Hiero Desteen: 02 - The Unforsaken Hiero

by Sterling E. Lanier

  A darker shadow had been rising to meet them for some time. They were approaching another grove, such as the one Hiero had taken shelter in. It was larger, though, and the Metz could feel that it was not empty. The catfolk could silence their individual minds to him; but in a group, they gave off a sort of cloudy miasma, a mental mist which he was finding easy to recognize. This, then, was the home place. He hoped firmly that it would not be his final place!

  In a few moments they were in the shadow of the great boughs and plunged into a narrow path through the undergrowth at the edge of the wood. It twisted and turned like a demented corkscrew but, after a short while, emerged into a densely shaded clearing. Hiero's night sight was good enough to see narrow ladders leading up into the trees. Toward one of these, he was gently but firmly urged.

  The ladder was quite steep and led a long way up. Eventually, he found that he and B'uorgh were alone at the outer edge of a large platform made, from the feel of it, of woven vines and slender withes. Alone? No. There was another watching, brooding presence there, crouched under a mat of branches at the far side. From the gloom, orange gleams studied them, then an arm was waved. Sit!

  Side by side, the catman and the human squatted, while the being in front of them stared in silence. There was no attempt to touch his mind, Hiero knew, or to communicate in any way with the chief. He had the feeling that the person before him was simply ruminating, remembering and estimating, considering and rejecting. She took her time. Finally, she rose from her mat of branches and moved forward into the dim light until she could crouch only a small distance from them.

  She was old, the Metz saw, old and worn. But she was vibrant with life, her mind and spirit burning, even as her body slackened and her sinews loosened. B'uorgh was no doubt a fine fighter and the capable leader of a hunting or war band. But this was the real ruler!

  I have no name, even in our own tongue, Strange One. Her mental voice was fine-timbred and steely, with no age in it. Her great eyes were lighted with an inner fire, but there was no loss of control and no impatience, such as he had noted even with B'uorgh. I am the Speaker and the One Who Remembers. Since the vanished time when we became free, such a one as I must force the Folk to recall that which was past. They must never forget the Bad Time, which was in another place far away and happened before my mother many times away saw the sun rise and the moon set. Now you come, mayhap for the first time since a Speaker was trained and named, and you may be, in your single body, the sole reason that I and all those other Speakers who are now gone into the Wind ever existed. She reseated herself in one fluid motion even closer before them. Hiero felt that it was incumbent on him to answer. A vague idea of this race's past was coming to him, but he concealed it and sent a bland concept.

  At least I am no enemy of your people. I have told the chief here that I am not of the people out on the plains, the village dwellers. I think he believes me.

  The response was quick and cold. It is not what he believes, Furless One! It is what I believe! That is why I am here. Her mental pitch lowered and calmed, the challenge having been met. She changed her tack.

  We are not, as you seem to think, the foes of those creatures who herd together out in their sties, less alive than the beasts that feed them. No! We use them! And they have another purpose, which directly concerns you, for you are far closer to them than you are to us. Can you guess that other purpose?

  The priest thought both rapidly and privately. This was a loaded and horribly dangerous question. He was standing on the edge of a figurative precipice. He might be dead in seconds if he gave the wrong response! Yet he had to do something fast. He chose to gamble.

  Those people out in the open land, who are of my kind, though simple and harmless in themselves, they serve as an—example. They help us to remember times long ago. Times when others, who looked like them in the body, at least, were not harmless! He held his breath, his eyes locked on the vertical pupils of the Speaker.

  She drew in her own breath with a faint hiss, a sound of mingled appreciation and recognition. You know, then? And if you know, how much do you know? And, most of all, if you do indeed know, whence does your knowledge come?

  Hiero framed the concepts in his mind with exquisite care. He was still balanced on a knife edge. One wrong move and the big chief, so silent beside him, would attempt to rend him limb from limb before he could move. All the aged female would have to do was nod.

  Believe that I know nothing, he sent. Still, I have traveled far in my life. I have fought and journeyed in many lands, with stranger allies than you could begin to imagine. Against us have been pitted even stranger foes, some like me in appearance, some not. The worst of these evil beings, my greatest and most terrible enemies, are outwardly of my race. He paused for effect. Only outwardly. And even then, they have no trace of hair, being truly furless, on their heads and bodies. Was there a momentary contraction of the barred pupils? He continued. In secret places, usually far from the light of the sun, they breed slaves, many of them of other races, whom they would warp and change into servants of evil. Such as these: He formed an image of one of the Hairy Howlers, the monkey Leemutes, and when she had had time to absorb it, another of a scowling Manrat, one of the giant, intelligent rodents. Ever so slightly, the Speaker relaxed, her posture slumping a little. But her eyes never left his.

  Her next thought had something of supplication in it. The anger was gone, at least from his direction. So—if you do not know, then you can guess at least at the shame that we, the freest of the free, still bear?

  I hold it no shame to be kept captive and tortured against my will by the servants of all that is bad. I have been so held and tortured. And I escaped! Indeed, I am fleeing even now, to join my own folk far to the north. As once, long and far in the distant past, the Children of the Wind fled also, seeking the open sky and the fresh air of freedom. Hiero was now fairly relaxed. His shrewd postulates, buoyed by hints dropped all evening, were being proved correct. The Speaker's next thought confirmed him in his assurance.

