There were gasps, followed by a shocked silence. Then Tira’s mother, a thin, quiet woman named Malla, said solemnly, “It has begun.”
“What has begun, Mother?” There was a note of fright in Tira’s voice.
“The Time of Trouble. Everyone knows the prediction.”
Boy Jaim had heard the prediction all his life. Where it had come from he didn’t know, but it was one of those things people always repeated with a laugh because it seemed so silly. It didn’t seem silly now, and the thought of it brought a sudden unpleasant prickling down his spine. Man will be afflicted by hoof and claw, and there will follow a time of trouble …
One of the neighbors grumbled, “Well, we’ve sure had it by hoof and claw. Maybe Malla’s right.”
“Malla’s always right,” Zimah muttered. “I think the Trouble has started.”
Tira’s frightened eyes turned to her father. Suddenly she cried, “Oh, this is a lot of nonsense! Why don’t we forget what’s happened and start planting again? If we hurry, surely there’ll be time to raise another crop. Don’t you think so, Andru?” She glanced at her husband.
“Yes,” said Andru. “But first we’d better do something about that beast. Frankly, I’m flabbergasted by what we’re up against. When Boy Jaim first told me—” He shook his head and went on, “We’ll have to call an immediate meeting of the Council and decide what steps to take.” He looked at Emmon. “Don’t you think so, Elder?”
“That’s the logical thing to do,” old Emmon replied. “But I’m afraid,” he added, spreading his thin hands, “that logic isn’t going to help us now. We cannot change what will be. It is in the stars.”
Startled, Boy Jaim looked at him curiously. He heard his uncle say almost angrily, “Don’t tell me, Elder, that you believe in that foolish prediction!”
“I’m not thinking of the prediction,” old Emmon said mildly. “It’s the stars I’m concerned about. I studied them last night, and I don’t like what they tell me. We are in for trouble.”
“What kind of trouble, Elder?”
“I don’t know yet, Andru. But my advice is not to attempt a second planting this year. The seed will be wasted. If the goats damage some of the more important fields in the other communities, we cannot afford to waste a single handful of seed.”
“But skies above,” Andru protested, “we’ve plenty of dried stuff put away for emergencies. In a pinch we could use some of that for seed. To hear you talk, we’re in for a famine!”
“We may be, Andru. All I know is that the planets and the stars are in positions they haven’t been in for a millennium. Certain delicate balances are in danger of being upset. Almost anything can happen.”
“After a goat invasion,” Andru growled, “I’d say it’s already happened. If we don’t get rid of the devilish beast that’s driving them, we’ll have goats breaking into our houses next.” He stood up grimly and added, “I’m going to call an immediate meeting of the Council.”
Boy Jaim watched him stride into an alcove and begin stabbing at the buttons of a radiophone on the desk. A certain combination of buttons could send a signal to any other phone in the Five Communities, or alert all the phones at the same time. Andru said into the transmitter, “This is Councilman Andru of West Com making an emergency call. Please notify all Elders and Councilmen that an immediate meeting of the Council is requested. I repeat: This is Councilman Andru making an emergency call …”
Boy Jaim contrived to go with Emmon when they flew to the Council Hall at Central.
“Please don’t fly straight there,” he said. “Let’s swing around over South Com and see if the goats have broken through the walls. We’ve time enough.”
“Well …” Reluctantly the Elder turned southward. He muttered, “I think it’s the bear you’re concerned about, far more than the goats.”
“Uh—yes, sir.”
“You don’t want him killed.”
Boy Jaim burst out, “Do you think it’s right to kill him before we find out what’s wrong?”
“Certainly not. It’s bad for man to kill. Very bad. But my personal feelings hardly matter. There are ten Elders, and twenty-five Councilmen. If all the Councilmen vote to kill the beast—and I’m sure they will—it will take all the Elders to turn them down. You know that will never happen.”
“But—but couldn’t you sort of delay things? I mean, if I just had time to talk to him, maybe—”
“Ha! Do you really believe you can talk to the creature?”
