“You’ve eaten it too—and liked it!” he flung back at her silently, and marveled at the fact that they were the only ones in the family who could communicate like this. Usually, if a person had the ability—and it was not uncommon in the Five Communities—everyone closely related to him would also have it to some degree. But Andru didn’t have even a touch of it, nor did Tira, his wife. His own parents hadn’t had it—a lack that probably had cost them their lives, for when they failed to return from a trip years ago, no one knew what had happened or where to search for them.
L’Mara, intent on her weaving, said, “I ate it only to please you, and I think it’s horrid. It made me feel almost like a cannibal.”
He knew she was still teasing by the impish look on her face, but before he could think of a retort, her mother, Tira, came in with a basket of new yarn for the other loom. She was a striking woman, with long, shining hair that was almost the color of gold. No one else in the Five Communities had hair that color. L’Mara’s hair was bronze.
“Boy Jaim,” Tira said. “What’s this about walking to the Barrens?”
When he explained, she said, “Now you’re just being silly. If you want to walk part of the way to that awful place, then walk—but at least tow a small sled to carry things. After all, as long as a sled floats, it’s weightless, no matter what you pile on it. Suppose you found something there you wanted to bring home?”
Andru snorted. “He won’t find anything worth keeping. The inhabitants of that place were demented. Absolutely demented.”
L’Mara said silently, “I think Father’s wrong, at least partly, and that you could really find something wonderful if you look in the right spot. Please, bring me a present.”
Her request decided him. He compromised finally on one of the smallest sleds; it had just enough power in its antigravity unit to lift Doubtful and himself and carry all their equipment. The next morning, before he left, L’Mara gave him his new cap. Though she was still a child, she was the best designer and weaver in their community, and the cap she had made was a marvel of patterning. Around its wide green band was an intricate design of leaping fish. She managed to present it to him without a flicker of a smile.
With the safety belt fastened around his waist, Boy Jaim lay flat on the air sled and peered over the bow at the forest below. The river was well behind them now and they were moving slowly southward, just above the treetops. The sled, he knew, was overloaded with the things he had found, and it was a heavy drain on the solar batteries to keep so much weight aloft. If the sunlight lasted, the batteries should recharge. It was disturbing, though, to see the mounting clouds drifting toward them from the east. The sled was too small to be caught in stormy weather.
“Do you whiff anything yet?” he asked Doubtful.
“It’s hard to whiff anything up here. But this seems to be the right direction.”
“Maybe we’d better get down near the ground, just to make sure.”
“Please,” the dog begged. “It wouldn’t be safe.”
“It would be safe enough for you. That beast hasn’t hurt anything.”
“It hasn’t hurt anything wild—but I’m not wild. My kind has lived with your kind too long. If it hates man, it would hate me.”
In spite of the day’s warmth Boy Jaim shivered. He had never felt like this before. Why would the thing hate man?
“If I could just get a look at it …” he muttered.
“Do we have to?” Doubtful asked unhappily. “We already know what it looks like.”
“All we know is that it left a footprint like a bear, only the print was far too big. If it’s a bear, it would stand as high as three men. And it isn’t black like a bear, because the cub said it was shining.”
“Isn’t that enough?” grumbled the dog. “It whiffs like a bear, so that’s what it is—a shining monster of a bear, which makes it a phantom. I think we ought to forget the thing and go home.”
“But we can’t do that. I’ve got to find it, and—and try to talk to it.”
“Talk to it? Oh, no!”
“But I’ve got to. Don’t you understand? Everything in the forest has been friendly until now. Why, it’s been ages since humans and other creatures—”
He was interrupted by a sudden questioning thought from L’Mara, calling from home. “Boy Jaim, where are you? Is anything wrong?”
For safety’s sake he always kept in touch with her when he was away, but at the moment all thought of her had been driven from his mind. “I’m all right,” he told her. “We’re flying south of the river now, so we’ll be back soon—if it doesn’t turn too stormy.”
“But I know something’s wrong. What is it?”
“It’s nothing for you to worry about. I’ll explain later.”
“Did you forget to bring me a present?”
This was the first time she had mentioned it since he had left. “I found something for you,” he replied.
“Oh, what is it? Please tell me!”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But maybe Emmon can tell us. Meet me there this afternoon.”
He glanced up at the approaching cloud bank, which was uncomfortably close. Then he forgot it when he saw the nearness of the trees.
The overloaded air sled had been using more and more power to stay aloft. Now, as he tried to send it higher, there was no response. Suddenly he realized the solar batteries were not recharging fast enough to make up for the extra drain upon them.
Doubtful gave a yip of fright as the sled brushed the top of a tree and tilted downward. “Oof! What’s wrong?”
“Power’s failing—we’ve got to land.” He looked frantically around for an open spot, but saw none.
They brushed through more leaves, scraped over a succession of limbs, and began drifting slowly into the shadows. They touched bow-first and settled lightly upon the deep leaf-mold that carpeted this part of the forest floor.
Even before they touched, Boy Jaim had ripped off his safety belt and turned to release Doubtful. The dog was trembling and the hair on his neck was standing up.
“Do you whiff it, Doubtful?”
