by Andre Norton
Still he kept on his feet and moving, in spite of those blows. Then he raised his head and looked more closely at a copse to his left. That was altering in outline… There was something very wrong about it.
VII
A figure arose from the half crouch which had made it so resemble the other stands of stunted trees. It was larger than human but the outline was so disguised that Burr was not sure whether he faced some large beast or a sentient being. In the swiftly descending twilight it was only a black bulk. And, oddly enough, as he neared it that bulk appeared to draw in upon itself, shrinking in size so that at length it was no taller than he.
Burr gripped the spear tightly. The thing, once it had strode into his path, made no other move. But he had no doubt that it represented an enemy force. At least it was not a qwaker. But what other dangers might walk these lands he did not care to guess. Though he had faced perils without number before, there was that in this adventure which was unlike any operation of which he had been a part. Those had been in a real world wherein he could assess in part the dangers. But this was a country born of will and mind… whose will and mind? By her own account not entirely that of the pseudo-Uahach.
Yet now he did not try to evade meeting with the thing awaiting him. It was better to look fear directly in the face rather than let his imagination supply him with details.
All at once the figure moved, shrugging away folds of a dead black cloak. There was enough light remaining to show him clearly face and head.
She was back!
A welcoming hail was already on his lips when he slowed to a stop. Though every detail of her features and her movement of head were the same as he had seen before, yet…
The girl’s hand appeared, waved to him imperiously. Burr remained where he was. Only now the pressure which had been against him ever since he had left the shore had veered. Now it would urge him forward to join this Uahach. And that very alteration in the unseen will warned him off.
“Come.” She spoke the same word which had been her first greeting to him. Once more she beckoned and there was a frown, which might have been fostered by impatience, on her face.
He planted the spear butt down in the ground, tighted both hands upon it, as if by this he could anchor himself against obeying that summons.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“I am Kaitilih.” Her voice held the same timber, was no different in his memory from the tone she had used as they sat together on the shore. It was only that persistent forward urge which warned, and in this place he would heed any warning, no matter how small.
“You are not!”
“I am Kaitilih… come.” It was as if she had not even heard his denial. “Night falls and in it there prowls that which will imperil us. We must find a shelter… Come!” Her command was reinforced by a sudden surge of compulsion, so strong it nearly tore him from his spear anchorage, to send him stumbling on.
“You are not she,” he repeated; though what if she was? Burr was uncertain, could only depend upon that revulsion stirring within him for a guide.
“I am Kaitilih!” Now she raised both hands to pull back her hood. “Look upon me, fool, and see!”
Burr steadied. Her mistake that. For a moment, she had slipped out of her dream disguise. That was not the girl from the shore.
“You are not Kaitilih,” he was convinced now.
She stared at him, all emotion smoothed from her face. Then she reacted so quickly that he was only half prepared. Her right hand swung up to hurl something at him. He was aware only of a flash of light, but his trained reflexes had not been lost even in the dream world. For he hit the ground, rolled, and was up again with the practiced swift and fluid motion of an expert unarmed fighter.
Something struck behind him and from that sprang a burst of fire. Burr leaped, not at her, but to one side again, as again her hand moved. This time, with the flash, came a sensation of burning close enough to touch him.
Then her face convulsed into an ugly mask, she spat in his direction. Her cloak whirled up as if the material had a life of its own or was controlled by her will alone. It wrapped tightly about her, transforming her into a dark pillar, hiding once more her head in shapeless folds.
That column of darkness began to sink into the ground, swiftly disappearing. At Burr’s side a patch of grass was charred and small red embers glowed there. But she was gone.
An acrid odor arose on the night air. However, save for the shadows of the trees, he seemed to be alone.
“Gurret?”
Spear ready he wheeled about There was another shadow advancing toward him.
“Gurret,” there was recognition in that. But he was not deceived. She thought to play the game a second time, did she?
Once more Burr saw her face clearly. Even in this twilight her features had a kind of radiance which made them plain. He readied himself to again avoid attack.
“It is no use,” he said, “you are not Kaitilih.”
“No,” she agreed, “but I am she who dreams.”
Burr eyed her warily. There was indeed a subtle difference (one he could not put name to even in his mind) between this girl and the one who had vanished as if the earth had opened under her feet.
“If you are… the dreamer, give me proof.”
“What proof can I offer?”
’Tell me… where did you go… and why?”
She did not try to come near to him. “Where did I go? Back to the beginning of the dream. Why? I know not that, save that the one who seeks to change our venture would have me believe that you were dead.”
“She nearly achieved that purpose. If a man can be brought down by a dream weapon.” He used the point of the spear to stir the charred grass.
The warning which had been so alert in him when he had fronted that other one was lulled. “How did you return?”
“By my will.” Uahach seemed confident of that. “What was not real fled when I willed it.”