“I—I think so. Anyway, I can try.”
“That might be very dangerous, my boy. If the Golden One will kill goats, he probably will kill man if he has the chance. I’ve already warned everyone not to go walking far abroad until something is done. Great stars, do you realize the position we’re all in? A strange and vicious animal, a killer, has appeared suddenly in our land. He threatens our very existence—and we don’t even possess a weapon we can use to defend ourselves. We’ll have to hurry and make something!”
Boy Jaim hadn’t considered this side of it. Now, with a shock, he realized the Elder was right. The peace between man and beast had been in effect so long that it had hardly seemed possible the Five Communities could be in actual danger. But of course they were.
As for weapons …
It was a little hard to think about weapons, for people hadn’t needed such things for ages. The ancients in the day of the wheel had used something called a gun, but he wasn’t sure how it worked. The only gun he’d ever seen was an odd-looking relic in the museum at Central, so eaten with rust that only pieces of it remained. Andru had once said it was a laser, and that to make one like it would be a simple matter. Maybe so. But Andru often spent weeks making some complicated thing he called simple.
On the other hand lots of people, including L’Mara and himself, went in for archery. His West Com team, in fact, had beaten all the others. Target arrows wouldn’t have much effect against a creature like the Golden One, but they’d be better than nothing in an emergency. It occurred to him that a sharp metal-tipped arrow, coated with poison, might be the easiest way to destroy the bear. It was a horrible thought, and instantly he blanked it from his mind for fear someone might pick it up.
“I’ve about decided,” old Emmon was saying, “that the beast is demented. Has that occurred to you, Boy Jaim?”
“Why—why no, sir. It could be sort of crazy, but somehow I don’t believe it is.”
“Then why is it driving the goats? Why is it trying to plague us? What has it got against us? Hal I say the beast has a devilish bee in its bonnet—and that amounts to dementia.”
“Well, it’s sure got something in its bonnet,” Boy Jaim admitted. “But it can’t be really crazy, or the other animals wouldn’t have listened to it. I mean, it took an awful lot of brains—or some sort of mental power—to turn everything against us.”
“Everything? Even the birds?”
“I haven’t seen a bird since I came home yesterday. Have you?”
Emmon tugged at his beard and peered out over the pastures sliding by beneath them. “H’mm. Come to think of it, I haven’t even heard a cricket chirp lately. I don’t like it.”
Boy Jaim swallowed. “Don’t you see? That’s why I’ve just got to try to talk to it and find out what’s wrong. If you vote to kill it, what’s going to happen to all the other creatures? Will the birds come back? Will the animals ever be friendly again? I’ll bet they won’t!” It was an intolerable thought, and it made him a little ill.
They were approaching the first walled lanes of South Com now, and beyond the lush gardens that circled the houses they could glimpse the ripening fields that filled the lower valley. So far they had sighted no goats, not even a stray. But as they swung around the base of a hill, Emmon suddenly gasped, and Boy Jaim saw a great mass of goats breaking from the cover of the woods high up on the right. They plunged down the slope in a solid tide upon the nearest field. The outer wall of the field had a recent break in it that had not
yet been repaired. The goats were being driven straight for the weak point.
“The cunning beast!” Emmon exclaimed. “He herded those goats around out of sight, then turned them at just the right place. Nothing can stop them now. My warning didn’t do any good.”
Boy Jaim could hear startled shouts and see people running in the distance. But they were too late to stem the tide. The field was already being overrun, and some of the frightened goats were even crashing through the gates into the adjoining fields. In a short time all of South Com would be trampled as badly as West Com.
The Elder shook his head and swung the air sled around. “There isn’t a thing that can be done to help them. We’d better go. I can’t be late to the meeting.”
“Wait!” Boy Jaim begged. “The bear must be close. I’ll bet he’s right up there on the hill somewhere, watching the whole thing. Let’s see if we can locate him.”
“There isn’t time. We ought to be at the Council Hall now.”