“Yes—strong! What are we going to do?”
The youngest herder sat up with a start, not sure whether he had been dozing and dreaming, or simply imagining things. For a moment it seemed that his star really had a planet, and that he had been given a close look at it. Had he glimpsed people there like himself, and familiar creatures? …
He decided he had only imagined it, but it didn’t matter. He could pretend it was real. It helped to believe there might be another like himself out there … someone with the same thoughts and feelings, perhaps with troubles like his own …
If it were man’s old planet, there might be dangerous creatures on it, things that hated man.
Only, hatred had to have a reason …
2
ENEMY
The first thing to do, Boy Jaim knew instantly, was to get away from this part of the forest, fast. The sled had hardly touched down when he snatched up the towline and leaped from it. Fear, a shattering sort of fear like nothing he’d ever felt before, sent him racing away over the tangle of creepers and fallen leaves, with the white dog scrambling beside him. The air sled, afloat again after being released of their weight, bounced erratically along behind him, scraping against trees and windfalls. It caught finally on a low-hanging limb and jerked him to a stop.
Trembling, he managed to free it, then crouched beside it while he fought down the panic that had seized him. The small dog pressed close for comfort. This, Boy Jaim thought, was like living through one of poor Doubtful’s nightmares.
“Can you still whiff the thing?” he whispered finally.
“Yes,” said Doubtful, pointing with his nose. “It—it’s off in yonder.”
His arm tightened around Doubtful while he studied the surrounding shadows. Somewhere, surely, there must be a sunny glade where the sled’s batteries could recharge. The entire deck and sides were made u
p of solar cells, most of which had been covered far too long by his equipment. But an hour in the sunlight, with everything removed, should bring the power up again. That is, if there was any sunlight to be found.
They were in one of the most tangled areas he had ever seen. Only little speckles of light dappled the gloom, though far off on his right he made out a faint pencil of brightness that might be the sun beating into a glade. But even as he saw it, the brightness vanished and the speckles of light around them faded.
The clouds had come. It chilled him to realize that the sun might not shine again today.
A sudden crashing somewhere in the direction Doubtful had pointed sent a new stab of fright through him. The hackles on Doubtful’s neck rose again. Earlier, when the sled had been working, Boy Jaim hadn’t minded the prospect of meeting the creature. Now, in their helplessness, the very thought that it might discover them was terrifying.
“Let’s get going,” he whispered. “Quiet …”
Stealthily they began creeping away. Where they had once run blindly in panic, they now inched forward, careful of every movement. From high overhead came a faint rushing of wind. The forest darkened and the rushing increased, masking the progress of their footsteps. But the wind and the deepening gloom only added to Boy Jaim’s dread. His eyes roved continually, watching the shadows for a phantom shape that might overwhelm them at any moment.
It was long later when he felt a spattering of cold rain on his shoulders and found they’d reached the first open glade. Hurriedly he drew on his jacket, then glanced upward at the patch of dark gray sky high above. Both wind and rain had eased momentarily, but the heavens seemed ready to explode any second. Thunder rumbled in the distance.
Doubtful, he saw, was standing with hackles raised and teeth bared in defiance—futile defiance of something unseen and unheard, whose exact location could only be guessed. Yet its terrible presence could be felt.
All at once Boy Jaim wondered whether the sled would carry Doubtful and himself if he removed everything on deck. The heaviest part of the load was the bag containing the things he’d found at the Barrens. This part of the forest was strange to him though, and if he left the bag here, how could he ever find it again? The objects were priceless. To lose them was unthinkable.
Then he remembered the smoke signals Andru had insisted he always carry. He’d never had to use any, but one signal would give a steady stream of smoke for a full day—unless it rained.
He was wondering how he could keep one smoking through a storm when L’Mara called him again.
“Boy Jaim—Where are you now?”
“Down in the woods. Where are you?”
“Hunting you in the big sled—and don’t tell me nothing’s wrong, ’cause I know better. How can I find you?”
“Keep away from me!” he ordered in alarm. “It’s not safe here!”
“If you don’t tell me where you are, I’ll keep flying around till I find you—and I’m not going home till I do. So there!”
A sudden violent flash of lightning made him stop arguing with her and begin searching frantically for the box of smoke signals. He found it, tore it open, and hurriedly touched a lighter to one of the sticks. L’Mara had no business flying around in stormy weather, but she was as stubborn as a billy goat and he knew she meant exactly what she’d told him.
As the smoke boiled upward from the glade, he called to her again, then prayed that the rain would hold off until she arrived. The rain came first, and in such a blinding deluge that the signal was immediately extinguished. But L’Mara must have noted its location carefully, for soon the large covered sled appeared overhead and descended cautiously.
He was ready for her, waiting with the precious bag in his hand. The moment the big sled was close enough he heaved the bag over the stern, tossed Doubtful after it, and scrambled aboard with the towline of the small sled.
“Get away from here!” he cried, looping the line over a cleat. “Hurry!”
As they shot upward he crouched in the stern and stared down into the dimness of the glade. There was an instant when something huge seemed to take form at the spot where he had been, but it may have been only an illusion caused by the rain. Or his imagination.
