His hand felt for his farseer, but of course it was not there. The orders that he should not be stripped had protected it, but he had taken it off when he slept, the first night, thrusting it into a niche in the wall when he hoped that Tig was not awake to see. It had remained there, so far as he knew.
So far as he knew! For if Tig knew, if Tig had revealed it, if any of them had figured out how to work it, then Lomar and Norna were in worse plight than they had thought. So, slowly, he told her. She sighed.
“Let’s hopes they hasn’t got it, or the use of it. But we can’t chance it. We must keeps to the woods, much as we can, even though — ” her voice faltered, and, for the first time, he saw something … fear? … not quite … despair? … not yet…. Dismay.
“Norna? ‘Even though — ’? Tell me.”
She looked directly into his eyes, and said, “Even though it takes us into Rorkland.”
An involuntary, startled “Oh!” escaped him. He said to himself that it was the cold which made him shudder. He repeated to himself that the old records must be considered more reputable and authentic than latter-day legends, present Station personnel being too indifferent and both Wild Tocks and Tame too ignorant to be believed. And yet, once again, without his willing it, up from the depths of his mind and soul, came that “Oh!” bursting from his stiffened lips.
And again, he shuddered.
Norna said, “It’s luck that Cold Time’s here. The rorks will be changing their skins.”
“Yes, I know,” he muttered, swinging his arms to keep warm. It was luck. All agreed that in Cold Time the rork were sluggish, not dangerous…. Or, at any rate, not so dangerous. Didn’t even the Tame Tocks, whose corrupted vocabulary scarcely included the word or concept of “Courage” — didn’t even they venture into Rorkland during Cold Time? Yes, they did. Of course they did.
But they did so in full force, often accompanied by armed Station personnel. They did not do so alone, or au pair, and with no defenses save their own hands and feet and native wit. No….
It was useless for him to pretend that he was unafraid. The rorks were too different, vastly much too different, and the encouraging reports too long ago and the terrifying ones too recent, for him not to fear. Better the devil one knew. He turned to her, to tell her that it was best that they return. And she, still looking directly at him, said, “I won’t be too afraid, because you be with me.”
His open mouth closed upon his counsel of retreat. ‘Tan Carlo Harb, for whatsoever reasons (and Lomar knew that the reasons would be neither all good nor all bad), would certainly give something to effect his man’s release, not the things that Flinders wanted, of course, but enough, disguised as “presents for assistance” or some such face-saving device. And Flinders, faced with take-it-or-leave-it, and a boatload of … what? … sulphur, some sulphur could certainly be spared, coarser food (it would be delicate to Flinders), enough scrap metal for a few pair of matchlocks, and clothes worn slightly enough to be allowed him instead of a favored Tame Tock servant, but so slightly that he’d never know the difference … what else? … outmoded furniture, perhaps … Flinders would settle for that, and return Ran Lomar (Three, but with an assimilated rating of seven) with his head and testicles intact. He would hardly dare do otherwise. Yet.
But what about Norna? The SO’s tastes were not inclined towards women. They count her as a Tock, damn them, her father — now stiff and cold in the Mister Flinders’ powder shed — had said. Not even as a half-breed. New blood or not, no, Harb would give nothing at all for her. Certainly not if he heard (as he must) that the Mister Mallardy’s heir-son was willing to ransom her. If he was.
“You don’t fancy Jun, do you?” Lomar asked.
Her face sickened a bit. Perhaps she had followed his train of thought. “He’s always being after me,” she said, low-voiced. “While my old dad was there, I could says No. But he’s be glad to ransom me. And if he pays, he takes me.” She added no further word of elaboration, but her face told her feelings, clear enough.
“Well, he won’t,” said Ran. He took her cold, cold hands in his. “We’ll skirt through Rorkland till we can cut back into friendly soil again. Come on.” She didn’t move. “Come on,” he repeated, giving her arm a tug, “let’s get going.”
He turned once to peer through the covering trees. Had they been discovered? or their location even suspected?
