The Unforsaken Hiero

VI. RUNNERS IN THE NIGHT

A week’s journey northward from Solitaire’s lake, Hiero leaned on his spear and looked back up the long pass down which he had just come. He rested and relaxed as much as anyone could and still stay alive in the wilds. A few small birds twittered in the dense green scrub, and a hawk almost the size of an eagle peered suspiciously down from its nest in a cranny of the rock wall to his left. Small rodents and lizards skipped among the undergrowth. But there were no dangerous animals near him.

Hiero knew. He was no longer mentally blind. His stolen powers were back and he could once more see with his mind! He could penetrate the small, wild minds around him and actually see, with some effort, through the eyes of the scurrying wildlife.

He polished his shield absently on his arm as he stood in the sunlight of the morning. He had much to be thankful for, and the shield was further evidence of the gratitude he owed, for it was a present from a very new friend—but one whom he had been sorry to leave.

I give you this, Hiero, Solitaire had said at their parting. You have pictured your battles for me in your mind. In them, you have used things such as this. Long ago, perhaps when your kind ruled the world, a large chunk of this matter fell deep into my lake. I found it, also long ago, and kept it because I knew not what it was. But now you may need it, so during the dark when you rested, I shaped it for you. Carry it and may it guard you, as my own shield once did for me when the world was younger and the fires had not come.

The Metz eyed the small shield fondly. It was round and very light, only about two feet and a bit across. Its color was a dull hue, between gray and brown, and it reflected little light. He knew what it was, and he tried to explain it to the great mollusc, who was deeply interested. Bits of plastic were always turning up when ground was broken, mostly brittle and useless, but sometimes in good shape. Hiero’s dead mother had once owned such a plate, with a strange creature, a flat-billed bird in human costume, figured upon it.

Even in the vanished past, however, few would have seen plastic this hard and dense. An experimental piece from some lost forgotten laboratory, it had now been put to a new and unforeseen use. The giant brain had even remembered to shape holes in arches on the back for the leather arm straps Hiero needed. And in the center of the boss, Solitaire had somehow set a sharp stone of dull, glinting black. This is the hardest, densest thing I have ever found, he told the man. Had your head been made of this material, we would have had no success in bringing back the lost strength to your mind!

Hiero had seen a few diamonds, always sparkling in women’s hair or on their hands or wrists. This big piece of industrial bort was something unknown to him. But he did not care. He would have happily taken anything that the great master of the lake cared to give him. For the greatest gift of all had been to have most of his mind power and senses back.

Not all, regretfully. When he had awakened the morning after the operation, he found that Solitaire felt it had been done badly. The giant persistently interrupted Hiero’s thanks with apologetic remarks. I failed to understand all of the connections, the purposes of each and every one. Those which I could not understand I dared not meddle with. I am deeply aware that I did less than I should or than I promised. Nothing the man could tell him made the great creature feel better, though what had been accomplished was well-nigh incredible.

Solitaire had put the man into a deep sleep, using the hypnotic power of his great eyes, with Hiero unresisting and doing his best to relax. Through the whole night, starting at sunset and going well into the following day, the strange surgeon labored, his rnicrotools the minute extensions of his huge body. Knitting, splicing, mending, and operating only by memory and tactile sensation, Solitaire had labored on and on. At last, convinced that all possible had been done and daring no more, the titan aroused his patient.

In growing delight, Hiero found that his lost powers were restored. The mental blindness was gone and his awareness of other life was again intact. When Solitaire lured a young buck from far down the slope, the Metz was first able to sense it and then to feel inside its mind as it drew nearer. After that, he could not let the giant eat it. When Solitaire mentioned with some illness of ease that he was hungry and must eat something, Hiero went out of sight down the lake shore. What came in answer to the giant’s call, the priest never knew, but he hoped that it was both large and foul-tempered.

When Hiero returned, Solitaire still seemed to be worrying over the fact that there was one power that he had been unable to restore to the man. This was the newest of the skills Hiero had won, the ability to seize another mind and compel it to his will. He could “see” and communicate as well as in the past, or perhaps even better. But he could not do mental battle. The medicine of the Unclean had damaged that ability beyond even Solitaire’s skill to repair it.

