward his trees because it had no choice. The incredible runners were driving it there.

  As he watched, Hiero saw the
big antelope try repeatedly to check and break away. Each time, one of the tall bipeds increased its own already fantastic speed and closed the gap, forcing the prey back on the track they had chosen for it. Moreover, it was not being herded to the clump of trees, the Metz realized in a hurry. It was being chased specifically to his tree!

  Still as a stone, he watched the end. The buck turned at bay, its back to the trunk of his own refuge. He could have dropped a stick on the heaving sides or the lowered horns.

  The end came very quickly. One of the shadowy hunters charged straight at the horns and then, with a movement so rapid that the man could hardly follow it, darted away at right angles, no more than the thickness of a knife blade from being impaled on the points. This was all the opportunity needed by the others. At the same incredible pace, another one darted in from the side and merged with the neck of the buck. There was a flash of light, glittering under the moon, and the second killer sped on, hardly seeming to pause.

  The antelope shook its head and tried to brace its forelegs. A dark stream was pouring from its throat. With one final shudder, it collapsed, kicked once or twice, and then was still. Hiero thought he had never seen a neater, quicker kill. He looked quickly away from the body to see what the alien bipeds would do next and got another surprise. They had vanished.

  One moment there were six tall, lean shapes in a semicircle around his tree; the next, the night was empty. It was as if they had never been. Were it not for the corpse of the antelope, Hiero might have thought he was dreaming.

  He waited warily. It hardly seemed likely that a mere accident had caused the strange chase to be led so unerringly to his hiding place. No, something else was coming, and he had better be ready for it.