  Show me an enemy in your mind! One of those who command the others!

  This was easy for the man. The hated face of S'duna, the Unclean Master, his inveterate and deadly foe, was often in his head. The pale, hairless face, the almost pupilless eyes, burning with a dead fire, the whole aura of malign purpose, were displayed for the cat-woman's view.

  She hissed again, and the chief beside him did also, a susurration of venomous rage, an anger that many generations of freedom could not kill, the hatred of the proudest and most independent of the mammalian breeds for those who had once presumed to chain them!

  It is they! May they burn in the fires of the lightning! Death to them in their caves, death to them who brought the pain, who slew the cubs and the old, who worked with their cunning tools and their sharp knives! For they held us helpless with their minds, frozen in place, and they laughed as we suffered! They would make us useful, they said. We would be good servants when our wills were broken to their taste. Listen, Strange One, you who hate them also. I, the Remembrancer, the Speaker of the Eastern Pride, will tell you of that time, as my mother told me, having learned it from hers in turn! Learn the tale, as all our cubs must. For if you hate them, and I sense that you do not lie, then you are our friend and I offer you the help of the Pride!

  Now, at last, Hiero could lounge back and allow all tension to leave his body. The Unclean, who would have writhed at the very idea, had found him new allies!

  As the night finally faded and the dawn came in the east, he heard of the capture of the cat people in another land, many hundreds of leagues away in the southwest somewhere. He guessed, but did not say, that the Unclean had bred them for enhanced brain power as well as for physical stamina, feeling that they had acquired a splendid race of warriors.

  What a mistake! With the increased brain power had come increased self-will. The catfolk learned that they were slaves, mere chattels, considered no more than tools of the Great Plan. From their enforc
ed captivity, they learned cooperation. From their pain and loss, they learned patience. From their captors' lies and cunning, they learned deception. They organized.

  There was a night of blood. They broke from the caverns and buried laboratories, suffering and inflicting much loss. They had so taken their overlords by surprise that those who survived were hardly pursued. And they ran, the proud ones, the free, ran until their hearts almost broke, ran with their shes carrying the cubs. At last they were beyond the mental reach, the invisible chains, of their former masters, but still they went on, until one day they reached a new land. Here they stayed, but never forgot what had passed. They would never be taken so again. Their grim history was taught to every young one until it became a permanent scar on his racial memory.

  When a wandering group of human settlers appeared in the area with their cattle, slitted eyes watched in the shadows. The only men the cat people had ever known were the Unclean. Almost, the decision was taken to kill them all out of hand. Wiser counsels prevailed. They studied the loathed creatures and decided that these men were in essence harmless. The milk and, when wanted, the flesh of their beasts were useful. Let the settlers stay in their villages. They would be taxed—and ruled.

  The rule was not onerous, but it had a few strict laws. Any human being who saw one of the Children of the Wind, except at very long range, died. There were no exceptions. Among the ruling elders of the cat people, the thought was that the humans would serve a variety of purposes. Aside from the food easily taken, they would be a living reminder of the past. Also, if the Unclean or their allies should ever reappear, the villagers would mask the presence of the catfolk, thus allowing them time to plan. And so affairs had continued for what Hiero estimated was perhaps some two hundred years of his time.

  The villagers were invariably inside their stockade by dusk. Then the People of the Dark, naturally nocturnal, emerged and took over the land. Their skilled hunting kept the area largely free of dangerous animals, thus benefiting the three villages. And the catfolk separated into three packs, or Prides, one for each village. It was cruel in a way, but the villagers did not live too badly. They soon learned the rules. One lived with the ghosts and put out food and milk at certain hours and in certain ways. Any who simply disappeared or vanished after dark had seen a ghost. Their fear kept them in their villages and discouraged exploration. Once in a while, a man trapped by night in a tree would see the hunt sweeping far away over the savanna and know that the racing figures he had seen were the gods of his tribe, thus reinforcing both awe and the observation of the law.

  Hiero philosophically reflected that he had seen plenty of people who lived worse, in what they called freedom. One day in the future perhaps, he or others would be able to take thought to this odd, disparate set of cultures and attempt to modify things and bring some changes.

  Eventually, her tale done, the Speaker allowed the man to be led away to a branch-shaded platform to sleep with the coming of day. This was their own sleep time, though they needed less sleep than humans and interrupted their drowsing with minor tasks, such as leather work and the making of rude pottery and baskets.

  The next afternoon, B'uorgh awakened the man. All of the Pride were assembled in an open space, and Hiero was formally introduced to all of them, down to the smallest cubs. A messenger was sent to the other two Prides, telling them what had been done and why. After this, Hiero had the freedom of the land and began to enjoy himself hugely.