Burr shook his head. “Shadows and dreams… how can a man fight them? At least your double had a weapon which could do this.” Once more he plodded the scorched earth and ashes of grass. Then he told her of that other who had taken her form.
“The other dreamer,” Uahach returned. “You did not follow the pattern, now…” She drew a deep breath. “That having been broken the other can substitute her own.”
“So we will not know what to expect?” he caught the significance of her uneasiness.
“Perhaps so. There is one last thing we may try… to go on to nearer the end of the dream, try to hasten its conclusion. Before she gathers her forces and builds up a greater command of the dream design we might break free from there.”
“Can you do this?”
“I do not know. At least she could not hold me with her illusion when she returned me to the mounds. Perhaps she cannot hold the two of us if we will the end. It is not easy to retain any pattern, though I do not know if it has ever occurred that the client strove to alter it for himself. I am your dreamer, thus tied to you… if we two work together we may be too strong…”
“You think we can… go ahead?” Burr demanded.
“We can try.” But he thought there was a shade of hesitancy in that reply.
“And what is your choice?”
“The Tower of Kiln-nam-u.”
She held out her hand, even as the other had done. And the likeness of their gestures was so alike, that, for a breath or two, he was almost hesitant to approach and take it… lest he indeed had been deceived for a second time. But here there was none of that pressure, the choice clearly remained his.
He took the two strides to her side and felt her grasp close about his fingers. The touch of her flesh was a little chill, and he sensed through that contact, slight as it was, the whole tension of her body, the concentration building in her.
“Think,” she said with sharpness, “of a tower by the sea, the same sea we looked upon… think of it!”
He did not know the tric
ks and shifts of an Esper mind, but if it would help he could at least think of a tower. And he summoned as best he could a mental picture of one… archaic by the standards of his own world, but at least matching in part the ruins he had seen from the mounds. Burr closed his eyes better to build that mental picture and then was no longer aware of her touch, rather of something which burned high with an almost consuming force, as if great energy struck full on the flesh-and-bone link between them.
VIII
So this was the Tower and Uahach’s efforts had brought them to the end of the dream. Burr stared at the edifice before him. For a long moment the mental concept he had built in his mind lay like a misty illusion over the reality. Then that was gone and he faced the place native to the dream world.
It was set so that rising pinnacles of a cliff sheltered two of its walls on the sea side, those forming a right-angled corner into which ancient masonry had been carefully fitted in a way so that not even time itself could level it. For there was about this erection such a heavy feeling of age as to lie almost a visible shadow.
For a space which Burr counted as possibly two ordinary stories in height there was no break in the stone, the blocks showed no openings. Above that space existed a triangle of wedge-shaped windows set in a diamond design, giving upon utter blackness, for no bit of the sunlight penetrated those deep holes.
That was another startling shift. They had left night behind them on whatever journey their united will had energized. It was, he thought, now near midday.
The stone from which the Tower was built was a dull red in color unlike the rock of the cliffs which half sheltered it, which were a yellow brown. While caught in the crudely smoothed surface of the blocks were sparks of glittering crystals which reflected the sun, so that the edifice appeared necklaced with gems.
“Kiln-nam-u,” Uahach dropped her hold upon his hand. “So much have we won.”
“And what was Osdeve set to do here?” Burr wanted to know.
“He was to anoint that block.” His companion pointed to one of the stones, reaching near to Burr’s shoulder in height, seemingly a well set part of the foundation of the Tower. “With water from the Cup of Blood. Then would issue forth the Thing which has always dwelt within and with it he bargained… for the Rod of Ar… that he might rule.”
“Since we don’t have this cup,” commented Burr, “can’t we just break the dream now?”
When she did not answer he glanced from the Tower to her.
Her face was set, her eyes not seeking his, nor even the tower itself, but rather as if she looked beyond or through all which lay before them.
“I… can… not…” Her words, separated by forced breaths (she might have been at the end of a long, hard flight), came in harsh whispers.
“If we have reached near the end of the dream… and cannot break it?…”
“Then we shall be forced into the other’s chosen pattern, here and now,” she gave him the bitter truth.
Burr accepted her reply as being correct. All right, so they could not break the dream (the dream Osdeve had set up) but must follow another…
“You know all Uahach knows. You must have if they briefed you.” He continued. “Is this ever done?”
Now her head did turn a fraction so her wide eyes met his.
“To my knowledge, which is Uahach’s in truth, such a transference is unknown. She is a ten-point dreamer… the Hive knows no higher class on its test scale…”
“Yet there must be one, or we would not be caught. Have you any way of locating the source?”
The faint shadow of shock which had been in her eyes faded. She wore an intent expression, but not that of one wrapt in concentration.
“I could try. They… she… must reach us here sooner or later. The dream must come to a definite end or the medic at the Hive will know there is trouble. They… the Foostmam, if she is a part of what we seek, would never dare not to allow him to intervene. We certainly lie in proper dream sleep now… back there. Therefore, since our dream is timed, whoever would spin the new pattern must move fast. We have cut out the midportion of Osdeve’s adventure, brought it close to the end. I can do no more than wait for the next move, and that will be theirs.”
