The World of Tiers, Volume 2

by Philip José Farmer

  No, they wouldn’t. It was doubtful that her uncle would remember just what their nature was. He might think that she had taken refuge in them. So, the two would have to separate to make sure. McKay would go along one side and Urthona on the other. They’d look down the rows to make sure she wasn’t there, and then would meet at the rear.

  By then, keeping the trees between her and the others, moving in a straight line toward the mountain from the plants, she’d be out of their sight for a while. And they would lose more ground.

  She turned and headed toward her goal.

  But she slowed. A half a mile away, coming toward her, was a pack of baboons. There were twenty, the males acting as outriders, the females in the middle, some with babies clinging to their backs. Was she their prey? Or had they been attracted by the roaring of the lion and were racing to the kill?

  She shifted the Horn to her left hand and pulled the axe from her belt. Her path and theirs would intersect if she kept on going. She stopped and waited. They continued on in the same direction, silently, their broad, short-digited paws striking the ground in unison as if they were trained soldiers on the march. Their long legs moved them swiftly, though they could not match the hoofed plains beasts for speed. They would pick out their prey, a young calf or an injured adult. They would spread out and form a circle. The leader would rush at the quarry, and the frenzied bounding and barking of the others would stampede the herd. The pack would dart in and out of the running leaping antelopes, under their very hooves, often forced to jump sideways to avoid being trampled. But their general direction was toward their intended kill, and the circle would draw tighter. Suddenly, the running calf or limping adult would find itself surrounded. Several of the heavy powerful male simians would leap upon it and bring it to the ground. The others, excepting the mothers carrying infants, would close in.

  When within twenty feet of her, the leader barked, and the pack slowed down. Had their chief decided that she would be less trouble than running off two hungry lions?

  No. They were still moving, heading toward the corner of the square formed by the marching plants.

  She waited until the last of the pack was gone by, then resumed trotting.

  There was a sudden commotion behind her. She slowed again and turned to one side so she could see what was going on. She didn’t like what she saw. Urthona and McKay had burst out of the woods. They’d not circled the plants, as she’d expected, but had instead gone in a straight line through them. So, Urthona had remembered that these were no danger to human beings. Hoping to catch her by surprise, they’d probably run at top speed.

  They’d succeeded. However, they were themselves surprised. They’d come out of the trees and run headlong into the baboons. The chief simian was hurling himself toward Urthona, and three big males were loping toward McKay.

  Her uncle had no choice but to use his beamer. Its ray sliced the leader from top to bottom. The two halves, smoking, skidded to a halt several feet from him. If he’d been just a little slower reacting, he’d have found the baboon’s teeth in his throat.

  Too bad, thought Anana.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Now her uncle was being forced to discharge even more of the precious energy. McKay would be downed within a few seconds. The black was crouched, ready to fight, but he was also screaming at Urthona to shoot. Her uncle hesitated a second or two—he hated to use the beamer because he was saving its charges for his niece—but he did not want to be left alone to continue the chase. Three males tumbled over and over until they came to rest—or their halves did—just at McKay’s feet. Under his dark pigment, McKay was gray.

  The other baboons halted and began jumping up and down and screaming. They were angry and frustrated, but they wouldn’t attack any more.

  She turned and began running again. A few minutes later, she looked back. Her pursuers were moving toward her slowly. They didn’t dare run with their backs to the simians. These were following them at a respectable distance, waiting for a chance to rush them. Urthona was shouting and waving the beamer at them, hoping to scare them off. Every few seconds, he would stop and turn to face them. The baboons would withdraw, snarling, barking, but they wouldn’t stop trailing them.

  Anana grinned. She would get a big lead on the two men.

  When she reached the foot of the mountain, which rose abruptly from the plain, she stopped to rest. By then the baboons had given up. Another one of the pack lay dead, and this loss had made up their minds for them. Now some were gathered around the latest casualty and tearing him apart. The others were racing to see who could get to the remaining carcasses first. A half a mile away, a giant scimitar-beaked “moa” was speeding toward the commotion. Above were vultures also hoping to get a share of the meat.

  The slope here was a little more than a forty-five degree angle to the horizontal. Here and there were swellings, like great gas bubbles pushing out the surface of the peak. She began climbing, leaning forward slightly. There were no trees or bushes for her to hide among. She’d have to keep going until she got to the top. From there she might be able to spot some kind of cover. It was doubtful that she would. But if she went down the other side swiftly enough, she might be able to get around the base of another mountain. And then her chasers wouldn’t know where she was.

  The peak was perhaps a thousand and a half feet above the plain. By the time she got there, she was breathing very heavily. Her legs felt as if they were thickly coated with cement. She was shaking with fatigue; her lungs seemed to burn. The two men would be in the same, if not worse, condition.

  When she’d started ascending, the top of the peak had been as sharply pointed as the tip of an ice cream cone. Now it had slumped and become a plateau about sixty feet in diameter. The ground felt hot, indicating an increase in rate of shape-mutation.

