The Totems of Abydos

by John Norman

  “Brave monkeys,” said Rodriguez, with a smile.

  “You are all unregenerate iconoclasts,” said Brenner.

  “You are the one, with the neat trick at the git cage, who disproved their totemism,” said Rodriguez.

  At this point the female had put down the saucer of water. The male turned his head weakly toward Brenner, and put out its hand.

  Brenner rose up and went to crouch beside it.

  “Watch out,” cautioned Rodriguez.

  The male looked up at Brenner, and then reached out, and pinched at his arm.

  “That is a grooming gesture,” said Rodriguez, “probably forbidden for a thousand years.”

  Brenner then put out his hand and took some of the hair of the Pon’s arm between his thumb and forefinger, and pulled gently at it.

  The female made a soft, contented noise.

  “He is grateful,” said Rodriguez.

  “I think he is asleep now, again,” said Brenner.

  “Let him rest,” said Rodriguez.

  “Listen!” said Brenner.

  “What is it?” asked Rodriguez.

  “Pons!” said Brenner. “The sound is coming from the fields!”

  Rodriguez leaped up and hurried from the hut, running toward the gate of the palisade. Brenner was only a few feet behind him.

  Pons, terrified, were streaming through the gate. Some stopped inside the palings and looked out, back, frightened, toward the clearing.

  “What is wrong!” demanded Rodriguez.

  “Killer!” screeched a Pon. “Killer!”

  More Pons fled past, their eyes wild, their tiny feet scattering dust behind them.

  “What happened!” screamed Rodriguez, grabbing at a Pon, missing him.

  “Back there!” cried another Pon.

  “Where?” asked Rodriguez, trying to get his hand on another Pon hurrying past.

  “Field! Field! Came! Took!” cried another.

  Several of the Pons, together, began to swing shut the gate. Rodriguez held it forcibly open, to let another four or five Pons squeeze through.

  “Shut! Shut!” screamed Pons.

  “There are still others outside!” said Rodriguez.

  More Pons, tiny, across the clearing, could be seen hurrying toward the gate.

  “What happened?” asked Brenner.

  “I don’t know,” said Rodriguez.

  “Stealthy one!” said a Pon.

  “Came! Took! Hungry one! Stealthy one!” screeched another.

  More Pons hurried through the gate.

  Female Pons began to howl amongst the huts.

  “No understand!” said Rodriguez.

  One of the Pons suddenly, fiercely, for so small an animal, bared its teeth and held up its tiny hands, the fingers hooked, like claws. It made a sudden, ugly sound, which, even in its tiny throat, was frightening.

  The gate swung shut, creaking.

  Rodriguez’ face was covered with sweat. There was much howling now, from both males and females, in the village.

  Brenner looked wildly at Rodriguez.

  “It could not be worse!” said Rodriguez. He kicked aside some of the posts braced against the gate, opening it a few inches to let another Pon through. “Go to the hut. Get it. You know what! Bring it! Run!”

  Brenner turned about and fled back to the hut. He rummaged through Rodriguez’ things and, in a moment, from its leather case, drew forth the requested object.

  “You must show us where!” Rodriguez was saying to a Pon when Brenner, gasping, returned to the gate.

  “No! No! No!” screamed the Pon.

  Rodriguez seized it by the back of the neck, and held it literally in the air.

  “Shut! Shut!” screamed another Pon.

  Another Pon squeezed through. It was the git keeper.

  “Come along!” said Rodriguez to Brenner. He then wedged through the gate and, carrying the terrified, struggling Pon, went into the clearing. Save for the footprints it seemed quiet.

  “You will show us where!” Rodriguez said to the Pon.

  “Let go! Let go!” screamed the Pon, squirming.

  “Where, you little bastard?” asked Rodriguez.

  “Let go!” it screeched.

  “You show,” snarled Rodriguez. “Then I let go.”

  “There! There!” said the Pon, pointing.

  “Come along,” said Rodriguez, furiously, to Brenner, who carried the weapon.

