Chalker, Jack L. - Well of Souls 02 (46 page)

The Lamotien considered it. "Two each, we think. Arctic hares." The creature seemed to come apart all of a sudden; breaking into small, equal-sized fuzzy masses. Two of the things came off one side and jumped to the snow; two others from the left. Yulin watched, fascinated as always, as the rest of the shaggy creature reformed and readjusted. It looked slightly thinner, but otherwise the same.

Now the two Lamotien in the snow ran together, seemed to blend into one big shaggy lump. The other pair did the same. Slowly, as if there were unseen puppeteer's hands under the shaggy mops, there was a poking here, a wrinkle there, a bend here, a growth there.

Two arctic hares were there in less than two minutes. They scampered off naturally in the direction of the cabin. The rest waited; only the colony leader had a translator, so they'd have to reform before he knew the story. They didn't have vocal communication, that was for sure. He wondered if they talked when they melded, became one being with common mind, or what. He'd asked, but the Lamotien told him not to worry about it, the concept was beyond him anyway.

The hares returned in a little more than ten minutes, disconnected, jumped back into the hairy lump, and melded again. The shape was silent for a minute, talking to the scouts or maybe absorbing the scouts' brief memories.

Finally, it said, "The place is deserted. You're right about it being funny, though. Lots of packs and supplies still there. Somebody was there not long ago, and left— not of their own will, we'll wager. Too much stuff left."

That had him worried. "Think they were the centaurs we've been following?"

"Probably," the Lamotien agreed. "But whoever they are, they're gone now."

"Tracks?"

The Lamotien paused. "That's the funny part. There aren't any. We see their tracks, lots of snow disturbances where they unpacked, and all that. But no other tracks for hundreds of meters in any direction. None."

"Well, they didn't come back this way," Yulin said, worried now. "So where did they go?"

They all looked around at the silent mountains.

"And with whom?" responded the Lamotien.

Another Part of the Field

It seemed that they had walked forever; they had frequent rests— their captors seeming to appreciate their need for more oxygen than the atmosphere now provided— but no conversation. A few grunts and a lot of gestures, none of which the translators would handle, but nothing else.

They were off any trails the Dillians knew, though. Trails so invisible at times that the great Gedemondans leading the way in sometimes crazy patterns seemed to be lost themselves. They weren't, though; they simply knew, somehow, everything that was under the snow.

Doma, carrying both Mavra and Renard, was being led by Tael with the two Lata on her back. In front were four of the giant snow creatures; behind, four more. Others were visible now, here and there, sometimes a large number, sometimes one or two crossing paths.

Mavra still wasn't sure what they were. They didn't really remind her of anything, yet they somehow reminded her of everything. All snow white, not even the dirtiness that such thick hair usually displays so well. Tall— Tael was well over two meters, and they were almost a head taller than she— and very slender. Humanoid, yet their faces appeared doglike, snow white with long, very thin snouts and black button noses, their eyes set back, large but very human-looking, and an intense pale blue. Their hands and feet formed huge circular pads when closed, the palms and soles of a tough, white, pawlike material. But when they spread their fingers, their long, thin fingers, they had three and a thumb— although their hands seemed to be almost without bones. They could bend them any which way and flex them and the whole hand in any direction, as if they were made of some kind of putty. Fingers and toes had long, pink claws, the only nonwhite part of them other than the nose. Even the insides of their saucerlike ears were white.

They filled in the tracks by the simplest method imaginable. They wore flowing white capes of some animal fur, and it dragged behind them as they walked, the light top powder filling in behind them. They didn't sink down into the snow nearly as heavily as they should have; the padlike feet acted almost like snowshoes.

Tracks weren't a problem here; they knew they were being taken into the mainstream of Gedemondan life, whatever that was. This was the part hidden away from all comers, the part they never let you see.

