by Jack Vance
Carina 4269 shouldered up through the murk, and some of the takers, crawling into patches of scrub, concealed themselves under camouflage cloth, to await the coming of dusk before proceeding farther. Others plunged ahead, anxious to reach the Boulder Patch, accepting the risk of interception. Stimulated by evidence of this risk — ashes mingled with burnt bones and scraps of leather — Reith, Traz and Anacho accelerated their pace. Half-trotting, half-running, they gained the haven of the Boulder Patch, where Dirdir did not care to hunt, without untoward incident.
They put down their packs, and stretched out to rest. Almost at once a pair of hulking figures drew near: men of no race identifiable to Reith, brown of skin with long tangled black hair and curly beards. They wore rags; they stank abominably and inspected the three with truculent assurance. “We are in command of these premises,” groaned one in a guttural voice. “Your cost for respite is five sequins each; if you refuse we will thrust you into the open, and notice! Dirdir stalk the northern ridge.”
Anacho instantly leaped to his feet and with his shovel struck the speaker a great blow on the head. The second man swung his cudgel; Anacho cut up with his shovel blade, catching the man a maiming blow under the wrists. The cudgel flew aside; the man tottered back, looking in horror at his hands. They flapped under his wrists like a pair of empty gloves. Anacho said, “Go forth yourself to face the Dirdir.” He jumped forward with shovel raised; the two shambled off into the rocks. Anacho watched them go. “We had better move.”
The three took their packs and started away; almost as they did so a great chunk of rock flew down to smash into the ground. Traz jumped up on a boulder and fired his catapult, evoking a wail of distress.
The three took themselves a hundred yards south, somewhat up the slope from the Boulder Patch, where they commanded a view across the Forelands and yet could not easily be approached from the rear.
Settling back, Reith brought out his scanscope and studied the landscape. He discerned half a dozen furtive takers, and a band of Dirdir on a promontory to the east. For ten minutes the Dirdir stood immobile, then suddenly disappeared. A moment later he picked them out again, moving with long lunging strides down the slope and out upon the Forelands.
During the afternoon, with no Dirdir in view, takers began to venture from the Boulder Patch. Reith, Traz and Anacho climbed the slope, making for the ridge as directly as caution permitted. They were now alone. Not a sound could be heard.
What with the need for stealth, progress was slow; sunset found them toiling up a gulch just below the ridge, and they came forth just in time to see the last corroded sliver of Carina 4269 fade from sight. To the south the ground sloped in long rolls and swales down to the Stage: rich ground for sequins, but highly dangerous owing to the proximity of Khusz, about ten miles to the south.
With twilight a curious mood, mixed of melancholy and horror, settled over the Carabas. In all directions winking fires appeared, each with its macabre implication. Amazing, thought Reith, that men, for any inducement whatever, would enter such a place. No more than a quarter-mile distant a fire sprang into existence, and the three quickly crouched into the shadows. The pale shapes of the Dirdir were clear to the naked eye.
Reith studied them through the scanscope. They stalked back and forth, their effulgences streaming like long phosphorescent antennae, and they seemed to be emitting sounds too soft to be heard.
Anacho whispered, “They use the ‘Old State’ of their brains; they are truly wild beasts, just as on the Sibol plains a million years ago.”
“Why do they walk back and forth?”
“It is their custom; they ready themselves for their feeding frenzy.”
Reith scrutinized the ground around the fire. In the shadows lay two heaving shapes. “They’re alive!” whispered Reith in dismay.
Anacho grunted. “The Dirdir don’t care to carry burdens. The prey must run alongside, hopping and leaping like the Dirdir — all day if need be. If the prey flags, they sting him with nerve-fire and he runs with greater agility.”
Reith put down the scanscope.
Anacho spoke in a voice carefully toneless: “You see them now in the ‘Old State’ — as wild beasts, which is their elemental nature. They are magnificent. In other cases they show magnificence of a different sort. Men cannot judge them, but merely stand back in awe.”
“What of the elite Dirdirmen?”