Then it was question-and-answer time, and Hiero found himself hard-pressed to satisfy the giant’s need to know. His Abbey school training was put to undreamed-of tests. What was everything and how did it get there? That, in essence, was what the mutant snail wanted to know. Hiero writhed inwardly at what his preceptors in the church would have said about his statements on the nature of the Almighty. Still, he did his honest best, beyond which no one could do more.

It was not as hard as he had thought it might be, either. Solitaire could pick up a clue from any of a dozen angles. That incredible brain, stuffed with five thousand years of memory and thought, needed few aids in following an explanation.

It was while they were discussing some of the nature of the Unclean that Hiero learned of what Solitaire called “the Other Mind.”

It comes rarely, this sending, Solitaire said. It is not as old as I, or at least I never detected it until recently. By the last word, Hiero gathered, Solitaire might mean a thousand years or so; the mutant snail had little idea of lapsed time.

It seems to change somewhat, this power, at long intervals—at least, by what you and your kind would think of as long. It stays the same, this force, and yet changes as well. What exactly was meant, Solitaire could not explain, but about other aspects of the strange force, he was very emphatic.

Whenever I felt its presence, I hid my own mind. For it had something I feared about it. Now thai you have taught me what rage and evil are, I know what I feared. For I have never felt its presence free of anger. It has black anger against all and everything. And it is strong! You have given me much knowledge of your enemies, the Unclean. This is like them, I feel, but far, far more powerful. It may be of them, for what you tell me makes them seem one and the same. I felt it last not long ago, shortly before you came to my calling. It was very quick, like the bolt of fire from the sky in a storm. I regret that my skill could not have given you back the power to kill with your mind. You will need it. The worry in the great brain was very real.

Solitaire was quite amazing. Hiero had discovered that the giant, like most snails, was bisexual, capable of producing both eggs and sperm. On learning this fact, the man had suggested that an obvious thing to do was to raise some young, for company if not for anything else. This was surely not beyond its amazing biological powers, was it?

The reaction to this idea both surprised and amused Hiero. It was not right, not a pleasant thought. It was not—proper! The colossus of the hills was a prude! The more one learned about life, Hiero decided, the more one was amazed.

The last message from Solitaire came when Hiero was already far from the lake into which the giant had again retired.

Farewell for now, Hiero, new friend. Remember the direction of the men which I placed in your mind. I cannot reach them, but I know they are there. I can sense them at intervals, though they are not skilled with their minds as you are. Be careful!

And do not forget the Other Mind, the message went on, the one I have felt over the greatest distance from somewhere far to the south. What it is I cannot tell. But you have taught me well, and I know now that it is a great mind, even greater than mine, I think. Yet it is utterly, horribly wrong. It is evil. It means evil. Beware of it!

Farewell, once more. I have much to think about. We may meet again, sooner than either of us plans or imagines. I feel it!

Then the link was dissolved and the final contact was broken. Again, Hiero was alone. But now his mind was alert, and he was well armed, ready for any eventuality, as this last week of travel had proved.

Now fully rested, Hiero set off northward again at a steady lope, his gear swinging as he ran. The new shield was hooked firmly over the sword scabbard on his back. In addition to the spear in his hand and his belt knife, he bore the small canteen of leather. The bag slung over his shoulder held firestones, his seeing crystal, and the Forty Symbols, all wrapped in oiled leather. It also held a small supply of freshly dried meat and some roots, but they were for emergencies. In this game-filled country, he should feed well. Leather breeches, sandals, and a headband completed his possessions.

He sped along, his broad chest rising and falling easily. As the miles were eaten up by his steady pace, he rethought what little he had learned about this northward road he was following. He was rapidly leaving all trace of the heights behind, coming down the last gradients to another of the wide savannas once more. Dense clumps of heavy jungle broke the rolling waves of high grasses. Livid scars of green in the distance betrayed patches of marsh—or he had never seen their like before. He knew that he would find lazy rivers trailing here and there across the land as well. He hoped none would be too difficult to cross if one barred his path. The heat was bringing the sweat to his brow, used to the cool of the hills.

