Galaxy's Edge Magazine: Issue 2, May 2013 (37 page)

“Clickstones?” she asked, puzzled.

“Of course. If we run into somebody from the Lower Level they might wonder why I’m
not
using them.”

“Oh. Jared, why don’t we—no. I suppose not.”

“What were you going to say?” He felt perfectly at ease now, with the familiar tones of the pebbles faithfully bringing back true impressions of all the hazards ahead.

“I started to say let’s go to the Zivver World where we belong.”

He pulled up sharply. The Zivver World! Why not? If he was listening for a lessness of something that resulted from zivving, what better place to detect it than in a world where
plenty
of people were doing a
lot
of zivving? But could he get away with it? Could he successfully pose as a Zivver in a world full of Zivvers—and hostile ones at that?

“I can’t leave the Lower Level just now,” he decided finally.

“That’s what I figured. Not with all the trouble they’re having. But someperiod, Jared—
someperiod
we’ll go there?”

“Someperiod.”

She tightened her grip on his hand. “Jared! What if the Wheel sends a runner to the Lower Level to tell them you’re a Zivver?”

“They wouldn’t—” He paused. He’d started to say they wouldn’t believe it. But with the Guardian dedicated to stirring up sentiment against him, he wondered.

When they reached his world, he found it odd that there were no longer any Protectors at the entrance. The clear, firm
clacks
of the central caster did reveal, however, the presence of
someone
standing there at the end of the passageway. And when he moved closer he received the reflected impression of feminine form, hair-over-face.

It was Zelda.

Hearing them she started. Then, nervously, she probed them with clickstones until they came into the full sound of the caster.

“You sure picked a Radiation of a time to bring a Unification partner back,” she reproved after she had recognized Jared.

“Why?”

“There’ve been two more kidnappings by the monsters,” she answered. “That’s why we’re not defending the entrance any longer. They took one of the Protectors. Meanwhile, the Guardian’s managed to get the whole world worked up against you.”

“Maybe I can do something about that,” he returned irately.

“I don’t think you can. You’re not Prime Survivor any longer. Romel’s taken over.” Zelda coughed several times and it sent the hair flying from in front of her face.

He strode off toward the Official Grotto.

“Wait,” the girl called. “There’s something else. Everybody’s boiling at you. Hear all that?”

He listened toward the residential section. The world was resounding with coughs.

“They blame you for this epidemic,” she explained, “since they remember you were the first to have all the symptoms.”

“Jared’s back!” someone in the orchard shouted.

Another Survivor, farther along the way, took up the cry and passed it on to still a third.

Presently a score of persons could be heard filing out of the orchard where they had been working. Others spilled from the grottoes. And they were all converging on the entrance.

Jared studied the reflected
clacks
and picked up impressions of Romel and Guardian Philar in the forefront of the advance. They were flanked on either side by a number of Protectors.

Della seized his arm anxiously. “Maybe it would be safer if we just left.”

“We can’t let
Romel
get away with this.”

Zelda added with a crisp laugh, “If you think this world’s in a mess now, wait till you hear what Romel does to it.”

Jared stood his ground before the approaching Survivors. If he was going to convince them Romel and Philar had merely taken advantage of them in the interest of personal ambition, it would have to be from a position of confidence and dignity.

His brother drew up before him and warned, “If you stay here you’re going to hear things my way. I’m Prime Survivor now.”

“How did the Elders vote on that?” Jared asked calmly.

“They haven’t yet. But they will!” Romel seemed to be losing some of his self-assurance. He paused to listen and make certain he still had the support of the Survivors, who had drawn into a half circle about the entrance.

“No Prime Survivor can be removed,” Jared recited the law, “without full hearing.”

Guardian Philar stepped forward. “As far as we’re concerned, you’ve
had
your hearing—before a Power more just than any of us, before the Great Light Almighty Himself!”

One of the Survivors shouted, “You’ve got Radiation sickness! That only comes from having truck with Cobalt or Strontium!”

“And you passed it on to everybody else!” another added, coughing spasmodically.

Jared started to protest, but was promptly shouted down.

And the Guardian said severely, “There are only two sources of Radiation sickness. Either you
did
have something to do with the Twin Devils, as Romel suggested, or the disease is a punishment from Light for your profanity, as I suspect.”