“The Immaculates? What of them?”
“Do they imitate the Dirdir at hunting?”
Anacho looked off over the dark Zone. In the east a pink flush heralded the rising of the moon Az. “The Immaculates hunt. Naturally they cannot match Dirdir fervor and they are not privileged to hunt the Zone.” He glanced toward the nearby fire. “In the morning the wind will blow from us to them. Best that we move on through the dark.”
Az, low in the sky, cast a pink sheen over the landscape; Reith could think only of watered blood. They moved east and south, picking a painful way across the rocky bones of old Tschai. The Dirdir fire receded and passed from sight behind a bluff. For a period the three descended toward the Stage. They halted to sleep a fitful few hours, then once more continued down through the Hills of Recall. Az now hung low in the west, while Braz lifted into the east. The night was clear; every object showed a double pink and blue shadow.
Traz went into the lead, watching, listening, testing each step. Two hours before dawn he stopped short and motioned his comrades to stillness. “Dead smoke,” he whispered. “A camp ahead … Something is stirring.”
The three listened. The landscape gave back only silence. Moving with utmost stealth, Traz angled away on a new route, up over a ridge, down through a copse of feather-fronds. Once more halting to listen, Traz suddenly gestured the other two back into deep shade. From concealment they saw on the brow of the hill a pair of pale shapes, which stood silent and alert for ten minutes, then abruptly vanished.
Reith whispered, “Did they know we were near?”
“I don’t think so,” Traz muttered. “Still, they might have picked up our scent.”
Half an hour later they went cautiously forward, keeping to the shadows. Dawn colored the east; Az was gone, followed by Braz. The three hurried through plum-colored gloom, and finally took shelter in a dense clump of torquil. At sunrise, among the litter of twigs and curled black leaves, Traz found a node the size of his two fists. When cracked loose from its brittle stem and split, hundreds of sequins spilled forth, each glowing with a point of scarlet fire.
“Beautiful!” whispered Anacho. “Enough to excite avidity! A few more finds like this and we could abandon Adam Reith’s insane plan.”
They searched further through the copse, but found nothing more.
Daylight revealed the South Stage savannah stretching east and west into the haze of distance. Reith studied his map, comparing the mountain behind with the depicted relief. “Here we are.” He touched down his finger. “The Dirdir returning to Khusz pass yonder, west of the Boundary Woods, which is our destination.”
“No doubt our destiny as well,” remarked Anacho with a pessimistic sniff.
“I would as soon die killing Dirdir as any other way,” said Traz.
“One does not die killing Dirdir,” Anacho corrected him delicately. “They do not permit it. Should someone make the attempt they prickle him with nerve-fire.”
“We’ll do our best,” said Reith. Lifting the scanscope he searched the landscape and along the ridge discovered three Dirdir hunting parties, scanning the slopes for game. A wonder, thought Reith, that any men whatever survived to return to Maust.
The day passed slowly. Traz and Anacho searched under the scrub for nodes, without success. During the middle afternoon a hunt crossed the slope not half a mile distant. First came a man bounding like a deer, his legs extending mightily forward and back. Fifty yards behind ran three Dirdir without exertion. The fugitive, despairing, halted with his back to a rock and prepared to fight; he was swarmed upon and overwhelmed. Th
e Dirdir crouched over the prostrate form, performed some sort of manipulation, then stood erect. The man lay twitching and thrashing. “Nerve-fire,” said Anacho. “Somehow he annoyed them, perhaps by carrying an energy weapon.” The Dirdir trooped away. The victim, by a series of grotesque efforts, gained his feet, and started a lurching flight toward the hills. The Dirdir paused, looked after him. The man halted and gave a great cry of anguish. He turned and followed the Dirdir. They began to run, bounding in feral exuberance. Behind, running with crazy abandon, came their captive. The group disappeared to the north.
Anacho said to Reith, “You intend to pursue your plans?”
Reith felt a sudden yearning to be out of the Carabas, as far away as possible. “I understand why the plan hasn’t been tried before.”