If possible, the animals were even thicker here than in the eastward country he had traversed weeks before. There were great red wolves and spotted cats of various sizes. The stripe-backed saberfang was here, its thunders drowning out all lesser feline noises. The mighty-trunked herbivores were also present in quantity, and the kinds and sheer numbers of antelope and grazing varieties of deer simply defied any coherent description. Hiero saw new things often, his active mind doing its best to catalogue each and every one.

There were herds, for want of a better word, of monstrous shelled creatures, their armored backs higher than his head. But they had ears and three-toed hooves and were warm-blooded. He entered their dull minds as they grazed and found them mere mountains of sluggish flesh. They saw nothing his size as even a menace. Once for pure fun, he ran up and down over the backs or a whole group of them. They hardly noticed.

Thousands of birds fluttered and sang. Many kinds followed the herds, feasting on stirred-up insects, while yet others perched on the animals’ backs, searching for ticks and lice. But not all avian life was so harmless.

His first encounter with another kind of bird nearly ended in disaster. It must have been watching him for some time; when it burst from a clump of tall bushes, it caught him almost off guard. It was twice his height, with a savage, hook-beaked head surmounted by a fan of lurid purple plumes. Its tiny, useless wings beat furiously as its clawed feet pounded down upon him. He parried one furious slash of the beak with his hastily whipped-off shield and then, dodging like a hare, fled for the nearest stand of tall trees. Behind him, overtaking fast, came the bird, now screaming raucously.

Fortunately for him, the closest tree had a mat of trailing vines, and he swarmed up them like one of his simian ancestors, the last stroke of the awful beak missing his sandaled heels by a hairs-breadth.

Breathing hard, he looked down at the angry monster, which was still screeching and venting its anger by tearing up large chunks of ground at the base of his refuge. He realized what must have happened and firmly resolved that lack of caution would not occur again. The great bird thought on another wavelength from that of the mammalian predators he had been guarding against. As a result, he had almost been betrayed by carelessness. He decided to monitor not only the mammals in the future but the birds and reptiles as well. In a world filled with mutant life, some of it unrelated to anything coherent or recognizable, all precautions were in order. He remembered that dead horror, the Dweller in the Mist, only too well, and the way it too had stolen on him unperceived.

After a long while, during which he composed himself in the tree with all the patience he could, the bird wandered away. When he could see, with his mind, that its presence was far off, he descended and resumed his journey. There were no more ambushes during that day. He stayed close to the trees, or to the tall termite mounds, which had also reappeared. This plan had its own hazards, since many of the carnivores lay up in the tree borders, but with his mind alert, he could usually make wide enough arcs to avoid any such. And he always selected a good crotch in some wide-limbed giant well before sunset loosed the main packs of night prowlers on the land. Still, he spent a lot of time in hiding.

Without his mental alerts, crossing this land on foot might have been impossible, except for an army.

As the days passed, sunny and clear with occasional violent thunderstorms, he fixed his mind on the area to the north. There, if Solitaire could be trusted, were human beings of some sort, though of what kind the titan had not known, beyond a vague feeling that they were not like Hiero. Each evening, then, the Metz first said his prayers and next tried to reach out with his mind, seeking contact. He was very, very careful. He had no real idea what he was searching for, and the last thing that he wanted was an unlooked-for encounter with the Unclean.

Hiero had deliberately not tried to use the crystal, which would perhaps enable him. to see far ahead in a purely physical sense. By staring into it and concentrating, he often could enter the brain of some bird, miles aloft in the blue heavens. Using that creature’s own vision, it was possible to spy out the land beneath. But in this strange country, he simply dared not. The process was too random and sweeping. Who knew what other mind he might encounter? Once before, in the distant North, he had tried this kind of viewing and had ended up in the brain of an Unclean adept, aloft in a winged craft in the sky! Once was enough. It was simply too risky at this time.