  They were a simple folk in terms of physical culture, at about the level of the ancient aborigines of far Australia. They used no weapons save for long knives, of metal when they could obtain them, but otherwise of sharpened flint. These they took from the villages. In truth, as the Metz had witnessed, they needed nothing else. Their incredible agility plus the Wind of Death made hunting almost too easy! Everything they needed was at hand, and they lived very well, wanting no more than they had. They used fire, but only for warmth and light, preferring their flesh raw. They ate certain tubers and berries when they felt they needed them, and they knew which plants were useful in their rude pharmacopeia.

  Two cubs were the normal birth, and Hiero found them enchanting. They decided the new, furless person was a fine toy; as he strolled through the encampment of an evening, he usually had a bouncing, wiggling, furry bail in the crook of each arm.. Behind tagged a trail of older children and shy adolescents, racking him with so many questions at once that his head ached from trying to sort out the thoughts and answer them. He was welcome at every hearth and tried to eat at different places every day.

  In the evenings, he always paid a formal call—for the catpeople were very formal—on the Speaker, where he chatted for an hour or so with her, B'uorgh, and the young Speaker-to-be, she whom he had clubbed on his first encounter. Her name, as close as he could form it, was M'reen, and she bade fair, in his opinion, to being as smart as her teacher.

  The personal relations of the catfolk were subtle and often hard to understand. There were pair bonds and also deep affection between couples, but sex seemed to be indiscriminate. Any mother's cubs were hers, but some shes stayed always with the same male and others changed mates. He gathered there were festivals when all rules were abrogated for brief periods. At such times they burned the leaves of a certain herb and grew wildly excited, if not actually intoxicated.

  The Speakership was selective and took long training; but, as Hiero might have guessed, B'uorgh had fought his way to his position as hunting and war chief and would someday be challenged again by one of the younger males. Should he survive all such combat, as sometimes occurred, he would become one of an honored circle of elder males who advised the Speaker and helped to preserve tradition.

  On certain nights, the Pride held group sings, for want of a better word. These were mixtures of poetry, chanting, and, Hiero thought privately, just plain yowling. Sometimes the massed rumbling and purring was soothing and at others made his ears ache, though he always gravely expressed vast appreciation. During the week he spent with the Pride, they held several in honor of his arrival and alliance.

  Hiero found the catfolk delightful. He was even able to help with a problem that had been concerning the elders, that of a slowly declining birth rate. He discovered that the Pride, being so group-minded, had more or less stopped intermating with the other two Prides. There were obvious results in terms of inbreeding. He politely told the Speaker and her council of old males that this simply had to stop and that the younger folk of the three Prides should be made to meet more often. Outmating should be strongly encouraged, and the reasons for it should be thoroughly gone into and explained to all the folk. He was solemnly thanked for the advice and told it would be adhered to in the fullest way possible with personal independence! He wondered about this, but M'reen told him privately that it would happen, though probably slowly. One did not give Pride members orders, only veiled and delicate suggestions. This would result in the idea's seeming to be of their own origination.

  Every other night or so, those able to do so hunted. Of course, the new friend had to be taken along, not that he needed any urging. He could not run at their pace, so the game came to him. The Wind of Death was not used, since the adults of both sexes preferred not to utilize it unless they were in a hurry or at war. Hiero never found out what it was made from, but he strongly suspected a natural secretion of the glands, enhanced by the juices of a rare plant. It was a secret held by certain of the females, who alone could release it. It had been discovered long ago and had been used to help them escape from the horror of the Unclean.

  Their favorite game was becoming scarce in the neighborhood, but they located a specimen and took the Metz out one night under a bright moon to see how he felt about it. He was positioned in a certain place, not too far from the trees, which he thought tactful, and told to get ready. He understood that the honor of the kill was to be his and wondered what it might be and if, indeed, he were capable of holding up his end. The catfolk would not tell him what it
was. Knowing their whimsical humor, he wondered if one of the trunked giants were being herded in his direction.

  He was therefore considerably relieved when he heard the drumming of hooves and the angry snorts of a fast-running herbivore. However, when the moon gleams showed him the prey, he was not so sure.

  From the head down, the form was that of a giant buck. Over the deep-socketed eyes grew two long, straight horns, mighty enough weapons in themselves. But on the broad muzzle rose another, a straight stem which forked into two more evil-looking points. As the enraged animal twisted and darted at the tormentors who were herding it in his direction, the man wondered how they escaped, even with their speed, from the vicious and lethal lunges. When at length it sighted him, a solitary and fixed target, he had no more time to think. Meeting those terrible horns head-on would obviously be insane. As the brute charged, he hurled the heavy spear straight at the broad chest and then dodged, whipping out his long dagger and poising it.

  The broad spear sank to the socket, for a brief moment bringing the great beast up standing. In that moment, he aimed and threw the knife from no more than ten feet away, not at the body, but at the nearest bulging, bloodshot eye. The blade sank to the hilt. With a final bellow, the animal fell over, its brain pierced instantaneously. The other hunters let out a wild, squalling cry of triumph, and Hiero felt that his knees were somewhat weak.

  On examining the kill while they cut it up to carry back, Hiero thought his knees felt even weaker. The animal's eyes were surrounded by rings of heavy bone, and a very slight miss would have proved useless! He thanked his Creator silently for the good shot.