"I heard rumors," Jim said. "I'm glad you got yourself down here, Sam."
Merritt wiped his streaming hair back from his eyes and settled against the sill inside the shelter of the wheelhouse. They were alone, isolated by the water that sheeted down off the roof and drowned sounds from outside. The river pitched under them, a steady and rhythmic bobbing under the power of the current.
"What rumors?" Merritt asked.
"How you and Porter went at each other. How there's some of his men talking about paying you off for that. Sam, Sam, why'd you go and do that? You don't cross men like Porter and go free of it. He's got family; he's got more than—“
"Where's your father?"
"Up to the stockade. He's been there all afternoon on something or another. Why? What do you want?"
"A small favor. Or a large one, depending on how things work out. I want you to cover for me tonight."
"Sam—you don't mean to try to leave out of here. No. I won't do that. Look"—he set his hand on Merritt's shoulder. "Look, they'll calm down if you give things a chance. You stay out of sight down here tonight, and they'll have changed their minds by morning. But you try to do something wild, like leave the station—"
Merritt shook his head slowly. "I'm going, Jim."
"There's no way back if you do."
"Yes, there is, even if they learn I'm gone. What can they do about it? Put me under guard? They've done that. Or worse? Not while they think they can have my help for other projects. But if I don't go now, if I don't take this chance, I may not find another—not in time for Sazhje. I can talk to her a little; I can warn her, I think. I intend to try. Maybe they have sense enough to know what's coming. I don't know. But I want to help her if I can."
"And if they learn what you're up to they'll kill you."
"I doubt it very much at this stage. Jim, I can make it if you'll cover for me. I've got it figured, in this rain, with them knowing I'm down here—all I have do is walk back to the dock, round that bend and into the trees again, and all it takes is for you not to give the alarm."
"And if something goes wrong, if they know—"
"I'm asking it of you because I thought you of all the others might understand why I'm doing this. But if it's too much risk, just say so, and don't admit you ever saw me today. This may be my last chance, Jim, the last ever for Sazhje's kind; Porter may not let me get loose again. But for this one time I'm going to do what I want, and you know I've thought it out already. I really figure they won't lay a hand on me; but if I'm wrong my chances weren't much anyway, no matter how well I behaved."
"I don't think even my father's going to understand this time. Or forgive you. But that doesn't matter, does it?"
"What's your answer, Jim?"
Jim shook his blond head, looked up frowning. "If you're quick, if you're back by morning, I'll lie for you. I'll say you slept on Celestine, and Dad won't call me a liar or you either. Can you make it back in one night, all the way around and back?"
"What about your father? I don't want to hurt either of you. What would they do at worst?"
"Huh. They need us as much as they do you. I'll tell Dad after it's too late to stop you. He'll cuss your lack of good sense, but he's not going to give Porter what he needs to hang you. He doesn't like Porter any better than you do. Besides, if they get onto it before you get back— I'll just be working here, and I'll never notice that you didn't go back up those steps when you leave the boat." He worked out of his jacket. "Here. Take this. It's heavier than yours and drier. Besides, there's a dozen like it in camp; and you might have picked it up same way you leave the boat, while my back is turned."
The clouds were ragged and sparse and the moon was up when he approached Sazhje's burrow: the moonlight was enough to light the way through the woods. But there was already worry gnawing at him, the same that there had been from the moment he conceived the plan: that there would be no Sazhje. It had been a long time since he had last seen her; how long her memory or her patience might be he did not know. Loneliness might have drawn her back to her own kind long ago and put her out of reach.
He went quietly down the ravine. There were the well-remembered trees that tangled their roots into the hill, the dark doorway. He gave a low whistle, and called her name aloud.
There was no response.
He came closer and looked inside, and crept in and felt of the leaves that lined it, his heart sinking with the confirmation of his fears. No body warmth lingered there; there was no sign of an occupant his coming might have startled away. She was gone.
"Sazhje!" he called aloud to the listening forest, and waited. Nothing broke the silence. "Sazhje!"
At last in despair he started away, to trace his long way back to Celestine. Jim had risked enough for his sake, and there was nothing to justify increasing the debt. He had tried, and more than that he could not do.
A body whispered through the bare trees over his head, and he stopped, looked up, saw moonlight limning a body in silver.
"Sazhje?" he questioned, and knew his mistake as the creature moved. He knew Sazhje's delicate grace, and this body was different, more solid and angular. That realization came simultaneous with the remembrance he was not armed.