The next moment they were over the forest and swinging in a long curve southward to avoid the storm. He shook the rain from his clothes and crept into the cabin.
L’Mara flashed him a wide-eyed look like a frightened squirrel, and her small mouth trembled with a rush of unspoken questions. He shook his head and wiped moisture from his face with a hand that was far from steady.
“You ought to have better sense than to be out in this kind of weather,” he growled at her, merely to be saying something aloud. “If Andru knew about it—”
“He’s not home,” she snapped. “And anyhow I’m old enough to know what I’m doing. So there!”
“Well, thanks for picking me up. If you hadn’t come when you did … My sled was down, and that thing—”
“What was it down there?” she burst out suddenly. “A—a sort of bear?”
There was no use trying to hide anything from her. Their minds were so closely adjusted that fears as well as thoughts could be communicated, often without their even trying.
“I don’t know,” he muttered, shaking his head. “It had a footprint like a bear, but the print was huge. Doubtful said it had the scent of a bear, only—”
“It was a phantom,” Doubtful mumbled. “I’ve seen things like it in my sleep.”
“Father won’t believe this,” she said presently, after she had heard what had happened. “Why should all the creatures turn against us? It—it’s just plain crazy!”
“I want to talk it over with Emmon,” he told her. “Let’s head straight there.”
Remembering her present, he opened the heavy sack and took out something carefully wrapped in his rain jacket. It was the only ceramic object he had found, and he had wrapped it for protection from the other treasures, all of which were of metal. How it had survived the terrible forces of the remote past was a miracle, for nothing like it had ever been discovered. It represented a small, tan, fluffy-haired creature with erect ears and great wondering green eyes.
L’Mara squealed with quick delight. “Oh! Isn’t it beautiful! What is it?”
Boy Jaim shrugged. “Doubtful says he’s chased something like it in his dreams. Emmon ought to be able to tell us about it. He has all the records on extinct creatures.”
The sky remained overcast, but presently they were out of the storm area and flying over the hills and meadows west of the Five Communities. Usually the meadows were dotted with mixed herds of deer and fleecy-haired goats, but today the deer had vanished. The few goats in sight were huddled in the orchards near the scattered dwellings.
Boy Jaim peered down, wondering at the goats, then forgot them momentarily as the sun broke through the clouds and glinted on a hill far ahead. The entire hill was terraced for orchards and gardens. Through the trees at the top shone the red-tiled roof of an ancient house where the community’s teacher, Emmon the Elder, had been gathering his scraps of wisdom and passing them on again, for longer than anyone could remember.
Most of the neat, whitewashed homes in the Five Communities were strung through the valleys on winding, crisscrossing paths that followed the stone walls. The walls were everywhere. Built to keep out grazing animals, they surrounded the small fields and the lush gardens in which the houses nestled, and wound all the way to the top of old Emmon’s hill.
The Elder’s stepped gardens, tended mainly by his pupils, usually gave forth a pleasant medley of bee drone, birdsong, and splash of water from the many springs. Today no birds were singing, and there was a discordant new sound Boy Jaim had not heard there before. It came from the closed gate near the bottom of the hill—the worried baa-baa-a-ing of goats demanding attention.
After landing on the upper terrace he stood a moment trying to ignore the goats, pretending he could hear only the bees, the
music of the water, and the other little familiar sounds that were part of his happy, peaceful world. He loved it all, and wanted life to go on just as it was. Why couldn’t it?
Then his brown face tightened, and he got his bag and followed L’Mara past the row of moored air sleds to the entrance.
Just inside the doorway he paused uncertainly and set the bag down. He had not expected, this early in the afternoon, to find the place full of Emmon’s pupils. They always made him feel uncomfortable. All of them, small L’Mara included, could assemble a sled unit—a puzzle that still gave him difficulties—or repair the tricky solar machines that relieved everyone from drudgery.
It never occurred to him that he had talents the others did not possess. He stood biting his lip, listening to Emmon’s sharp voice in the big room beyond.
The Elder was a shriveled little gnomelike man, egg bald, white-bearded, and frail as a feather. Even so, he seemed to have boundless energy. “It has happened before,” he was saying, warming to one of his favorite subjects. “And it will happen again. Almost without warning—unless we learn to read the signs. Many things could cause it: a slight wobbling of the planet, a shifting of its core, or even a cloud of cosmic dust. Hal Suppose our sun ran into such a cloud—what would become of us?” He jabbed a finger at a listener. “You tell us, Betta.”
“We—we’d freeze,” said the girl.
“Quickly?”
“Well, it depends. On the size of the cloud, I mean, and how dense it was. If it was a thin cloud, I suppose it would just slowly get colder, and we’d have another ice age. But that wouldn’t be half as bad as what would happen if, well, if the earth’s core shifted.”
“Explain yourself.”
“Well, that would be just awful. I mean, it would start earthquakes and volcanoes, and the earth’s crust would buckle and the oceans would pour over the land. And at the same time there’d be terrible winds that would turn the air over and chill it in space, and the temperature would drop hundreds of degrees in almost no time—”
The Golden Enemy Page 2