There were the Forty Symbols, though, each carved with a different sign. Although he had not used them for many months, and though they were not one of his own special talents, they had been some help in the past. The workings of the tiny precognition markers were not entirely understood, even by the Abbey servants, since their origin was lost in the past. Using them with any certitude was a highly individual skill, and it was not something that Hiero had ever excelled in. Still, there was no harm in an attempt.

One evening, therefore, a week after quitting the southern foothills, he arranged the little things in a loose pile on a slab of bark in his lap. He had previously strapped himself high in the branches of a forest lord, so that he could not fail, even if disturbed in a trance state. He had not seen his priest’s stole for months, but that was merely an external and not a vital element in what followed. He prayed for guidance and for help in discerning the future. Then he threw himself into a self-induced cataleptic state, now oblivious to all externals. His mental guard still protected him and, in this condition, no one could either read or control his mind. Before blanking himself out, he laid his open left hand on the pile of wooden markers.

It was fully dark when he awoke, stiff and cramped. The moon shone down on the savannas below, and the night was hideous with the sounds of both hunters and prey.

As he had expected and hoped, his left fist was clenched tight around a number of the little symbols. He freed himself from the thongs which held his body to the branch and, putting the remainder away, moved out into the full moonlight on an open limb. Only there did he open his palm and examine the three tiny pieces of ebon wood.

The Spear he knew well. It meant battle or hunting, sometimes both. Nothing new there. The next was another old friend, the tiny, stylized Boots. This too was familiar to him from the past. It meant a long journey ahead, another thing he had no trouble anticipating without aid. The last one was a bit of a puzzle, though. It was a leaf, and across it was superimposed a sword! Moreover, as he looked closely, he saw that the sword actually pierced the leaf, in and out again, as a pin does a robe.

He put the little things away and sat for a long time, trying to remember the possible meanings of the last marker. They each had several alternates and, when taken in conjunction with others, each could assume still newer meanings. What a pity he was not better at this! He had once had a classmate who could draw as many as twelve and get really complicated predictions from them.

Peace and war! That was it. But since the two signs were interwoven, it seemed there must be a choice. Peace or war, journeys and battles, or maybe hunts. He laughed quietly. When had his life contained much else? At least it seemed that things would go on as usual. In some distant future, perhaps he would awaken from the trance to discover signs which meant only peace and quiet. What a hope! He laughed again and then made his preparations for slumber, still chuckling. The nightly uproar all about and below he simply shut out of his mind, and he fell happily asleep, eager for what tomorrow would bring.

In a lamplit chamber, somewhere in Sask City, capital of the Metz Republic, two old men sat on oak benches and eyed each other alertly across a narrow wooden table. Each held a large foaming mug in his gnarled fist and each was robed and bearded. There the outer resemblance ended.

Abbot Demero’s aged face was the color of burnished copper, and the white beard and mustache under the hawk nose were straight and wiry. Over his angular frame, he wore a snowy robe, and on his chest was a heavy cross of hammered silver, suspended from a chain of massive silver links. On his left ring finger, he wore a great ring of plain gold. His dark eyes, over high cheekbones, were lit with intelligence and an air of command.

Brother Aldo had a longer beard; it and the mustache which flowed into it were curled, rippling and waving down over his plain brown robe. He wore no jewelry or mark of any kind. His nose, though not snub, was rounded at the tip, and his skin was far darker, almost the color of the oak slab on which his elbows rested. Wisdom and a dancing humor sparkled in his every glance.

Both men had the lines of many strenuous years engraved on their brows, but their strength had not been sapped, and the vigor of their movements, while not that of youth, was neither that of senescence.

Now the Most Reverend Father Demero spoke, a smile lifting the corners of his mouth. “A health, your Majesty, and welcome once again to the North. I only wish this meeting didn’t have to be held in secret. I’m tired of this damned skulking around.”

“Demero, you old fool, I curse the sorry day I ever told you what I once had been. So they lost a king in D’alwah a few generations back. They long ago forgot the crazy creature. Quit calling me that, will you, Most Reverend Abbot?”