  “There!” screamed the Pon, now thrust ahead of Rodriguez, by the collar of its robes.

  They were at the edge of the fields, near the forest.

  “The trail is clear,” said Rodriguez. He released the Pon, who fled back, toward the palisade.

  “Give me the weapon,” said Rodriguez.

  Brenner handed it to him.

  “Stay behind me,” said Rodriguez. “You will be my extra eyes. In particular keep watch to the rear.”

  “Is that necessary?” asked Brenner.

  “We do not know what this is, or its intelligence,” said Rodriguez.

  The brush, torn apart, the trampled leaves, were a trail that even Brenner might have followed. Whatever it was might have approached with circumspection, but it had not concerned itself to conceal its withdrawal.

  “You can see where it went,” said Brenner.

  “Yes,” said Rodriguez.

  “It does not deign to conceal its trail,” said Brenner.

  “No,” said Rodriguez.

  “It did not expect to be followed,” said Brenner.

  “No,” said Rodriguez.

  “It does not fear pursuit?”

  “No,” said Rodriguez.

  “It is not afraid?”

  “Perhaps you can see why,” said Rodriguez.

  “Why?” asked Brenner.

  “Nothing was dragged here,” said Rodriguez. “Thus the thing is of considerable size.”

  “There is blood on the leaves,” said Brenner.

  “We will teach it fear,” said Rodriguez.

  He armed the rifle.

  “You are going to kill it?”

  “We must attempt to do so,” said Rodriguez. “A prey range, once extended, is likely to remain extended.”

  Brenner nodded.

  “It may even grow fond of a new taste,” said Rodriguez.

  “I understand,” said Brenner, shuddering.

  “Are you ready?” asked Rodriguez.

  “How far away is it likely to be?” asked Brenner.

  “It is probably extremely close,” said Rodriguez, “perhaps within yards.”

  “I’m ready,” said Brenner.

  They had not made their way far into the forest when Rodriguez stopped, and held out his hand.

  Brenner stopped, too, scarcely daring to breathe.

  Rodriguez put his left arm carefully into the weapon sling. Until then he had carried the rifle at the ready. In this fashion it might be brought instantly into play, in any direction, or attitude. Now, however, he had a fair shot. He wanted the extra steadiness of the sling. It would not do to miss.

  The beast was crouched down. It had its head low. One could not see its jaws.

  A bird, overhead, took flight.

  The beast, at the sound of the rush of wings, instantly lifted its head.

  Rodriguez and Brenner did not move.

  The beast, a white, starlike blaze on its forehead, looked at them.

  “It sees us,” whispered Brenner.

  “No,” whispered Rodriguez.

  The ears of the beast were erected, facing them.

  Rodriguez’ finger began to press gently, ever so gently, on the trigger.

  Suddenly the beast leaped up and Rodriguez, with a curse, fired. A passage of light, marking the trail of the charge, burned through the air. A tree, in a ball of fire, seemed to explode and its top, the trunk smoking and severed, crashed down.

  “It’s gone!” said Rodriguez, in fury.

  He jammed another charge into the breech.

 
In moments Rodriguez and Brenner had reached the spot where they had seen the animal.

  Rodriguez plunged into the forest after it.

  Brenner lingered behind.

  “I’ve lost it,” said Rodriguez, coming back.

  “He was finished anyway,” said Brenner, wearily.

  Rodriguez looked down at the leaves.

  “We had best take what is left here back to the village,” said Rodriguez.

  “I will carry him,” said Brenner.

  “I should not have missed,” said Rodriguez.

  “You had no chance,” said Brenner. “The beast leaped up.”

  “At one time, long ago,” said Rodriguez, “I would not have missed.”

  Brenner gathered the small form, torn apart, half eaten, into his arms.

  “It may come back,” said Rodriguez.

  “You frightened it,” said Brenner. “It may never come back.”

  “It will come back,” said Rodriguez.

  Brenner’s shirt and chest were drenched with blood.