Afternoon faded into a sad and gentle evening. As soon as fires appeared along the hillsides, the three departed their covert and set off to the north.
At midnight they reached the Boundary Wood. Traz, fearing the sinuous half-reptilian beast known as the smur, was reluctant to enter. Reith made no argument and the three kept to the fringe of the forest until dawn.
With the coming of light they performed a cautious exploration, and found nothing more noxious than fluke lizards. From the western edge of the woods Khusz was clearly visible, only three miles south; entering and leaving the Zone the Dirdir skirted the forest.
In the afternoon, after careful assessment of all the potentialities of the woods, the three set to work. Traz dug, Anacho and Reith worked to fabricate a great rectangular net, using twigs, branches and the cord they had brought in their packs.
On the evening of the following day the apparatus was complete. Surveying the system Reith alternated between hope and despair. Would the Dirdir react as he hoped they might? Anacho seemed to think so, though he spoke much of nerve-fire and exhibited intense pessimism.
Middle morning and early afternoon, when the hunts returned to Khusz, were theoretically the productive periods. Earlier and later the Dirdir tended to go forth; the attention of these groups the three did not care to attract.
The night passed; the sun rose on a day which one way or another must prove to be fateful. For a time it seemed that rain would fall, but by midmorning the clouds had drifted south; in the suddenly clear air the light of Carina 4269 was like an antique tincture.
Reith waited at the edge of the woods, sweeping the landscape through his scanscope. To the north appeared a party of four Dirdir loping easily along the trail to Khusz. “Here they come,” said Reith. “This is it.”
The Dirdir came bounding down the trail, giving occasional whistles of exuberance. Hunting had been good; they had enjoyed themselves. But look! What was there? A man-beast at the edge of the forest! What did the fool do here so close to Khusz? The Dirdir sprang in happy pursuit.
The man-beast ran for his life, as did all such creatures. It faltered early and stood at bay, back to a tree. Venting their horrifying death-cry the Dirdir lunged forward. Under the feet of the foremost the ground gave way; he dropped out of sight. The remaining three halted in amazement. A sound: a crackle, a thrash; on top of them fell a mat of twigs, under which they were trapped. And here came men, unspeakably triumphant! A ruse, a ploy! With rage tearing their viscera, they struggled vainly against the mat, desperately intent to win free, to submerge the wicked men in hate and horror …
The Dirdir were killed, by stabbing, hewing and blows of the shovel.
The mat was raised, the bodies stripped of sequins and dragged away, the deadfall repaired.
A second group came down from the north: only three, but creatures resplendent in casques, with effulgences like incandescent wires. Anacho spoke in awe: “These are Hundred-Trophy Excellences!”
“So much the better.” Reith signaled to Traz. “Bring them in; we’ll teach them ‘excellence’.”
Traz behaved as before, showing himself, then fleeing as if in panic. The Excellences pursued without vehemence; they had enjoyed a fruitful hunt. The way under the dendrons had been trodden before, perhaps by other hunters. The quarry, curiously enough, showed little of the frantic agility which added zest to the hunt; in fact, he had turned to face them, his back to an enormous gnarled torquil. Fantastic! He waved a blade; did he challenge them, the Excellences? Launch forward, leap on him; rend him to the ground, with the trophy to the first to touch him! But — shock! the ground collapsing, the forest falling; a delirium of confusion! And look: submen coming forth with blades, to hack, to stab! Mind-bursting rage, a frenzy of struggle, hissing and screaming — then the blade.
There were four slaughters that day, four on the next, five on the third day, by which time the process had become an efficient routine. During mornings and evenings the bodies were buried and the gear repaired. The business seemed as passionless as fishing — until Reith recalled the hunts he had witnessed and so restored his zeal.
The decision to halt the operation derived not from the diminution of profit — each party of hunters carried booty to a value of as much as twenty thousand sequins — or any lessening of fervor on the part of the three. But even after sorting out the clears, milks and sards the booty was an almost unmanageable bulk, and Anacho’s pessimism had become apprehension. “Sooner or later the parties will be missed. There will be a search; how could we escape?”