“As you wish, Brother Aldo. Perhaps a republic always likes kings, having got rid of its own. We had a king here once, you know, before The Death. 1 don’t remember who he was, or even if he lived here. I have a feeling that he lived far away and only visited now and again. The Abbey archivists could probably tell you.”

The sage in the brown robe laughed. “That’s the way kings, or queens for that matter, ought to be, frequently absent.” His face sobered at another thought, and he straightened on his backless bench.

“We should be talking about a prince, not a king, Demero. We have a lot to go through. I have to be on my way tomorrow, you know. So let’s get to present business. I have bad news from the South, and you won’t be happy.”

Abbot Kulase Demero, Senior Priest of the Abbeys of the Metz Republic, Hierarch, First Gonfalonier of the Church Universal, and leader of the Republic’s Upper House, bent a piercing gaze on his friend, “It’s Hiero, isn’t it? I’ve been uneasy all week. He’s so far away and so alone. What’s the news? Out with it, man!”

“He’s gone. Maybe missing, maybe—worse!” Brother Aldo, who had once borne a very different name and title, had lost all the humor in his voice. “The Order sent me the news only this morning, filtered through many strange routes from the South. I gather there has been a rebellion, led by a young hellion of a duke with a fair claim to the throne, if Luchare and her father were dead. That sounds like old D’alwahn history so far. But there’s more. The pretender has Unclean help. Danyale is badly wounded, but alive. Luchare is running things, and her husband has simply disappeared from the face of the earth!”

There was nothing slow about the Father Abbot. “If he were dead, she would know, right?”

“Ye-es,” Aldo said slowly. “She swears he isn’t. That’s our best hope, as far as he is concerned. I pray to God she is right. I’m fond of him. But we have other things to think about. I trust Luchare. She’ll hold D’alwah, if it’s humanly possible. Danyale can help, if he gets better in a hurry. He’s not so dumb that he can’t see through a blanket. But the Order says the Unclean are moving fast, too. And they seem to be heading in your direction, toward the Republic. We, the Council of the Order, think you need help fast. How is the work coming on what we brought you from the underground place?” Despite himself, he glanced at one corner, where a small, ivory pendulum hung motionless from wooden crossbars.

Demero followed his glance. “That warding device hasn’t failed us yet, and I trust it. Any Unclean mental probe would set it off, so we can talk in confidence. As for the computer, it is showing progress. At first, when we studied the books you brought, it seemed impossible to create the tiny devices—chips, they’re called—on which it is based.” For a moment, a smile came to his face. “Then one of our brighter young men realized that many of the pieces in our archives, recovered from the sites of the ancients, were really parts of the thing described in the books. We think now there must have been millions of computers around before The Death. But even with the books and the parts, it takes time. We have to re-create a whole new way of thinking. And when finished, the computer is going to need what is called programming. My young men say they can do the job—but again, it takes time. The same old story.”

He leaned across the rough table. “How many years ago was it, Aldo, when we first met and determined, even as young men—or youngish men, I should say—that the church and the Order ought to be allies? And even then, we knew that time was working always in every way against us. Well, it hasn’t changed. Here you are, high in the Council of the Eleventh Brotherhood, and you know where I am. But it’s still time, with them ahead and us behind. Nevertheless, we must get ready, as well as we can. That bear creature, now, the one you call Gorm. Is he really going to be of any use?”

“Very great use—I hope,” was the prompt answer. “But he has to get the backing of his people. I gather they have rulers, too, these new bear people. We know of them, though they have never contacted us directly. And before you ask, let me read your mind, dear fellow. Yes, they are as intelligent as we, though also different. On how different hangs their willingness to help. And that will, as you have already guessed, take more time.”

“Red tape with bears!” the old Metz snorted. “That’s all we need! And I’ve had no reply from the Dam People either, speaking of odd allies. But they never budge without months of fumbling around. The bears will be fast by comparison.”

“I hate to bring this up, since you must be sensitive,” Brother Aldo said, “but what about your personal problem on the Council? The two—ugh!” He hesitated.