But the last of the double-file of tiny figures was toiling over the crest of the distant ridge, heading away from them. Pursuit seemed lost, for now.
• • •
It did not remain lost forever. Late that afternoon, climbing a wooded hill, he yielded to an impulse several minutes in the growing, and shinned up the mossy sides of a slant tree. Norna said that a hollow place between the ground and the massy roots, made large by the tree’s gradual lean towards one side, would be of good use for a small, smokeless fire of feen-wood. But a sudden hiss from above put an end to her preparations, and brought her quickly up the tree to just below him. He pointed.
At first she could see nothing; then, following his hand, afar off she saw a black dot passing across a clearing in the distance. His hand moved, pointed, moved, pointed, moved …
… pointed. And every place where the index finger indicated showed another black dot. Moving forward steadily, in a thin and drawn-out line. It could only be men. And the men could only be seeking … them.
Down on the ground again, they allowed themselves the small, brief comfort of warming their hands on the tiny and just lighted fire. Then they kicked snow over it, and were off. The pursuers were moving at a diagonal. It was not possible to say just how long the line was, the background landscape was too broken and in places too wooded to allow for that. Nor could they calculate either how many people were following, and extrapolate from that. It could only be certain that more than armed men were involved, for neither Flinders nor Haggar, nor Flinders and Haggar, had enough pike or ‘lockmen to account for even the number they had seen.
All that Ran and Norna knew was enough to tell them that if they intended to make as certain as they could of not meeting those who were scouting the snows in that diagonal line which moved athwart their intended path, it was impossible merely to “skirt through Rorkland.” They would have to thrust more deeply into that forbidden region. To go directly ahead was no less impossible than to go directly behind. They would have to move at a diagonal of their own, so plotted, and at such a speed that they would not only not be overtaken but would eventually be able to make an angle and turn the flank of the pursuers’ line. Possibly the purpose of the diagonal was for that line to move in a full circle, like the hand of a clock, and scan every rood and plot within the great circle.
And whether within that circle they found the fugi tives or not, given sufficient time, there they must surely find their spoor.
Ran and Norna faced each other, clasped hands for a moment, and then turned and fled down the long slope of the hill.
Fortunately, Pia Sol had come out from the concealing clouds long enough for them to make a more accurate picture of their location, approximate though it could only be; and hence they were fairly sure of their direction.
All that long afternoon they went on without stopping, and it was when Ran was about to confess his inability to proceed, that she pointed out to him the landmark which was Tiggy’s Hill. No boundary commission had ever demarcated where Wild Tockland left off and South Rorkland began. But Tiggy’s Hill, with its unmistakable double peak and wide col, was without doubt part of the latter. Thoughts of danger, however, were not in his mind. Indeed, it was not his mind at all, but his cold and aching body which now answered her.
“I can’t make it …”
“You gots to!” In her urgency and distress she fell into the deeper Wild Tock dialect which the constant example of her father’s speech had previously kept her from when talking to Lomar. “Ranny! We gots to makes Tiggy’s Hill before it darks! There be’s sorts of houses there, to k
eep the snows and winds and the freezy mists off us. If we doesn’t gets there, we s’ll die before morning. Ranny!”
She pulled one of his arms around her, and led him off. At a walk, at a stumbling trot, at a plodding gait, they went on. He protested and almost wept when she insisted that they round the foot of the hill and ascend by the farther side to prevent being seen against its often treeless slopes, but she kept them going. By coaxing, by cajolery, by singing songs, by threats, by all of a score of different means, she kept them going. Nor did she forget to change sides at frequent intervals, so that each could thrust a right hand and then a left inside their own clothing to warm it and keep it from frostbite.
Insensibly, it darkened. He lost track of everything except a need to pick a foot up, move it, put it down, pick up the other one, put it down. His face was not quite yet so numb that he did not feel the sting of the snow and rain which, alternately, beat upon it. He heard a voice — somewhere — close — croaking, “Let me alone … alone …” And finally she did. His arm, released, fell heavily, and he fell with it.