  “That is not the worst, of course,” said Rodriguez, gloomily.

  “What could be worse?” asked Brenner.

  “How do you think the Pons will understand this?”

  “What do you mean?” asked Brenner.

  Rodriguez looked at him.

  “No!” said Brenner.

  “How else can they understand it?” asked Rodriguez.

  “We must return as soon as possible to the village,” said Brenner, alarmed.

  Rodriguez looked at what Brenner held in his arms. He then looked at Brenner, questioningly.

  “It is “Archimedes,”” said Brenner.

  Rodriguez nodded.

  “Let us return to the village,” said Brenner.

  “We may be too late already,” said Rodriguez.

  “Hurry!” begged Brenner, tears in his eyes. He looked behind him, over his shoulder, at Rodriguez. “Hurry!” he wept.

  “Wait!” called Rodriguez.

  But Brenner was already far ahead of him.

  * * *

  Brenner threw back his head and howled with rage.

  The Pons had seemed very calm when he had returned to the village. It was as though the terrible event of the afternoon had not occurred. It was as though nothing had happened. Things were much as they usually were. All seemed tranquil.

  Brenner had put down the remains of Archimedes in the clearing, and rushed to the hut. The two Pons whom he had left there were gone, of course.

  Brenner rushed out of the hut, demanding information. It seemed the Pons did not quite understand him. To be sure, he was much beside himself, and may not have been coherent.

  “Things all right,” one Pon had assured him, hoping perhaps thereby to assuage his obvious agitation.

  In moments, however, Brenner found two trails in the dust, where it seemed that two objects, perhaps baskets, which might have been obtained in trade from Company Station, had been dragged, perhaps on ropes. In the furrows in the dust, too, were reddish stains. Along the paths of these furrows, too, there were numerous small footprints, those of Pons. Apparently a great number of them had followed these objects. Although Brenner was not in the mood, or really in a proper condition of mind, to interpret these prints, a calmer observer might have noted that the smaller prints, presumably those of females, tended to be apart from and outside the somewhat larger prints, those of males. Prom this it might have been gathered that in whatever was going on there had been some attention given to maintaining the proper distances. Although it was difficult to tell from the furrows after a time, it seemed that the objects might have been dragged around and around, in circles. Here the markings in the dust, the stains, and the footprints became very confused. These matters became substantially clearer when, rather close to one wall of the palisade, behind some huts, rather back and to the right of the gate, as one might enter it, two small heaps of bones were found, the shards of skeletons, from which, bit by bit, judging from the nicks and cuts on the bones, the flesh had been scraped. This had presumably been done by scarps, which seemed the most likely instrument for such work in the Pons’ inventory of tools.

  It was at the moment of making this discovery that Brenner had howled with rage, and perhaps, too, with misery, with regret, with frustration, with grief.

  Some Pons had followed him about, puzzled. They looked at him, and blinked.

  “You bastards!” screamed Brenner and he, despite his larger size, and his much greater strength, and the moral problematicity of such an act, had struck two of them. These had hastily withdrawn from his dangerous ambit and then, with the others, watched him.

  He had then fled back to the hut, to hide, to cry, to be alone.

  It was there that Rodriguez, who, of course, had only shortly before arrived back at the village, found him.

  “You know?” asked Brenner.

  “Yes,” said Rodriguez. “I saw.”

  “I should kill them all,” said Brenner.

  “The taboo was broken,” said Rodriguez. “Disaster ensued. Now the taboo has been expiated. Things are the same again. The balances are restored, the proportions are in order.”

  “I am leaving,” said Brenner.

  “There is nowhere to go,” said Rodriguez.

  “I will not stay here,” said Brenner.

  “Where will you go?” asked Rodriguez.

  “Company Station,” said Brenner.

  “How will you find your way?” asked Rodriguez.

  “I will follow the stones, the white stones,” said Brenner.

  Brenner rose up and began to throw clothing, and various articles, into his knapsack.