And that made them wonder. Why them? Did the Gedemondans know they were coming? Were they being helped? Or were they prisoners to be interrogated about all these invasions before being tossed over a cliff? There were no answers, only more walking.

Occasionally the great snow-beasts would pop right up out of the snow. It was unsettling at first, until they realized that there must be trap doors of some kind— whether over ice caves, natural or dug, or rock caves, or even artificial dwellings that were covered with snow they didn't know. It was clear, though, that one of the big reasons you never saw the population was that they were living and doing whatever it is they did below the snow cover, the art of camouflage coming naturally to them.

Night came, plunging this wintry world into an eerie glowing darkness. The night sky of the Well World reflected off the snowfields in distorted, twinkling wonder. New Pompeii wasn't visible, but it might not yet have risen, or it might have set, or it might be out of sight behind the distant mountains.

They hadn't had time to take any supplies. The Gedemondans had been gentle but insistent; when they had protested, they had been picked up as easily as Renard picked up a bag of apples, and plopped down on top of the two best able to carry them, Tael and Doma. Tael was too overawed and a little scared to protest much; Doma seemed curiously at home and docile around the strange creatures, as if they had some mysterious power over her.

Or, they hoped, because she could perceive no threat.

Still they didn't go hungry. Just after darkness fell they were led to a large cave they would have never known was there, and other Gedemondans brought familiar fruits and vegetables, from where they couldn't guess, served on broad wood plates, and a fruit punch that tasted quite good.

They even seemed extra concerned about Mavra's problems. Her dish was higher and thicker, the easier to reach it, and the punch was in a deep bowl so she could drink as she wished.

Renard had not used his electrical powers at Mavra's suggestion; they were, after all there to contact the Gedemondans, and this was, if nothing else, contact. But he couldn't resist it, finally, and reached over to a close relative of an apple and applied a small charge that baked it.

The Gedemondans didn't seem impressed. Finally one who was sitting against the cave wall got up and walked over to him, then crouched down across from him, the plate in the middle. A clawed hand reached out, touched the plate. There was a blinding flash lasting only a fraction of a second, and the plate and fruit just weren't there any more. Renard was dumbfounded; he reached over, felt the spot where it had been. It wasn't even warm, yet there were no char marks, debris, or anything but a tiny little odor of ozone or something. The snow-creature snorted in satisfaction, patted him patronizingly on the head, and walked off.

That ended the demonstrations of power.

They were bone-tired and chilled, but they did not spend the night in the cave. Although they didn't run, it was apparent that their captors were on some sort of schedule, and that they had a particular place for their captives to be at a certain time.

It was several more hours before they reached it, and by that point Tael was complaining to the silent leaders loudly that she couldn't go a step farther.

It was a solid rock wall, looming ominously ahead in the near-darkness. They started for it, expecting to turn any minute, but it didn't happen. Instead the wall opened for them.

To be precise, a huge block of stone moved slowly back, obviously on a muscle-powered pulley, and bright lights shone into the darkness. They went on, into the tunnel.

The light was from some glowing mineral that picked up torchlight and magnified it a hundredfold. It was bright as day inside.

The inside of the mountain was a honeycomb; labyrinthine passages went off in all directions, and they were quickly and completely lost. But it was warm— comfortable, in fact— inside, the heat coming from a source they never did discover, and there were strange noises of a lot of work being done— but what was going on it was impossible to see.

Finally, they were at their destination. It was a comfortable, large room. There were several big beds there, filled with soft cushions of fabric, and a large fur rug that was perfect for Mavra. There was only one entrance, and two Gedemondans stood there, conspicuous yet as unobtrusive as possible. This was it, then.

They were too tired to talk much, to even move, or worry about what was in store for them. They were sound asleep in minutes.

* * *

The next day all awoke feeling better, but with some aches and pains. Gedemondans brought more fruits, a different punch, and even a bale of hay which could be used by both Tael and Doma. Where that came from there was little mystery; it was a ration at one of the trail cabins.