More brush stirred behind him. He spun about to meet the threat and saw another of Sazhje's kind, a tall male that went as naked as Sazhje, but for a knotted strip about his waist and a knife in his right hand. There was no question about his intentions. He sidled forward at a crouch, mobile ears laid flat against his elongate skull, eyes black and dangerous in the dim light.
The one from overhead chattered something, and the other answered and grudgingly held back. The ears did not lift; and the eyes held nothing less of that unreckoning wildness.
Brush slithered and crackled from behind and Merritt turned on one heel; the other had hit the ground. A hurtling body took him chest-high and he hurled his own weight against the attacker, trying to keep his own chin down and reach the creature's throat with his fingers. But if Sazhje had been strong, the strength of this adult male of her kind was incredible. Merritt used his weight and his height: it was the only advantage humanity gave him; and he was able to push the creature down and pin it briefly, even then wondering why the one behind him was holding off.
Then inexorably, long-fingered hands closed on his arms and pried his hands apart, breaking his grip on its throat; and with snakish agility those slim legs found leverage and the creature heaved free of him, hit him when he was trying to rise and carried him over, on the bottom of it this time.
The deadly fangs came within a little of his throat, but Merritt twisted, got his legs under him and hit with a supreme effort, too close to miss.
The blow met solid muscle, no yielding; and the creature let out a spitting snarl, launched forward with real temper this time. Powerful teeth sank into Merrill's blocking arm, ripped, and when he won free of that mauling attack and staggered for his feet, another rush carried him against a tree and almost over.
He lurched up, shouldered the creature low and hard, at once tangled in a sinuous grip and twisted onto his back, long fangs sunk into his arm.
Almost he heaved free again, but now the other entered the fight, pinning his numb and bitten arm, adding its weight to the other's. Merritt struggled wildly, his own sounds by now indistinguishable from the guttural hisses and snarls of his attackers. He tried to keep his chin down; it did not work. The creature broke his defense and clamped fanged jaws onto his throat, growling and worrying like an animal. The blood shut off, air as well, Merritt struggled the more frantically for a moment, and began to weaken, but the jaws closed no further—shook at him vengefully every time he struggled and let up the pressure when he lay still. At last when that fact had reached his numbed brain and he stopped fighting, the creature let go that hold and leaned on his arms, staring down at him.
It was a terrible sight, this male version of Sazhje's face: ears flat, nostrils distended, eyes dark and murderous—lips drawn back in a snarl that showed fangs that made Sazhje's seem ineffectual. The arms and shoulders that bore down on his arms were powerful beyond any expectation from size alone. He could gain nothing against that grip, and both hands were losing their feeling.
Carefully the creature released him and stood back, and the companion too, so that Merritt was free to gain his feet. He gathered himself and staggered, wounds beginning to throb with dull misery.
The nearer one spoke at him: he could understand nothing of it, and the one behind was clearly growing impatient, gesturing with his stone knife and urging something with short and guttural syllables. The first one silenced him with a terse spitting sound and turned back to Merritt.
"Sazhje?" the creature asked.
Merritt tried the best he knew to sign affirmative. "Sam," he said of himself, touching his chest "Call Sazhje. Tell Sazhje."
The creature silenced him with a snarl, indicated himself and something that involved Sazhje's name, motioning for him to move.
Merritt hesitated and the other backhanded him with bonejarring force, sent him stumbling aside in the direction they wanted him to go. It was a measure of their confidence that they put no restraint on him, but pushed him from time to time where they wanted him to turn, contemptuous of his power to escape them even in the thickets and brush that were close on either hand.
They rested toward dawn somewhere so far into the deep forest that Merritt had no idea where they were. His two captors secured his hands most uncomfortably about a tree with their cord belts and curled up contentedly to sleep for a few hours, while he took what rest he could upright, with his hands numbing.
Then they were moving again, descending from the heights into a boggy area that was no doubt formed by some tributary of the river. It was hard traveling: wading part of the time, walking in mud and wet reeds the rest, and Merritt's sodden boots began to come apart and to gall his feet.
The second and the third nights were increasing torment. When they slept, which was usually by three-hour periods, Merritt spent the time wet and shivering, while the others curled up back to back on the driest spot or singly in the crotch of some tree; and Merritt began to develop a nagging cough… beyond pain, he ceased to care about anything but opportunities to rest.
His clumsiness on the march irritated Rejkh… Rejkh the surlier of the two. The one who had subdued him in the first place was Otrekh, a big, almost good-natured fellow of some patience; but from time to time the smaller male would exercise his temper by pushing at Merritt, and sometimes by kicking him when he was slow in rising.