  “Wait until morning,” said Rodriguez.

  “No,” said Brenner.

  “Take the rifle,” said Rodriguez.

  “No,” said Brenner. “It is yours. You may need it.” He recalled the large beast they had seen in the forest. It might return.

  “It is insane to go into the forest alone, without a weapon,” said Rodriguez.

  “I am going!” screamed Brenner. “I will not stay here!” He then, with his knapsack half packed, weeping, crying out, fled from the village.

  “Come back!” Rodriguez screamed after him. “Come back!”

  Then Rodriguez turned back to the village. A Pon looked up at him, and blinked.

  Then Rodriguez returned to the hut. He had one bottle of Heimat left. His hand shook when he poured it.

  “Ten years ago,” he said to himself, “I would not have missed.”

  Then he threw out the Heimat on the floor of the hut, and, on one of the stones of the fire pit, at the center of the hut, broke the bottle.

  Chapter 23

  Brenner looked wildly about.

  He cursed a world with no moon. The forest loomed about him, lit by the dim glow of the dangling lantern fruit.

  The snapping of a twig is a tiny sound, but he had heard it. He had heard, too, from time to time, movements amongst dried leaves, which might have been their stirring in the wind, but might, too, have been the soft, quick tread of paws.

  Brenner sobbed and peered into the darkness.

  He jerked off the knapsack and held it by the straps. It would be a poor weapon, flung on its straps. It would be an ineffectual shield. Yet it was something to strike out with, or something to insert between himself and the forest.

  A stick, a club, would be better.

  Brenner stood in the tiny clearing and listened, as carefully, as intently, as keenly, as he could. He could hear only his own breathing.

  There is nothing there, he told himself. I am alone.

  He saw another of the white stones. He ran toward it. It was late at night, how late he did not know. He fell on his knees and picked up the whitish stone, and clutched it to him, weeping, and then put it down.

  He must now search out another.

  How fortunate that the Pons were so stupid, and had so little sense of direction, or knowledge of woodcraft, that they nee
ded a trail of stones to find their way between Company Station and the village. With such an aid Rodriguez’ compass and map, which had been lost in the journey to the village, were not even necessary.

  Brenner stood up.

  Anything might have caused a twig to snap, if it really had. If it were small enough, and dry enough, and properly positioned, even the foot of a git might break it. Perhaps he had not even heard the sound. It was late at night. It was dark. His imagination might have played tricks on him.

  Brenner looked about for another stone. He saw it, several yards away.

  He hurried toward it.

  * * *

  Brenner looked behind him, and to the side.

  He stumbled toward another whitish stone.

  I have gone miles, he said to himself. The knapsack was now again on his back. In one hand was grasped a stout branch. It would help him to keep his feet in the darkness. There is nothing to be afraid of, he told himself.

  Then he cried out with alarm and flung up the stick, and was nearly buffeted by a fleet body which bounded past him, crossing diagonally before him, from his right to his left, one of the tiny, small-horned ungulates of the forest.

  He remained very still.

  Overhead he heard the calls of a night bird.

  Then he went to the next stone.

  * * *

  After an hour or so, Brenner stopped to drink at a shallow stream, one of many which flowed through the well-watered forest. Then, at the edge of the stream, he sat down. He was tired and hungry. He removed the knapsack and put the stick beside him. He leaned back against a tree.

  He sat up, quickly, when two of the small-horned ungulates, one larger and one smaller, crossed the stream some yards below him, splashing, and trotted into the darkness. Their heads bobbed as they moved. Had Rodriguez been with him Rodriguez might have remarked on the oddity of the movements of such creatures at night, as they were day-feeders and normally quiescent at night.

  Brenner partook of some bemat cakes and dried fruit.

  Then, rested and fed, and feeling much better than before, he rose up.

  He had, of course, before resting, located the next stone.

  * * *

  Brenner was not clear, at first, that that there was anything out there. It is very difficult to interpret the shadows in the uncertain light of stars, in the dim glow of lantern fruit.