“Don’t mind my nicer feelings,” Demero snapped. “The two traitors. Well, I have almost enough evidence to hang them. A week or so should do it. And meanwhile, they don’t blow their snotty noses without my knowledge.”

“I suppose they can’t just, well, disappear?”

“No, they can’t, you peace-loving Elevener! This is not your barbarous ex-kingdom in the swamps of the South! We’ll get them, but they have to be tried. Fairly!”

“Too bad. The rough old days had their points. I find in retrospect. A symptom of advanced age, no doubt. Well, what next? How many regiments can you field and in what order? And the new ships you have been building? And, above all, what of the Otwah League? They have traitors, too, you know.”

The discussion continued, growing both acrimonious and technical. And when, in the small hours of the morning, two old men said their separate prayers, Hiero would have been comforted to know how largely he figured in both sets.

The prince-priest, the exile from everywhere, as it sometimes seemed to him, had other things to think about. He was currently atop the tallest tree he could find, studying the distant prospect and trying to figure out exactly what he was seeing. The scene in the distance before him was in some ways an odd one, and he wanted to study it carefully before venturing closer.

He had sent out his cautious probes the night before as usual. This time, he had very quickly picked up a human response, the aura of an awake man. Then, widening his search, he had found many others. There were the minds of women and children too, and he sensed as well the massed presence of domestic animals, probably some variety of kaw, such as he had known in D’alwah. There must be villages ahead, or some sort of settlements. He resolved to probe yet further and to see what, if anything, he could learn from one individual mind.

He picked one at random, that of a man who seemed to be slightly closer than others. He settled down and very carefully inserted his thoughts into the brain of his specimen, watching with all his trained ability at the same time in case the man was somehow alerted. The mind was one of a very stupid fellow, indeed. Moreover, it was so full of fear that there was almost no room for anything else. Intrigued, Hiero sought for the source of the fear, which was so overpowering that it seemed a constant condition.

At first he thought that it was a simple fear of the dark. In this savage land, the night with its terrible beasts would be a logical thing to fear. But following the traces through the peasant mind, he found that the situation was more complex. The man knew of the beasts, of course, and was well aware of their danger to himself. But he equated them with other natural terrors, such as lightning, floods, and forest fires. They were to be guarded against, but only that. What he really feared, to the point of acute psychosis, was—ghosts!

Searching the simpleton’s memories, the Metz tried to learn about the ghosts, but he was largely unsuccessful. The fear was most deeply ingrained in the man’s system but also suppressed to a degree. The fellow couldn’t bear to think consciously about his fears. On the surface, he simply feared the night. All would be well for those who lived until dawn. Night was an evil to be endured. The good would survive until another day brought safety. This was the sum of his surface thought.

Hiero dug deeper. There were clues, but ones hard to find. Real though the terror was, the man actually knew very little in the way of fact to bolster his nighttime state of constant panic. He had never seen a ghost. No one he knew had, either. Ghosts came in the dark. No walls, no huts, could exclude them. They took what they wanted. If they were annoyed for any reason, the person who annoyed them disappeared. They were wandering ghosts, for they were not always around. The priest of the community knew much more about them, and the priest said they were not always bad to have as neighbors, these ghosts. They kept away dangerous animals, if they were treated properly. Thus it made sense for the man and his fellows to sacrifice an animal of the herds once in a while when the ghosts wanted one. There was a smoldering resentment in the mind, Hiero noted, at this particular thought. One of the man’s own animals had been taken recently. This made the ghosts seem even worse!

The Metz withdrew, puzzled and rather annoyed. A crowd of superstitious cowherds was going to be no help to him at all. He had learned other and perhaps more useful facts from the dull mind, however. The southern fringes of the great jungle, the incredible forest of the South, lay no more than two days’ march to the north. Hiero had no idea how far to the west of D’alwah he had come in the last weeks. But north of the jungle, at some distance, of course, must lie the Inland Sea. The brain he had examined had never heard of it, but the lummox had never heard of anything beyond his horizon. Apparently traders never called in this remote area at all. Maybe, Hiero thought, they had heard, of the ghosts! He smiled ironically as he fell asleep.