And since the kick was low and foul, Merritt caught his breath finally and walked obediently enough for the better part of the morning; but ideas of escape had been replaced with a simpler, more achievable purpose. He did entirely as pleased Rejkh, ducked his head and hastened when Rejkh snarled a him, and flinched from every threat.
And then they crossed a small stream by way of a log lying across it, and Merritt looked down into the deepish waters with a certain satisfaction. Rejkh gave him the usual push in the back for the delay, and cuffed him on the side of the head.
With a snarl no more human than Rejkh's, Merritt surprised him with a waist-high rush that carried them both over, and got a choking grip on Rejkh's throat, holding him under.
Rejkh flailed and squalled, choked and choking, and suddenly more interested in escape than combat. Air bubbled up.
A blow exploded across the base of Merritt's skull and a powerful arm encircled his neck from behind, jerking him loose from Rejkh, who stumbled dripping and retching to his feet and attacked. Merritt kicked, and suddenly found himself underwater, until he sucked water and choked. Then they dragged him sodden and feebly struggling to the bank.
There Rejkh as well collapsed and began to cough up the water he had swallowed; and Otrekh began to make a strange sound that Merritt recognized as laughter, his fanged face split in a fearsome grin. He slapped Rejkh on the shoulder in high amusement at Rejkh's expense.
Rejkh grumbled something in reply and got to his feet, kicked Merritt to make him move, and Merritt added the score for himself and stumbled up to his feet. Then Rejkh dealt him a ringing slap, and he spat blood and flung himself for Rejkh's throat again, but Otrekh seized his arm and swung him aside, holding him back, still laughing softly.
"Ssam, Ssam khue," said Otrekh, which Merritt had learned was an order to move. Merritt shot a look under his brows at Rejkh and did so. Otrekh jerked at the arm he held and told him something in warning tones that did not need translating, but there was no more kicking.
Rejkh followed, still grumbling to himself.
For most of the rest of the day they were climbing, by narrow trails and through undergrowth, losing altitude at times as they crossed narrow stream-cut ravines, but always working higher. His boots almost gone by this time, his feet cut by stones which his barefoot captors ignored, Merritt tried toward evening to sit down and rest, which in days before even Rekjh had tolerated; but this time they put him on his feet the third time with no gentleness about it. When he gestured, asking them at least for food, they snarled at him and made him move on.
Soon he understood their lack of patience, for they were coming into an area of many trails, a blind valley with a stream trickling through it, and at its far side, near one old, old tree, burrows were made in the hillside, and others dotted a mound that might have been artificially reared. The homes, surely homes, were faced on the front with rock, with tiny windows and smallish doors which used stone or wooden lintels for support. Those on the hill had the most improbable accesses, winding trails over the porch of one to reach the door of the next, a maze of stone terraces and paths, with rocks neatly and decoratively arranged. There was a certain charm about the place until they came into the well-worn center ground of the village, under that ancient tree; and Merritt saw the fruit the branches bore—bleaching skulls, not human, but of their own kind, hung up like ornaments.
Otrekh gave a shrill call and inhabitants spilled forth from burrows and from hilltops and the woods themselves, male, female, young ones that scampered about and shrieked in imitative hostilities; and old ones that walked stooped and shuffling. The young males ventured closest, and one brandished a knife and yelled as if working up nerve for a charge.
Merritt realized at the last instant it was no bluff; he sprang back from the rush and escaped with a burning scrape of the stone knife across his ribs, the cloth parted, but his skin intact. Others hit him then, snarling and clawing.
And Merritt dived for the one that had started the attack, seized him, single-mindedly trying to beat the life out of his ugly face before the others reached his throat; but they pulled him off and threw him from one to the other, laughing and chirring in raucous amusement, tearing at his clothes, which seemed particularly to attract them.
A hand seized his collar and pulled him back from the midst of it, and Otrekh waded into the midst of the youths with a mighty backhand that cleared them back to a respectful distance. Merritt shook the hair from his eyes and struggled to loose himself from the grip that held him, finding it Rejkh; but Otrekh came then and seized him from the other side, hastening him along with no gentle urging.
Under the branches of that ominous tree Otrekh finally stopped and let him go; and Rejkh released him more rudely. A young female came running and hugged Otrekh and then Rejkh in welcome; and then she turned her face toward Merritt.
It was Sazhje. Among all the alien faces he knew her. It was the look in her eyes.
"Ssam," she said then, and that was all; but there seemed a note of pity in her voice.
Older males came, and a few old females of very great age; and Sazhje interrupted as Otrekh began to talk with them. When they ignored her, her voice rose shriller than theirs and more insistent, and she gestured furiously and then pleadingly until one of the elders threatened her with an uplifted hand. Otrekh put her out of the discussion with a brutal slap that made Merrill's teeth ache in sympathy.