Mavra stretched all four limbs and groaned. "Oh, wow!" she said. "I must have slept solid and unmoving. I'm stiff as a board."

Renard sympathized. "I'm not feeling too great myself. Overslept, I think. But we're the better for it."

The two Lata, who always slept motionless on their stomachs, still had their own complaints, and Tael said she had a stiff neck. Even Doma snorted and flexed her wings, almost knocking Tael in the face.

The Gedemondans had cleared away the breakfast dishes; now only one was in the room, looking at them with a detached expression.

Vistaru looked at him. Her? No way to tell with them. "I wish they'd say something," she muttered, as much to herself as to the others. "This strong, silent treatment gives me the creeps."

"Most people talk too much about too little now," said the Gedemondan, in a nice, cultured voice full of warmth. "We prefer not to unless we really have something to say."

They all almost jumped out of their skins.

"You can talk!" Hosuru blurted, then covered, "That is, we were wondering . . ."

The Gedemondan nodded, then looked at Mavra, still on her side on the rug. "So you are Mavra Chang. I've wondered what you would look like."

She was surprised. "You know me? Well, I'm pleased to meet you, too. I'm sorry I can't give you my hand."

He shrugged. "We were aware of your problem. As to knowing you, no. We were aware of you. That is different."

She accepted that. There were lots of ways of getting information on the Well World.

Tael could not be restrained now. "Why haven't you ever talked to us?" she asked. "I mean, we had the idea that you were some kind of animals or something."

Her lack of subtly did not perturb the Gedemondan. "It's not hard to explain. We work hard at our image. It is— necessary." He sat down on the floor, facing them.

"The best way to explain it is to tell you a little of our own history. You know, all of you, of the Markovians?" That was not the word he used, but he was using a translator and that's the way it came out.

They nodded. Renard was the most ignorant of them; even Tael had had some schooling. But Renard, at least, knew from his own area of space of the dead ruins of that mysterious civilization.

"The Markovians evolved as all plants and animals evolve, from the primitive to the complex. Most races reach a dead end somewhere along the line, but not them. They reached the heights of material attainment. Anything they wished for was theirs. Like the fabled gods, nothing was beyond them," the Gedemondan told them. "But it wasn't enough. When they had it all, they realized that the end of it was stagnancy, which common sense will tell you is the ultimate result of any material utopia."

They nodded, following him. Renard thought there was some argument against that, and that he'd like to try Utopia first, but he let it pass.

"So they created the Well World, and they transformed themselves into new races, and they placed their children on new worlds of their design. The Well is more than the maintenance computer for this world; it is the single stabilizing force for the finite universe," the snow-creature continued. "And why did they commit racial suicide to descend back to the primitive once more? Because they felt cheated, somehow. They felt they had missed something, somewhere. And, the tragedy was, they didn't know what it was. They hoped one of our races could find out. That was the ultimate goal of the project, which still goes on."

"It seems to me they made a sucker play," Mavra responded. "Suppose they weren't missing anything? Suppose that was it?"

The Gedemondan shrugged. "In that case, those warring powers below represent the height of attainment, and when the strongest owns the universe— I'm speaking metaphorically, of course, for they are mere reflections of the races of the universe— we'll have the Markovians all over."

"But not Gedemondans?" Vistaru prompted.

He shook his head. "We took a different path. While the rest ran toward materialistic attainment, we decided to accept the challenge of a nontechnological hex for what it was— and not try by ingenuity to make it as technological as we could. What nature provided, we accepted. Hot springs allowed some cultivation in these uniquely lighted caverns, which run through the entire hex. We had food, warmth, shelter and privacy. We turned ourselves not outward, but inward, to the very core of our being, our souls, if you will, and explored what we found there. There were things there no one had ever taken time to dream of. A few Northern hexes are proceeding similarly, but most are not. We feel that this is what the Markovians created us to do, and what so few are doing. We're looking for what they missed."