“One more kill,” said Traz. “Here now comes a group, rich from their hunting.”
“But why? We have all the sequins we can carry!”
“We can discard our sards and some emeralds, and carry only reds and purples.”
Anacho looked at Reith, who shrugged. “One more band.”
Traz went to the edge of the forest and performed his now well-schooled simulation of panic. The Dirdir failed to react. Had they seen him? They advanced with no acceleration of pace. Traz hesitated a moment, then once again showed himself. The Dirdir saw him; apparently they had also seen him on the first occasion, for instead of leaping into immediate pursuit they continued their easy jog. Watching from the shadows, Reith tried to decide whether they were suspicious or merely sated with hunting.
The Dirdir halted to examine the track into the forest. They came into the wood slowly, one in the lead, another behind, two holding up the rear. Reith faded back to his post.
“Trouble,” he told Anacho. “We may have to fight our way out.”
“‘Fight’?” cried Anacho. “Four Dirdir, three men?”
Traz, a hundred yards down the trail, decided to stimulate the Dirdir. Stepping into the open, he aimed his catapult at the foremost and fired a bolt into the creature’s chest. It gave a whistle of outrage and sprang forward, effulgences stiff and furiously bright.
Traz dodged back, went to stand in his usual spot, a grin of irrational pleasure on his face. He brandished his blade. The wounded Dirdir charged, and crashed into the pitfall. Its yells became a weird keening of shock and pain. The remaining three stopped short, then came balefully forward, step by step. Reith pulled the net release; it dropped, capturing two; one danced back.
Reith came forth. He yelled to Anacho and Traz, “Kill those under the net!” He jumped through the tangle to confront the remaining Dirdir; under no circumstances must it escape.
Escape was remote from its mind. It sprang upon Reith like a leopard, ripping with its talons. Traz ran forward brandishing his dagger and threw himself on the Dirdir’s back. The Dirdir rolled over backward, and tearing Traz’s legs loose, made play with his own dagger. Anacho leapt forward; with one mighty sword-stroke he hacked apart the Dirdir’s arm; with a second blow he clove the creature’s head. Staggering and tottering, cursing and panting, the three finished off the remaining Dirdir, then stood in vast relief that they had fared so well. Blood pumped from Traz’s leg. Reith applied a tourniquet, opened the first-aid kit he had brought with him to Tschai. He disinfected the wound, applied a toner, pressed the wound together, sprayed on a film of synthetic skin, and eased off the tourniquet. Traz grimaced, but made no compla
int. Reith brought forth a pill. “Swallow this. Can you stand?”
Traz stiffly rose to his feet.
“Can you walk?”
“Not too well.”
“Try to keep moving, to prevent the leg from going stiff.”
Reith and Anacho searched the corpses for booty, to their enormous profit: a purple node, two scarlets, a deep blue, three pale greens and two pale blues. Reith shook his head in marvel and vexation. “Wealth! But useless unless we get it back to Maust.”
He watched Traz limping back and forth with obvious effort. “We can’t carry it all.”
The corpses they rolled into the pitfall, and covered them over. The net they hauled off into the underbrush. Then they sorted out the sequins, making three packs, two heavy and one light. There still remained a fortune in clears, milks, sards, deep blues and greens. These they wrapped into a fourth parcel, which they secreted under the roots of the great torquil.
Two hours remained until dusk. They took up their packs, went to the eastern edge of the forest, accommodating their gait to Traz. Here they argued the feasibility of camping until Traz’s leg had healed. Traz would hear none of it. “I can keep up, so long as we don’t have to run.”
“Running won’t help us in any case,” said Reith.
“If they catch us,” said Anacho, “then we must run. With nerve-fire at our necks.”
The afternoon light deepened through gold and dark gold; Carina 4269 disappeared and sepia murk fell over the landscape. The hills showed minuscule flickers of flame. The three set forth, and so the dismal journey began: across the Stage from one black clump of dendron to another. At last they came to the slopes, and doggedly began to climb.