“But it’ll hardly take a minute. I know that hill. There’s a spot up there beside a big oak where you can see the whole valley. I’m sure he’s there! No one’s had even a glimpse of him yet, and this is our chance!”
Emmon frowned, then shrugged. “Oh, very well. Perhaps it would be wise. Seeing him might give us a better understanding of what we’re up against.”
Evening had come again, and the youngest herder climbed the slope to where the oldest herder stood waiting.
To his question, the oldest herder shook his head. “No, I haven’t heard a word. Somehow I believe the beast has fooled the hunters. It’s probably escaped.”
“You want it to escape!” the youngest herder accused, suddenly seeing a truth he had not realized before.
“Maybe I do, son. There are so few creatures like it left. Don’t you think it has a right to live?”
“Of course not! It’s a killer! It—”
“I know. But what made it that way? We’ve been on this planet some time, and we’ve done a lot of killing ourselves. Who gave us that right?”
4
VERDICT
The Elder swung the covered sled around in a wide circle to the other side of the hill. Carefully, at treetop level, they approached the open area at the top. Finally, Boy Jaim pointed to an ancient tree growing amid a jumble of boulders. “That’s the place,” he whispered, trying to see into the sun-dappled shade beyond the rocks. “He ought to be there somewhere …”
“I can’t make out anything,” Emmon muttered. “We’ll have to get closer.”
Something warned Boy Jaim that they were close enough already. He tried to tell Emmon to turn aside, but his tongue seemed momentarily paralyzed.
He had entirely forgotten Doubtful, who had followed him aboard and had curled up to sleep in the back of the cabin. Now suddenly the small white dog leaped forward, bristling and barking. Doubtful’s sharp bark, seldom used except in an emergency, jerked Boy Jaim out of his trance. On the instant his vision seemed to clear. Instead of the uncertain pattern of bright sunlight on rocks, he saw the incredible shape of the bear.
Its shadowed outline blended with the rocks, and it was so huge that his eyes had simply been unable to accept it at first. There was a long second when time seemed to stand still while he stared at it, an endless instant when he became aware of a hundred things about it that he would never forget. There was its size, so much greater than he’d dreamed. Then its color where the sun touched it—the exact gleaming gold of Tira’s hair. There was the immediate feeling of coiled grace ready to explode into movement, which other bears didn’t have. And most startling of all, there were its eyes—which were looking directly into his own. Black eyes, cold and knowing. Intelligent eyes …
Come closer, the eyes seemed to be urging him. Closer …
Doubtful’s sharp bark came again, and in a flash Boy Jaim reached for the control lever, where old Emmon’s hand seemed to be frozen. As the air sled bobbed upward, the coiled grace of the Golden One exploded into motion. Had the bear’s leap come a fraction of a second sooner, the sled would have been smashed to bits. As it was, one mighty sweeping paw barely touched a corner of it, but it was enough to send the sled spinning like a leaf in a whirlwind.
When the shocked Elder was able to stop the spinning and gain control, Boy Jaim looked back wonderingly at the great bear. It had moved into the open and now stood calmly watching them as if nothing had happened.
“Why do you treat us this way?” he called to it. “We came in peace! What have you got against us?”
That the Golden One understood him, Boy Jaim was certain. But he might have been speaking to the rocks. The only response was a look of contempt that seemed to include all the race of man and his works.
“It’s no use,” Emmon muttered. “I’ve seen enough! The Council must be told of this.” He brought the sled about and headed swiftly for Central. Nervously he mopped his face with a crumpled handkerchief, then added, “Heaven preserve us from such a monster! Did you notice its eyes?”
Boy Jaim moistened dry lips. “I sure did.”
“Hypnotic!” the Elder squeaked. “Positively hypnotic! I knew something was wrong before I saw it, but I couldn’t move my hand. If Doubtful hadn’t barked—”
Doubtful admitted that he’d whiffed it in his sleep, and had nearly jumped out of his skin. Then he added plaintively, “I wish we could go somewhere and forget it.”