  Urthona and McKay were almost a quarter of the way up the slope. They were sitting down, facing away from her. Just above them the surface was swelling so rapidly that they would soon be hidden from her sight. If the protuberance spread out, they’d have to go around it. Which meant they’d be slowed down even more.

  Her view of the plain was considerably broader now. She looked along the channel, hoping to see a tiny figure that would be Kickaha. There was none.

  Even from her height, she could not see the end of the channel. About twenty miles beyond the point at which she’d left it, young mountains had grown to cut off her view. There was no telling how far the channel extended.

  Where was Red Orc? In all the excitement, she had forgotten about him.

  Wherever he was, he wasn’t visible to her.

  She scanned the area beyond her perch. There were mountains beyond mountains. But between them were, as of now, passes, and here and there were ridges connecting them. On one of the ridges was a band of green contrasting with the rusty grass. It moved slowly, an army of migrating trees. It looked as if it were five miles away.

  Scattered along the slopes and in the valleys were dark splotches, herds of antelopes and other large herbivores. Though basically plains creatures, they adapted readily to the mountains. They could climb like goats when the occasion demanded.

  Having attained the top, should she wait a while and see what her pursuers would do? They might think she’d try to double back on them, come down one side of the mountain, around the corner where they couldn’t see her. That wasn’t a bad idea.

  If the two should split up, each going around the mountain to meet in the middle, then she’d just go straight back down as soon as they got out of sight.

  However, if they didn’t take action soon, she’d have to do so. The plateau was growing outward and downward. Sinking rather. If she stayed here, she might find herself on the plain again.

  No. that process would take at least a day. Perhaps two. And her uncle and his thug would be doing something in the meantime.

  She began to get hungry and thirsty. When she’d started for the mountain, she’d hoped to find water on its other side
. From what she could see, she was going to stay thirsty unless she went back to the channel. Or unless those wisps of clouds became thick black rainclouds.

  She waited and watched. The edge of the plateau on which she sat slowly extended outwards. Finally, she knew she had to get off of it. In an hour or so it would begin crumbling along its rim. The apex of the cone was becoming a pancake. She’d have a hard time getting off it without being precipitated down the slope with a piece of it.

  There was an advantage. The two men below would have to dodge falling masses. There might be so many they’d be forced to retreat to the plain. They might even be struck by a hurtling bounding clump.

  She went to the other side—the diameter of the circle was now a hundred feet. After dropping the Horn and the axe, she let herself down cautiously. Her feet dangled for a moment, and she let loose. That was the only way to get down, even though she had to fall thirty feet. She struck the slope, which was still at a forty-five-degree angle, and slid down for a long way. The grass burned her hands as she grabbed handholds; the friction against the seat of her pants and the legs didn’t make the cloth smoke. But she was sure that if she hadn’t succeeded in stopping when she did, the fabric would have been hot enough to burst into flames. At least, she felt that it would.

  After retrieving the Horn and axe, she walked down the slope, leaning back now. Occasionally her shoes would slip on the grass, and she’d sit down hard and slide for a few feet before she was able to brake to a stop. Once a mass of the dark greasy earth, grass blades sticking from it, thumped by her. If it had hit her, it would have crushed her.

  Near the bottom she had to hurry up her descent. More great masses were rolling down the slope. One missed her only because it struck a swelling and leaped into the air over her head.

  Reaching the base, she ran across the valley until she was sure she was beyond the place where the masses would roll. By then “night” had come. She was so thirsty she thought she’d die if she didn’t get water in the next half hour. She was also very tired.

  There was nothing else to do but to turn back. She had to have water. Fortunately, in this light, she couldn’t be seen by anybody a thousand feet from her. Maybe five hundred. So she could sneak back to the channel without being detected. It was true that the two men might have figured out she’d try it and be waiting on the other side of the mountain. But she’d force herself to take an indirect route to the channel.

  She headed along the valley, skirting the foot of the mountain beyond that which she’d climbed. There were house-sized masses here also, these having fallen off the second mountain, too. Passing one, she scared something out which had been hiding under an overhang. She shrieked. Then, in swift reaction, she snatched out her axe and threw it at the long low scuttler.

  The axehead struck it, rolling it over and over. It got to its short bowed legs, and, hissing, ran off. The blow had hurt it, though; it didn’t move as quickly as before. She ran to her axe, picked it up, set herself, and hurled it again. This time the weapon broke the thing’s back.

  She snatched out her knife, ran to the creature—a lizardlike reptile two feet long—and she cut its throat. While it bled to death she held it up by its tail and drank the precious fluid pouring from it. It ran over her chin and throat and breasts, but she got most of it.

  She skinned it and cut off portions and ate the still quivering meat. She felt much stronger afterward. Though still thirsty, she felt she could endure it. And she was in better shape than the two men—unless they had also managed to kill something.

  As she headed toward the plain, she was enshrouded in deeper darkness. Rainclouds had come swiftly with a cooling wind. Before she had gone ten paces onto the flatland, she was deluged. The only illumination was lightning, which struck again and again around her. For a moment she thought about retreating. But she was always one to take a chance if the situation demanded it. She walked steadily onward, blind between the bolts, deaf because of the thunder. Now and then she looked behind her. She could see only animals running madly, attempting to get away from the deadly strokes but with no place to hide.

