Meantime he guided ten sullen, fearful men, a walking corpse, and a girl deeper into the unexplored heart of the Black Forest. The Noctoli flowers breathed their poison from the underbrush, deadly and relentlessly.
VI
THAT DAY they met a new enemy: jet-black lizards, five feet long, that clung to the black tree-boles, perfectly camouflaged, till the party came close. Then the reptiles flashed toward them, fanged jaws gaping. Constant alertness was all that saved them—that, and the blazing guns that killed the monsters.
Presence of the lizards was no respite from the other perils. The bloodsucker plants were more numerous, and the camouflage-moss made deceptively inviting paths through the red gloom. By dark, everyone was nearly exhausted, nerves worn to rags. Garth knew it would not take much for the men to explode into furious resentment against him.
Luckily, an hour after they had made camp, Captain Brown woke from his drugged trance, perfectly normal. But it took a while to make him understand what had happened.
For the first time Garth saw Brown lose his iron self-control, and then it was only for a moment. A flash of stark horror showed on the Captain’s lean, hard face, to be gone instantly.
He lit a cigaret, his eyes brooding on Paula and Garth. Briefly he glanced past them to the men, preparing their rations.
“Uh-huh. Not so good. I suppose it’s useless to think of traveling by night.”
“It’s impossible,” Garth told him.
“You can make more antitoxin?”
“Sure—but not here. It’s too dangerous. We’ve been safe so far because we’ve moved fast, camping at a different spot every night. If we holed up, we’d have a gang of monsters down on us in no time.”
Brown considered. “It’s a nasty business, having my own body go back on me. A bit of a shock. Well—” He let smoke drift from his nostrils. “Two more days ahead of us, eh? Then we reach the lost city.”
“If it is a city. We don’t even know that.”
“But we do know there may be Zarno around. We’ll have to arrive there soon after dark, so I’ll be . . . conscious. If there’s a fight, I want to be in on it. Why the devil didn’t you test that antitoxin, Garth?” His voice was harshly angry.
Garth didn’t answer. Brown had given him the rush act, but he wasn’t making any excuses.
Paula said, “This isn’t the best time to quarrel. You’d better talk to the men, Carver, so there’ll be no trouble tomorrow.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I suppose so.”
Even the rebellious Sampson was convinced by Brown’s well-chosen remarks.
They slept uneasily, with guards replaced every two hours, and the next day woke to find Captain Brown once more sunk into his Noctoli-trance. A few of the men complained of headaches.
By mid-morning Paula succumbed to the poison. Garth did not realize at first what had happened. Then, turning, he saw the girl’s blank face and wide eyes fixed straight ahead as she marched along, and knew that she was entranced by the Noctoli till nightfall. The exercise of walking, speeding metabolism, had hastened the action of the virus.
They went on. An hour later another man went under. Then another. By noon only five men, including Garth and Sampson, were still conscious.
Their difficulties increased proportionately. They had to be on guard every second. The Noctoli victims walked quietly in line, but they did not react to danger. If the tentacles of a bloodsucker plant flashed out, they wouldn’t try to escape. Their instinct of self-preservation had been dulled and blanketed.
The afternoon was pure hell. Garth, Sampson, and one other man had to guard and lead the rest. Their guns crashed incessantly, it seemed.
When they camped at the onset of darkness, Sampson and Garth alone remained.
THE red-haired giant, swaying on his feet, squinted at Garth, his face haggard with exhaustion.
“Nice going,” he said sardonically, after a time. “What now? Maybe we’d better cut our throats.”
Garth managed a shaky grin. “We’re still okay. And there’s only one more day left. Tomorrow—we’ll make it then. We’ve got to.”
Unwilling admiration showed in Sampson’s eyes. “You’re dead on your feet. I don’t see how the hell you keep up this pace. Anyhow—we can’t go back now. That’s settled, anyway.”
“Yeah. The others will wake up after a while. We’ll have to stay on guard till then.”