Boy Jaim was beginning to wish the same thing. He put his arm around the dog and heard old Emmon say, “Mutant! That’s what it is—an impossible mutant! And it’s intelligent. That makes it a terrible danger. I don’t know why we have to be afflicted with it at a time like this, when the very stars are threatening …”
“I—I suppose you’ll have to vote to destroy it.”
“Certainly! How else could I vote? Skies above, it must be done away with, and as quickly as possible. But without weapons I don’t know how it can be done—unless we use poison. Ah, poison on arrows. Of course. It’s a most horrible solution, but it has to be.”
Boy Jaim closed his eyes and put his hands over his face.
Central, midway between the other communities, was the only area that might properly be called a town. Though few people lived there, it had theaters and club buildings where everyone met on occasion. Near these were storehouses to which everyone contributed, and other structures housing machinery and equipment where everyone took his turn to help produce what was needed. In the middle, surrounded by a park, was the circular Council Hall.
Usually, when the Council met, the Hall would be jammed with spectators. Today only a small audience ringed the circle of Councilmen in the center, for nearly everyone who was not recovering from a goat invasion was either fighting one or getting ready for one. The meeting had already started when Boy Jaim followed Emmon down the aisle. As was the custom, Andru, who had called the session, was acting as spokesman.
Boy Jaim saw L’Mara sitting alone behind her mother and her grandmother. Beyond her were a group of the older students from Emmon’s class. They had watched Boy Jaim come in with the Elder, and now they all looked at him expectantly as he sat down near L’Mara. She barely glanced at him, but instantly her silent questions began beating into his mind.
“Are the goats in South Com? What’s happened? Did you see the bear?”
“The goats are wrecking South Com,” he told her. “And I saw the bear.” He visualized his meeting with it, and heard her gasp as she saw it through his mind.
Down in the circle of Councilmen and Elders, Andru deferred to Emmon, who described the bear and told of his experience with it. There were exclamations of astonishment and sudden questions. Then Andru took the floor again and said, “We’ve no time to waste. I realize many of you will find it difficult to vote for the death of a fellow creature—but this beast is obviously a mutant, and he’s extremely dangerous. Not only is he about to destroy all our crops, but he may bring death to many of us unless we act immediately.”
There was a sudden hush when Andru finally asked for the vote. The moment was historic. Man had long ago ceased the taking of life. Life was sacred, and to destroy it for any reason—people felt—would be an act of barbarism.
Some of the more sensitive Councilmen, stricken by conscience, refused to vote. But one by one, the majority of them rose and gave their consent to Andru’s plea, and the Elders approved. The Golden One must die.
Boy Jaim had expected this all along. But now in the silence following the death sentence he felt a sudden tightening all through him. He heard Andru say tersely, “Now we must decide how the beast can be destroyed. Has anyone a suggestion?”
Before Emmon could rise and say anything, Boy Jaim had crept from his seat. He gained the aisle and sped in mounting horror for the exit. Outside he began to run. He did not have a sled to flee in, but it hardly mattered so long as he put distance between himself and the Council floor. Doubtful followed, unnoticed.
Behind him a startled L’Mara called silently, “What’s wrong? Why are you leaving?”
“Listen to Emmon,” he flung back. “You’ll know in a minute.”
He crossed the park and began trotting down the first path he saw that led out of Central. Bitterly he wondered why he had ever taken up the sport of archery. Then he realized it was because he’d never been smart in most of his studies, like the other kids. But he could beat them all with a bow. It was one of the few things that, like talking to animals or finding his way in the forest, he could do better than anyone in the Five Communities.
He expected L’Mara to call him again before he’d gone very far, and she did.
“Boy Jaim! Did you know they were going to use poisoned arrows on the bear?”
“That’s a silly question! Why do you think I left?”
“You needn’t be nasty!”
“I can’t help it. How would you feel if you were in my place?”
The Golden Enemy Page 4