Sprawling, he was long in realizing that the ground beneath was dry, that the whip and lash of rain and snow had ceased. Now he observed the sudden flicker of a fire, and all his flesh began to sting. They had made the sanctuary of Tiggy’s Hill, and were, for at least the moment, safe in the rough shelter of the redwing gatherers.
“It’s luck there’s wood,” she said, as much to herself as to him. He couldn’t hear her next words although her lips moved, and then, recalling her father’s grace at meals, realized that she was not speaking to him.
When she had stopped and was feeding another piece of wood to the small fire, he asked, “Isn’t this place used?”
She shrugged. “If nobody was here when we came, nobody’s likely to come before we go … if we doesn’t stay too long.”
Presently they were warmed enough to eat the last of their little store of food, and then, to sleep. He did not know what the time might be when he awoke, stiff, aching, a sharp raw pain somewhere inside of him between his back and his lungs. A dull grey light came in through the doorless opening at the other end of the shelter, and he saw Norna scratching in the dirt with a stick.
“I’m not much use to you,” he said, after a moment She looked up, surprised. There was a streak of char on one side of her face, from brashing her hair back. “I’d be afraid … alone,” she said. Then — “Look.” He sat, cross-legged, beside her, and watched as she explained her drawings. If they were to head back south, almost all of this area — she covered it with her palm — was certain to be unsafe. As for the rest —
“As for the rest?” he prompted her, when she fell silent.
Her explanation silenced him, as well. She was no longer certain that, her father dead, any part of Wild Tockland was now safe for her. She could not really be sure that Flinders would not have corrupted the other Misters with offers of a share in Lomar’s ransom, with talk of unity against the interloping Guild.
“But … wouldn’t you be safe at least in Mallardy’s Camp? Your own camp?”
“Least safe, there. You know … Jun …”
He did not know Jun well, but he knew Jun well enough. And the sick look once again on her face as she mentioned his name decided him. He looked at the crude map scratched into the earthen floor.
“Could we live off the land — find enough to eat — if we cut north and try to make it to the Guild Station?”
She said, “We maybe could.”
“And get through before Cold Time is over and the rorks really begin to stir?”
She said, “We maybe could.”
He scrambled to his feet. “Then let’s get going.”
She took an ember from the fire and cased it and wrapped it and kicked dirt over what was left. “I’m ready,” she said. They went down, as they had come up, the far side of the hill. Nothing moved as far as eye could reach, not even a daybat fluttered against the leaden sky. All seemed cold. All seemed dead. Far behind them, against a snow-free black bill, lay a patch of something thin and white. It might have been smoke. It might have been mist.
“Well, Ranny,” he said aloud, but to himself, “you wanted to explore the continent. And now you’re damned well going to.”
They moved north, into the dread heart of Rorkland.
• • •
Sometimes their drink was snow, sometimes when it melted they stooped and drank from the puddles, sometimes they had to break a film of ice and suck the shattered shards. Now and then they were able to bring down small game with rocks. Occasionally a rip was seen slinking away, but offered no menace beyond the mere unease caused by its presence. Certain places Norna led him around rather than across, indicating by finger on lips and waggling hand that it was the sort of place rorks preferred to nest in. Here and there they found a tree around whose base a few withered fruits still lay, their usually astringent flesh nipped by the frost into edibility. For the first time in his life Lomar became familiar with hunger. He remembered, ruefully, the comment of Old Guns that this was the constant condition of many of the Wild Tocks.
Periodically he and Norna scouted the landscape (the brown of withered redwing the predominant color motif now) for signs of pursuit. They saw no files of men, no mists that they were not sure were mists.