He did not sleep as well as usual and, when he awoke, he felt strained and stiff. His dreams had been full of running and leaping, wild dreams full of excitement. Through his mind ran the thought of a hunt, for some reason. It must be the memory of his cast of the symbols and the little Spear. He stretched himself vigorously and did a few simple exercises to limber up before descending to start a hearty breakfast of yesterday’s kill.

At noon, he was staring at what must be the village of his mind search on the previous night. He could see for at least three miles, barring the blanks caused by other tall groves of timber. Then the heat haze closed in. But the sight before him was not half a mile away.

There was a stockade, a good, strong one, with sharpened timbers planted facing out as a chevaux-de-frise. Even the great, tusked beasts would have found that hard to penetrate. Inside the stockade rose the smoke of small fires, and he could see the shapes of rounded huts, seemingly thatched. There were corrals for the kaws, and several small herds of these grazed not far from the village, watched by the tiny figures of men. One great tree grew in the heart of the village, but there were no others near at all. A small river lazed over the plain only a short distance on the far side of the village, and he guessed that this would provide all the water they needed, save for times of extreme drought, which was a rare occurrence in the well-watered land. The last one in D’alwah had been over a hundred years in the past.

It was a peaceful scene and one that he had no desire to interrupt. But he needed information badly. This priest of whom his unwitting informant of the night had thought might be able to provide it. Hiero sent out his mind probe again, but soon learned that the man he wanted was away on some errand to another village just over the edge of sight on his left.

He brooded for a while and then decided that he had little to risk by showing himself. He could see some small but well-tended fields on the outskirts of the village, and his keen nose had long since detected the smell of baking. He had not tasted bread for a long time and he needed salt as well. These simple folk with their fear of the night would find little to affright them in the appearance of one man alone in the heat of the day. They would be able to see quite clearly that he was not a ghost! In this supposition he was one hundred percent correct.

Long before he was anywhere near the village, he saw men swarming out of the one great gate. Now that he was closer, he could see a small platform high in the big tree in the village and he realized that these people were not as unprepared as he had thought. They had seen him and taken action accordingly, and now a line of the men was slowly advancing on him.

As they drew near, he laid his spear carefully down so that they could see it. Then he raised both empty arms, in the oldest gesture of amity. At the same time, he searched their minds for any trace of hostility. He found wariness and surprise at his appearance, but no anger. They were, as he had assumed, not afraid of one man.

They were a short, swarthy people, heavy rather than graceful, but sturdy and not ill-looking. They wore simple leather kilts and sandals not unlike his own and also carried spears, though they seemed to have no shields. The spears were mostly stone-tipped, but here and there he saw the light catch a metal point. They had lowered them now and seemed to be waiting for him to make the first overture.

He selected an. older, gray-bearded man and addressed him in batwah, the trade language used over thousands of leagues. The man jabbered an answer, though in a different tongue. But Hiero had rioted a look of surprise in his eyes and caught the fact from the fellow’s brain that batwah had been heard before. He listened carefully as the man spoke again and this time he heard a few words that sounded familiar. While on the deck of the Foam Girl, a year back on the Inland Sea, he had spoken with her mongrel crew, culled by her owner, Captain Gimp, from all over the known world. Later, in the forest, he had gotten to know them all even better. This speech recalled a dialect he had picked up from an escaped slave who had become one of his especial admirers. In a few minutes, using the enhanced ability of his mind to read the fellow’s thoughts, he was chattering away with enough skill to make himself easily understood.

They were perfectly friendly and more than willing to give him any information that they possessed. Yes, they had bread, and he was welcome to take all he could carry. But he had better hurry. It was past noon now, and he didn’t have much time.

“Time for what?” Hiero asked. “I planned to get some sleep in your village tonight. I’m not in that big a hurry.”

The elder, whose name was something like Grilparzer, with a grunt in the middle, looked first baffled, then sad, and finally thoughtful.