They did, guns drawn, peering at the silent depths of the Forest around them, while the rest of the party lay motionless, helpless against attack.
After a time Sampson spoke. Garth could not see his face in the heavy gloom. “What are you after, Garth?”
“Eh?”
“I had you ticketed wrong. A beachcomber . . . There must be something plenty important where we’re going, or you wouldn’t be so anxious to get there. What is it? Treasure, of course, but—jewels? Or what?”
Garth chuckled. “There may be. I don’t know. Don’t care.”
“Hm-m.” Sampson was silent, baffled. Garth’s mind swung back to that ever-present question. Had he killed Doc Willard? Very soon, now, he might know the answer.
But that was important only to him. The vital point was the black notebook Doc had had with him.
After a time Captain Brown stirred and sat up. Then the others. The men were a little panicky, but the presence of Brown and Sampson calmed them.
Garth, relieved of guard duty, had fallen asleep almost instantly.
He woke at dawn. Red twilight filtered down from above. The others were lying motionless in their blankets. Sampson’s big body was huddled at the base of a tree.
Wearily Garth got up and went over to the giant. “Sampson!” he called. “Wake up! We’ve got a job—”
He stopped. Sampson’s eyes were open, fixed and blank, and his dark cheeks had a significant ruddy flush.
The Noctoli poison—!
Garth stepped back, white to the lips. A sudden, horrible sense of loneliness pressed down on him. In the jungle things seemed to move, closing in menacingly.
He was alone now.
Alone—with twelve helpless companions to guard!
Somehow—somehow!—he had to get them through. One more day, and they would be at their goal. They could not stay here, that was certain.
Garth searched Sampson’s pack till he found a half-empty whiskey bottle. He poured the burning stuff down his throat, though it rocked him back on his heels. But he needed artificial stimulation; it was the only thing that could keep him going now.
It helped. Garth took Sampson’s gun and stuck it in his belt. If his own jammed or ran out of ammunition, today, it would be unfortunate.
One more day.
One more day!
Somehow, he got Sampson, Brown and the others lined up. They would march when he gave the word. The hypnotic trance of the Noctoli pollen had turned them into robots.
Garth put Paula directly behind him. The sight of her wan, drawn face made him feel a little frightened, though not for himself. He was remembering Moira, who had died on Earth years ago.
Eleven men and a girl—and he was the only one who could save them.
Garth made sure that the packs were in place on the men’s shoulders. He took another drink, pulled out one of the guns, and gave the command to march.
Like automatons the line followed him.
If the day before had been hell, this was double-distilled hell.
Within an hour, Garth’s nerves were scraped raw. He had to be constantly alert. The wrenching strain of watching for camouflaged menace made his eyes ache. When movement came, he had to be ready. Ready to squeeze the trigger . . .
He had to have eyes in the back of his head. For Sampson, at the tail of the procession, was as helpless as the others.
Liquor kept Garth going. Without it, he would have collapsed. By noon he was forced to call a halt, his eyes throbbing with the strain. But even then he could not relax. Danger waited everywhere.
He never remembered what happened tha
t afternoon. He must have acted automatically, through blind instinct. But he go them through, somehow . . .
It was like awakening from deep sleep. Garth was abruptly conscious that he was marching forward, his head moving rhythmically, his eyes searching the jungle. The red twilight was almost gone.
He whirled, to see Paula directly behind him, unharmed. The others were strung out in single file—all of them, with Sampson’s red head at the end. None was missing.
Garth shivered. His body was aching like fire. A quick glance showed him that his clothes were ribboned, his skin scratched raw, a long slash along his ribs. It had been treated with antiseptic, he saw, though he did not remember administering first aid, nor what had caused the wound.
What had wakened him? He peered through the gloom, making out a dark bulk, regular in outline, ahead and to his left. A few paces further gave him the answer. It was a building, of black stone or metal, no more than twelve feet high, and with an archway gaping in the nearest side.
Somehow it struck a chord of memory. They must be near their goal. No savages had built this structure. The Ancient Race?