Poor little Sazhje stumbled backward, recovered herself with a hiss and a baring of teeth, but when Otrekh growled and lunged at her she moved quickly enough out of his reach and slunk off with backward looks and growls in her throat.
Other females had gathered, and began to gather about Merrill, fingering him and his clothing in curiosity; and some of the youngest males were with them. Sazhje moved in on them to vent her fury, snarled and spat and sent them running—even Rejkh, who had the weight to win but chose to retreat. Sazhje put her arms about Merrill then and talked to him sympathetically, patted him and kept hold of his hand even while she turned and pricked up her ears to listen to the discussion Otrekh was having with the elders.
"Sam's not all right, is he?" Merritt said to her, and her long fingers tightened on his hand.
"Ahhrht," she insisted, and he had never imagined he could detect a lie in that unhuman voice. Sazhje was afraid. Her nails bit into his palm until they hurt, and she never ceased to listen to what was being said in the circle until the discussion was done.
Then as the council broke up, she dropped his hand and thrust herself forward once more, keeping out of Otrekh's reach and shouting at them, making fists of her slim hands and pounding them on her thighs to emphasize the point she was making.
At last Otrekh seemed to assent to what she was saying. He returned to Merritt along with Sazhje and seized his arm, led him up along a steep trail to a burrow about halfway up the hill. Rejkh and a few others trudged along behind.
Merritt knelt and crawled inside as they seemed to wish of him; and one of the adult males remained on guard outside, an effective prison, for there was only one exit possible and he must come out on hands and knees.
He tucked up then, and simply rested, numb to anything else.
Night came, dim and starlit, and the noises of the camp died away, but for the rustling comings and goings to burrows.
And finally a silver-outlined shadow appeared against the opening, and came inside with him.
"Ssam," said Sazhje's voice, and light fingers touched him in the darkness. He put his hand out to her arm and she leaned over and touched her lips to his face, a human gesture she had learned of him one night long past: as her face was constructed it was rather a chaste and dry expression, but one of utmost tenderness; and he wished earnestly he had words to talk with her.
She returned to the entrance and drew gourd containers in with her, food and drink, which she offered and he took gratefully, not caring what the food was.
"Thanks," he said hoarsely when he had done, and she reached up and fingered his unshaven face, then with gentle tugs at his collar urged him to put off his damp and filthy clothing.
He did so. She treated his hurts as was apparently the method of her kind, with her mouth and with water from the gourd; and she sealed the worst ones with what felt like quick-drying clay. It eased the fire in them. He did not judge his future long enough to worry for infection. The moment's comfort was enough.
When she was done she stirred the rushes that lined the burrow into a nest and settled down beside him, warming him with her body until he could relax for the first time in days. He lay with his head against her and even slept for a time, until her stirring wakened him.
"Sazhje?" he murmured, only then realizing he had slept. Her gentle fingers pushed at his shoulder and he moved, aware he had been causing her discomfort.
"Good Ssam," she murmured in his ear.
"Sazhje—Sam came, Sam came to find Sazjhe."
"Ah," she acknowledged. "Ssam no come, Ssam no come, 'morrow, 'morrow, 'morrow. Sazhje go Sazhje people. Poor Ssam. Otrekh come Ssam."
"Is Otrekh Sazhje's?"
"Otrekh—" Sazhje hesitated over that a long time, trying evidently to discover words for what Otrekh was to her. He thought that it was probably kinship, since Otrekh had not objected to Sazhje's joining him in the burrow— supposing that Otrekh knew where Sazhje was at the moment.
"Sazhje," he said, "Sam came to tell Sazhje—the dam—you remember, the dam—"
"Ah." She made a pyramid of her hands: she knew what it was that he built every day; he had tried to explain it to her one morning. 'Tam.”
"High water's coming, Sazhje. The dam will hold the water. Hold, you see. Water will come Sazhje people. Water—"
"Wa," she affirmed. She had never been able to pronounce that word.
"Water come Sazhje people. Sam came to tell Sazhje—
"Ah." Understanding dawned in her voice. "Ah. Ah, Ssam. Sazhje people—Sazhje people no ahhrht"
"Yes," Merritt said. "Sazhje tell her people to run—understand, run."
She made a sound that was her best approximation of understand, and he knew by the tension in her body that she was alarmed. Suddenly she edged toward the doorway.
"Ssam," she said, pausing, and seemed to be searching for words. "Good Ssam," she concluded helplessly, and was gone.