They had been awhile on their way, guiding themselves by the infrequent sun alone, when they began to feel that they were being followed. Or, perhaps, not so much followed, as observed. They heard an occasional faint noise when there was no wind, no sign of any animal. Now and then they saw something flicker out of the comer of an eye. These things did not happen often. But they continued to happen. And once he chanced to turn quickly around, prompted by nothing he was able to name, to see something vanish in that instant over the crest of a not too distant hill. Something too large for any animal they knew of … something too small for a rork.
“What do you think, Norna?” he asked. “Any of Flinders’ men?”
She was emphatic that it was not. Flinders or any of his had no notion of subtlety. They would have been set upon long before this. No … not Flinders. Not any of the Wild Tocks. Had she any idea at all what it might be? No. She had none. They concluded that whatever it was — assuming there to be an actual It and not a mere series of naturally explainable and insignificant coincidences magnified by their nerves and imaginations — it was not dangerous; had it been capable of harming them, it would already have done so.
That night they slept in a cave on a downward slope of land. He was awakened by an internal pressure, and made his way silently past her sleeping form to the mouth of the cavern. His astonished and marvelling cry brought her to his side in a second.
“The city!” she cried. “The city of the rorks!”
Far, far ahead and far, far below, near the horizon, it lay, shimmering and flickering with constant light, myriads of lights in an infinite variety of colors, spread out for a great space. It could not be an aurora, could not appear toward the center of the landmass and not at either extremity of it; an aurora capped and cloaked the sky, it did not appear as points of light upon the ground. The appearance utterly baffled him, he did not know what to say.
Norna did, though, or thought she did. There was no doubt in her mind, only dismay. This was certainly the city of the rorks. They would have to go very far from the direct route which they intended in order to avoid it. But he would not agree.
“Whatever it is,” he said, “it can’t have anything to do with rorks. Did anyone ever see rorks there? Did anyone ever see anything at all there in the daytime? No. There, you see … And even if it should have something to do with them, there is no reason to think that they are more dangerous there — at this time — than anywhere else. We don’t dare, I think, go that far out of our way to avoid it. We cannot spare the time. We don’t dare get caught here when the winter ends.”
Reluctantly, she conceded his point. But … she wanted to know … if the lights did not in
dicate a habitation of rorks … what then?
He could only theorize. Perhaps, anciently, before the arrival of man on the planet, there had been a settlement by another race. Perhaps — presumably — this race had died off or simply moved elsewhere. It was hardly likely that if any members of it remained that nothing should have been seen, heard, or otherwise known of them all these centuries. He theorized that the lights, powered by an unknown source, continued to burn eternally; “eternally” in comparative terms, for even the once eternal pyramids, undermined by the irrigation of the Egyptian desert, had eventually crumbled into rubble. But Norna, who had never heard of Egypt or of pyramids, shook her head in incomprehension. The only argument that weighed at all with her was that the rorks were likely to be as sluggish among the lights as those anywhere else.
While Cold Time lasted.
• • •
The so-called Plain of Lights was dull and blear enough in the daytime, stretching flatly on ahead. There was no sign of a city, and indeed it differed, aside from its flatness, from the rest of the country they had passed through, chiefly in the type of vegetation. Vaguely, the plant forms reminded him of those still surviving in the World Park at what was once called the Mountains of the Moon in Africa, on Old Earth. Predominating over every other kind of flora were fleshy stalks, leafless, branchless, bearing only. … He hesitated how to describe them. Bulbs? Nodes? Cones? They still had some food with them, but it was not much.
Gingerly, he tore off one of the protuberances and touched it to his tongue. It tasted faintly bitter, and he threw it away. Later, perhaps, if their food gave out and could not be replenished, if starvation menaced them directly, they might be obliged to risk poisoning or illness: try the strange fruit (if fruit it was) raw or baked…. But not now and not yet.
As the day went on with no sign of any city, no sign of any landmark, no sign of either observation or pursuit, senses dulled by the monotony of the landscape, they began to walk more slowly. And, finally, by mutual consent some while yet before sunset, they curled up and went to sleep, Ran’s stolen pelt beneath them, Norna’s over them.
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