The Zamo—they might be near by. It would not do to encounter them now, while the men were in their Noctoli trance. And here, in the Forest, they were without cover, at the mercy of the Zarno should they appear.
Garth reconnoitered quietly, leading the others, for he dared not leave them alone. The black building seemed untenanted. He could vaguely make out a flight of steps leading down into darkness, and, more important than that, the threshold itself was thick with dust and mould. The—temple—was empty.
Which made it a good place to hide. Garth was beginning to realize he could not keep going much longer, at least without collapsing. But soon after dark the others would recover from their trance.
He stepped warily across the threshold, into the gloom of the temple. Simultaneously the flooring sank almost imperceptibly beneath his feet, and a deep, brazen bell-note boomed out, hushed with distance, as though it came from underground.
Indecision held Garth motionless for a moment. That clang was a signal of some sort—a warning against trespassers? A warning to whom?
HE WAS answered quickly. A low cry came, harsh and oddly familiar. It was the first of many. Garth, hesitating on the threshold, uncertain which way the danger lay, instinctively reached out his arm and dragged Paula close. She came obediently to his side, her eyes seeing nothing. The others—they stood like frozen statues.
Something flashed amid the underbrush. The scarlet tangle of vines and leaves was torn aside, and a figure leaped into view. A figure, man-like—yet not human!
At first glance it seemed to be a man in armor, more than six feet tall, and proportionately broad. Its body gleamed with reflected light. Neckless, its head was a hairless, shining ball whose only features were two oval, jet-black eyes. They were uncannily menacing.
A statue come to life! For the creature’s body was obviously not flesh—it was hard, rough and shiny as translucent glass. Silicate life!
Sprung from a silicon chemical base, as Earth life comes from carbon—but sentient, intelligent, and dangerous!
Others like it raced into view, pausing as they saw Garth and his companions. The first stepped forward. He had no mouth, but a circular diaphragm below and between his eyes vibrated rapidly, forming recognizable words.
“Al-khron ghanro ssel ’ri—”
It was the Ancient Tongue, which Garth had learned five years before, and never forgotten. It came back to him easily now. He was beginning to remember other things, too. These creatures—he had seen them before. The Zarno—
“We come in peace.” He raised one hand, his nerves jolting, waiting for the answer. Presently it came.
“You are not a god. The others with you are not gods. We are the Zarno; we destroy. We guard the house of the gods till they return.”
Another of the silicate creatures pushed forward. “Do you not know this being, Kharn? Eight ystods ago he came here with another like him. Do you remember?”
Kharn nodded slowly. “That is true. We did not slay them then, for we thought they were messengers from the gods. They pretended to be—we were not sure. This one escaped. The other went into the Darkness.”
The other? Doc Willard? Garth felt his throat tighten.
“The—Darkness? What is that?”
“The place from which only the gods return,” Kharn said slowly.
Did he mean—death? Before Garth could ask, the second Zarno spoke.
“They must be taken and sacrificed, Kharn.”
Garth took out his gun. “Wait,” he said sharply, as the Zarno moved forward. “We have weapons. We can destroy you.”
“You do not speak the truth. Only the gods can destroy us. Ages ago they came here and built their temple and taught us to be wise. When they left us, we stayed on, to guard the sacred places.”
Garth’s mouth felt dry. “We are messengers from the gods—” he declared.
“It is not true.” Kharn began to walk forward. “Take them!”
Garth knew he had lost.
IT WAS like a nightmare, the steady, relentless approach of the monstrous beings. Garth held his gun leveled. His arm tightened around Paula’s shoulders.
“Keep back,” he commanded, conscious of the uselessness of the words.
Instead, Kharn and the others walked on. The creature’s shining arm lifted, clamped on Garth’s shoulder. He fired.
Kharn did not seem to feel the bullet, though it had not missed. Garth squeezed the trigger again. The pistol jolted against his palm.
The Zarno were—invulnerable!