Burr did not like it. Patience was a tool he had had to cultivate in his own operations. But those had dealt with the real world and he had then had a measure of control over the future. He had waited out attacks before, but always the opponent had then been working within a framework he himself could understand. This nebulous kind of battle irked him.
“Is there any way we can arrange a defense in advance?” he pressed her.
She did not reply, instead her hand came up to signal warning. A second later he staggered under a blow which was not really physical, although it felt as if some giant fist slammed between his shoulder blades giving him a massive thrust forward toward the Tower. At the same time Uahach’s hands went to her head and she cried out in pain.
On… that force wanted to push Burr on, to slam him bodily against the block of stone. But he had his wits about him now and he dug in with the spear again to anchor him. His body swayed back and forth under the unseen blows, but he held fast, his mouth set in a grim line.
His companion fell to her knees, her hands still over her ears, tears edged from her eyes. She moaned, that sound oddly echoed by the rocks about them. It was apparent that, even as he, she fought against some compulsion which was nearly too great to withstand.
The Tower blurred before Burr’s eyes. Or was it that the block Uahach had earlier indicated moved? On, whatever strove to control him now wanted to hurl him on, into a dark slit opening there. If it was a door, its outline was a very uneven one, following the natural cracks between the stones.
Burr stood fast. He was not going to obey. Uahach said they had reached near the end of the proper dream; therefore, he would not accept any new pattern. He summoned all the stubbornness of will which he had ever shown, used that as an armor against this beating.
The girl was slowly rising to her feet. Her face, wet with tears, still showing pain lines, had also set (though he did not realize the likeness) into a determination matching his own.
That irregularly framed hole at the base of the Tower was completely open. Uahach said that in the proper dream the Thing, as she called it, had come forth to bargain with Osdeve. Well, Burr did not have the mysterious Cup of Blood it wanted. And whatever rode him now wanted him to go in, not wait here.
As in the wedge windows above, the sun did not enter that opening, even though it made the Tower plain to the eye to the every edge of the jaggered doorway. The darkness lying beyond the threshold of that had a tangible quality which held out all natural light.
Was the Thing coming now? And now would it react to the fact Burr did not have what Osdeve had used to summon it? He wavered forward one bitterly contested step as the compulsion dealt an even more severe blow.
It wanted him in. Therefore that was where he was not going!
For the first time during their struggle Uahach spoke. “That other dreamer must fight hard to hold us both.” She had regained much of her air of command as well as mastery over herself. “When I raise my hand, try to move back… try with all your might!”
She was again watching the Tower with a fixed stare, her body stiff. Then her hand arose. Burr threw himself back, putting into that action every bit of stubborn strength he possessed.
A cord might have snapped. Burr lost his feet, struck the ground with a force which half stunned him, then rolled. The girl stood straight, a defiant pillar between him and the hole he had no doubt was a trap. But he felt a release which left him weak.
Uahach’s figure wavered. Once more she sank to her knees, as if pressed so by a punishing weight. Before he thought Burr dropped the spear. And, getting to his feet, leaped to cover the distance between them. His grip closed tight and steady on her shoulders, holding her so as she went limp.
IX
What filled the
atmosphere about them was a malignant and petulant anger. Burr could not have told why he was so sure of that disembodied emotion, he only knew that he was. And from that sullen rage he gained a fraction of confidence. The other had not expected such a forceful defense from the two of them, for the moment it was defeated. But only for the moment… of that Burr was also sure. There was a sudden end to the manifestation of the unknown’s will, even the anger winked out.
Uahach drew a deep breath, nearly a sob.
“She is gone,” her voice was ragged, drained.
“Will she try that again?” Burr asked.
“Who knows? At least she still has power enough to keep us here.”
“You are sure?”
“Do you think I have not already tested?” the girl flashed at him. “Yes, we are fixed here, in Osdeve’s dream. What new pattern may have been devised I cannot guess.”
Burr looked to that irregular gap in the Tower wall. He had half expected it to close now that the pressure on him to enter had been withdrawn. However, it remained not only open but with an ominous kind of threat lying within its thick blackness. He wanted to go and thrust the spearpoint deeply into that. But another part of him shrank from advancing any closer to the enigmatic fortress.
“Is there any way,” he continued to explore possible avenues of escape or means of defense, “for you to continue improvising from the end of Osdeve’s own dream?”
She shook her head. “I am not a true dreamer. Since I am Esper I could pick up just Uahach’s experiences, relive those. But these dreamers of Ty-Kry are born with different talents, and those talents are fostered by training from the moment their abilities are recognized. Many of them actually have very little real life apart from their dreams. I know only what my briefing, which was thorough just as to Uahach’s past, could give me.”