  By the time she’d reached the channel, she was knee-deep in water. This increased the danger of being electrocuted, since a bolt did not now have to hit her directly. There was no turning back.

  The side of the channel nearer her had lowered a few inches. The stream, flooding with the torrential downpour, was gushing water onto the plain. Four-legged fish and some small creatures with tentacles were sliding down the slope. She speared two amphibians with her knife and skinned and ate one. After cutting the other’s head off and gutting it, she carried it by its tail. It could provide breakfast or lunch or both.

  By then the storm was over, and, within twenty minutes, the clouds had rushed off. Ankle-deep in water, she stood on the ridge and pondered. Should she walk toward the other end of the channel and look for Kickaha? Or should she go toward the sea?

  For all she knew, the channel extended a hundred miles or more. While she was searching for her man, the channel might close up. Or it might broaden out into a lake. Kickaha could be dead, injured, or alive and healthy. If hurt, he might need help. If he was dead, she might find his bones and thus satisfy herself about his fate.

  On the other hand, if she went to the mountain pass to the sea, she could wait there, and if he was able he’d be along after awhile.

  Also, her uncle and the black man would surely go to the sea. In which case, she might be able to ambush them and get the beamer.

  While standing in water and indecision, she had her mind made up for her. Out of the duskiness two figures emerged. They were too distant to be identified, but they were human. They had to be her pursuers.

  Also, they were on the wrong side if she wanted to look for Kickaha. Her only path of flight, unless she ran for the mountains again, was toward the sea.

  She set out trotting, the water splashing up to her knees. Occasionally, she looked back. The vague figures were drawing no closer, but they weren’t losing ground either.

  Time, unmeasured except by an increasing weariness, passed. She came to the channel, which had by now risen to its former height. She dived in, swam to the other side, and climbed up the bank. Standing there, she could hear Urthona and McKay swimming towards her. It would seem that she’d never been able to get far enough ahead of them to lose herself in the darkness.

  She turned and went on towards the mountains. Now she was wolf-trotting, trotting for a hundred paces, then walking a hundred. The counting of paces helped the time to go by and took her mind from her fatigue. The men behind her must be doing the same thing, unable to summon a burst of speed to catch up with her.

  The plain, now drained of water, moved squishily under her. She took a passage between the two mountains and emerged into another plain. After a mile of this, she found another waterway barring her path. Perhaps, at this time, many fissures opened from the sea to the area beyond the ringing mountains to form many channels. Anyone high enough above ground might see the territory as a sort of millipus, the sea and its circling mountains as the body, the waterways as tentacles.

  This channel was only about three hundred yards across, but she was too tired to swim. Floating on her back, she propelled herself backwards with an occasional hand-stroke or up-and-down movement of legs.

  When she reached the opposite side, she found that the water next to the bank came only to her waist. While standing there and regaining her wind, she stared into the darkness. She could neither see nor hear her pursuers. Had she finally lost them? If she had, she’d wait a while, then return to the first channel.

  An estimated five minutes later, she heard two men gasping. She slid down until the water was just below her nose. Now she could distinguish them, two darker darknesses in the night. Their voices came clearly across the water to her.

  Her uncle, between wheezes, said, “Do you think we got away from them?”

  “Them?” she thought.

  “Not
so loud,” McKay said, and she could no longer hear them.

  They stood on the bank for a few minutes, apparently conferring. Then a man, not one of them, shouted. Thudding noises came from somewhere, and suddenly giant figures loomed behind the two. Her uncle and McKay didn’t move for a moment. In the meantime, the first of the “day” bands paled in the sky. McKay, speaking loudly, said, “Let’s swim for it!”

  “No!” Urthona said. “I’m tired of running. I’ll use the beamer!”

  The sky quickly became brighter. The two men and the figures behind them were silhouetted more clearly, but she thought that she still couldn’t be seen. She crouched, half of her head sticking out of the water, one hand hanging on to the grass of the bank, the other holding the Horn. She could see that the newcomers were not giants but men riding moosoids. They held long spears.

  Urthona’s voice, his words indistinguishable, came to her. He was shouting some sort of defiance. The riders split, some disappearing below the edge of the bank. Evidently these were going around to cut off the flight of the two. The others halted along the channel in Indian file.

  Urthona aimed the beamer, and the two beasts nearest him fell to the ground, their legs cut off. One of the riders fell into the channel. The other rolled out of sight.

  There were yells. The beasts and their mounts behind the stricken two disappeared down the ridge. Suddenly, two came into sight on the other side. Their spears were leveled at Urthona, and they were screaming in a tongue unknown to Anana.

  One of the riders, somewhat in the lead of the others, fell off, his head bouncing into the channel, his body on the edge, blood jetting from the neck. The other’s beast fell, precipitating his mount over his head. McKay slammed the edge of a hand against the man’s neck and picked up his spear.