Garth fought, nevertheless. He could see the silicate men lifting his companions like sacks of meal, hoisting them to gleaming shoulders, and carrying them, unresisting, through the forest. Paula was torn from his grasp. Cursing, he struck out at Kharn’s impassive, inhuman face with the revolver-butt. Useless! Nothing could harm these creatures of living stone.
Ignoring his struggles, Kharn prisoned Garth’s arms and lifted him. Helpless, Garth was carried after the others. He forced himself to relax. A fury of impotent rage flooded him.
He battled it down. Better wait. A chance might come later; just now, there was none. Wait—
Through the forest they went, a score of the silicate creatures, striding like armored giants in the darkening red glow. Not far. A pillar of black metal loomed before them soon, broken by an archway. Two of the monsters guarded it. For a moment Garth mistook the monolith for one of the ebony trees; then he realized his error as they crossed the threshold and began to descend a spiral ramp.
Now there was light, a cool, silvery radiance that seemed to come from the walls. Kham’s footsteps thumped hollow, tirelessly. Sudden weakness made Garth dizzy. He caught a glimpse of a well around which the ramp wound, a pit dropping away to the heart of a world, it seemed.
Utter exhaustion struck him like a physical blow.
VII
HE REMEMBERED, dimly, what happened after that. It was like a series of fantastic visions, nightmare flashes of memory. At the bottom of the spiral was a cave, reminiscent of Chahnn and the other cities of the Ancients Garth had seen. Enigmatic machines loomed here and there. Unlike Chahnn, this city was lighted with the pale glow that came out of the walls and high-domed ceilings.
Cavern after cavern—peopled with the silicate creatures, filled with the dead machines of the Ancients! And, finally, an immense cave, its floor slanting up to a raised dais at one end. On the platform a throne of black metal stood, and seated upon it was a gigantic four-armed robot, larger than any Garth had ever seen before—standing, it would have been twelve feet tall, he judged.
Garth got only a glimpse of this. He was carried on swiftly to a smaller cavern where metal doors lined the walls. One of these was unlocked. He, with the other Earthmen, was carried within and dumped unceremoniously on the floor. The Zarno departed, clanging the door shut after them. Then—silence.
&nbs
p; Garth staggered to his feet, staring around. The cell was oddly familiar. He had been in it, or one like it, five years ago with Doc Willard. The silvery light came from the wait, and there was a grating in the door. That was all.
He reached the grating and peered out. Two Zarno were on guard not far away. The lock—it might be possible to pick it, Garth thought, but the silicate creatures were invulnerable. So that would do no good.
Captain Brown’s clipped voice said, “Where the hell are we, Garth?”
“Huh? Oh, you’re awake.” Garth laughed harshly. “You should have waked up half an hour ago. Not that it would have done any good—”
Brown stood up stiffly. “What d’you mean? What’s happened?”
The others were waking now. For a few moments the cell was a babble of questions. One of the Zarno came briefly to the grill in the door and looked in. Shocked quiet greeted him.
After he had gone, Garth took advantage of the silence to say, “I’ll tell you what’s been going on, and then I’m going to sleep. I’ll go to sleep anyway, unless I talk fast. I’m dead beat.”
Sampson squinted at the door. “Tough customers. Shoot, Garth. I’ve got a hunch we’re in a bad spot.”
“We are. Listen—” Briefly Garth explained what had happened.
There were questions and counter-questions.
“You can speak their lingo, eh?”
“That won’t help, Brown.”
“They can’t be invulnerable.”
“They are—to our weapons. Silicate life!”
“When will they—sacrifice us?” Paula asked, a little shaken, though she tried not to show it.
Garth shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe I can talk ’em out of it. God knows. They worship the gods—the Ancients, I suppose—but they know we’re not gods. So that’s that.”
“Well—”
THEY talked inconclusively. Sampson casually wandered over to the door, found a twisted scrap of wire, and used it on the lock. After a while he called softly to the others.
“This thing’s a snap. It won’t keep us in here.”
Garth came over. “There are guards.
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