“I was afraid of this,” he said. “You’re like the others, the ones who came when I was a child. Come along and walk to the village. You cannot stay with us. I’m sorry, but it is not permitted. Only those born to us may live inside our walls. I’ll send one of the boys along to get the bread, and it will be waiting when we get there. Then, Hiero, you have to go. For your sake, I hope you’re a good runner.” Several of the others, trudging along close by, shook their shaggy heads in agreement.

“Why?” the Metz asked. “Is there some danger? Why can’t I stay in your village? I don’t eat babies.” He was tempted to add that he certainly bathed more frequently than most of his new acquaintances, but decided against it.

“No, no,” Gril-grunt-parzer said. “You don’t understand. We won’t hurt you. But you have to go. You can’t stay in the village. That is the law. And if you’re found outside when it’s dark …!” He shuddered, and Hiero caught the very real fear in the simple mind.

“I can climb pretty well.” He pointed with his spear to a distant herd of game. “Nothing that kills those things has been able to catch me yet. If you have some taboo about strangers, why don’t I camp under your walls or in a tall tree over there in one of those groves? Then I can come and have a talk with your priest in the morning.”

This time, those walking close by suddenly picked up their feet and went on ahead at a faster pace. It was obvious that the conversation was one they chose to avoid.

Grilparzer was made of sterner material. He was unhappy, but he felt he had a duty to this pleasant-spoken foreigner and he was going to do his best. He halted and put his hand on Hiero’s chest, to make the Metz halt.

“When I was a little lad, other men came. Not like you, but they spoke the way you did at first. They wanted to trade things with us. For hides and fur, they had metal and cloth such as we almost never see. When we do, well, we get it the way we got theirs.” He was obviously wrestling with a concept of utter horror to him, and again Hiero felt the sweat of mental fear. In fact, the man was sweating physically! But he persevered.

“We tried in every way we could to get them to leave. They were well armed and laughed at us. They camped by the gate and lighted many fires. They put out guards and we locked and barred the gate.” He paused again. “In the morning they were gone. All of them, as we knew they would be. A great company, two tens of strong men and all their beasts of burden. Most of their gear was left. After a while, we went out and took it and covered the ashes of their burned-out fires.” He tapped the bronze hilt of a dagger thrust into his belt. “I got this knife then when we shared their goods among us.”

Hiero was silent as he thought. Whatever drove these people, there was no doubt of their sincerity. That could not be concealed. Ghosts! He still stood poised in thought, however. The ugly story he had heard must have had some basis in fact. Whatever had happened to the unfortunate traders of long ago, it appeared to have something besides irrational fright behind it.

“All right,” he said at length. “I see that you fear the night and what may come in the dark hours.” Some stray thought stirred in his subconscious and he added, not quite sure why, “I do not fear that which runs in the night.”

The man who stood before him shrank back as if lashed over the face. Spinning on his heel, he ran for the village gate, bawling something as he went. An approaching youth hastily deposited some burden he carried on the earth and also turned and fled. All the other men were running full out, too, as if Hiero were some demon who would devour them on the instant.

The gate, which was only a few hundred yards away, began to close as the last of the running men passed through it. Hiero heard it thud heavily shut behind them. He walked slowly forward and stooped to examine the parcel that the youngster had dropped so quickly. As he had thought, it was two loaves of the promised bread, still hot from some crude oven and wrapped in a piece of hide.

He stood up and looked about him. The distant herdsmen also were gone, and so were their herds. The westering sun was now slanting down with the light of late afternoon. Hiero looked curiously at the palisade and the sharpened stakes of the village. Neither there nor on the platform in the great tree was any head visible. Some distant antelope raised a small cloud of dust far off in the path of the red sun. Aside from these, nothing moved, save for a few vultures, black dots in the high sky.

His mind went out and he sought to probe the village. All he could get was an amorphous mass of stark terror, even for him almost impossible to penetrate and pick out individual minds. The strength of the fear amazed him. Why, it’s as if it were ingrained, hereditary or something, he thought.

Picking up the bundle of bread, he shouldered his spear and set off at a walk for the nearest trees, perhaps half a mile away. Be damned if I’ll run, was his last thought.