It was Jared who was losing his composure now. “It’s not true! Ask Cyrus whether I—”

“The monster got Cyrus yesterperiod.”

“The Thinker—gone?”

Della tugged on his arm and whispered, “We’d better get out of here, Jared.”

There were the sounds of clickstones and running feet in the passageway and he bent an ear to hear who was approaching.

By his pace, it was clear that the man was an official runner. And, when he broke his stride, it was further evident that he had sensed the congestion of persons at the entrance. He halted, then came forward more slowly, and without benefit of stones, to join them.

“Jared Fenton’s a Zivver!” he disclosed. “He led the monsters to the Upper Level!”

The Protectors, most of them armed with spears, spread out and encircled Jared and the girl.

Then someone shouted, “Zivvers—in the passage!”

More than half the Survivors turned and fled noisily back toward their grottoes as Jared picked up the scent drifting in from the passageway. Someone redolent with the odors of the Zivver World was approaching—stumbling, falling, rising, and coming forward again.

The Protectors broke ranks as they jockeyed in confusion. The pair nearest the entrance drew back their spears.

Just then the Zivver staggered into the direct sound of the central caster and collapsed on the ground.

“Wait!” Jared shouted, casting himself at the two Protectors who were about to hurl their lances.

“It’s only a child!” Della exclaimed.

Jared made his way to the girl, who was groaning with pain. It was Estel, whom he had returned to the Zivver party in the Main Passage.

He heard Della kneel on the other side of the child and run her hands over the girl’s chest. “She’s hurt! I can feel four or five broken ribs!”

Still, Estel recognized him and he caught the sound of her weak smile. He could sense, too, the animation in her eyes as he listened to them dart up and down in purposeful motion.

“You told me someperiod I’d start zivving—when I least expected it,” she managed painfully.

Spear touched spear somewhere behind him and the echoes captured the grimace that twisted the child’s smile.

“You were right,” she continued feebly. “I was trying to find your world and I fell into a pit. When I climbed out again, I started zivving.”

Her head slumped against his arm and he felt the life shudder out of her body.

“Zivver! Zivver!” The incriminating cry rose behind him.

“Jared’s a Zivver!”

He seized Della’s hand and lunged into the tunnel as two spears struck the wall beside him. He paused only long enough to snatch up the lances, then continued on into the passageway.

CHAPTER NINE

Half a period later, with long stretches of unfamiliar passages behind them, Jared paused and listened tensely.

There it was again! A distant flutter of wings—much too faint for Della’s ears, though.

“Jared, what
is
it?” She pressed close against him.

Casually, he said, “I thought I heard something.”

Actually, he had suspected for some time that the soubat was trailing them.

“Maybe it’s one of the Zivvers!” she suggested eagerly.

“That’s what I hoped at first. But I was mistaken. There’s nothing there.” No sense in alarming her—not just yet.

As long as he could keep the conversation going, he had little to worry about insofar as pitfalls were concerned. The words provided a steady source of sounding echoes. But subject matter was not inexhaustible and eventually there came lapses into silence. It was then that he had to resort to artifice to keep the girl from discovering he wasn’t a Zivver. An ingeniously timed cough, an ostensibly awkward clatter of the lances, an unnecessary scuff that sent a loose stone rattling along the ground—all these improvisations helped.

He let a spear strike rock and was rewarded with the reflected composite of a bend in the corridor. As he negotiated it, Della warned. “Watch out for that hanging stone!”

Her alarmed words fetched him an impression of the sliver of rock in all its audible clarity. But too late.

Clop!

The impact of his head snapped the needle in two and sent fragments hurtling against the wall.

“Jared,” she asked, puzzled, “aren’t you zivving?”

He feigned a groan to avoid answering—not that the instant swelling on his forehead wasn’t justification enough for the expression of pain.

“Are you hurt?”

“No.” He pushed forward briskly.

“And you aren’t zivving either.”

He tensed. Had she guessed already? Was he about to lose his only means of entry into the Zivver World?

Even convinced that he wasn’t zivving, however, she only laughed. “You’re having the same trouble I did—until I said, ‘To Radiation with what people think! I’m going to ziv all I want!’”

Using the reflections of her clearly enunciated syllables, he planted firmly in mind the details of the area immediately ahead. “You’re right. I wasn’t zivving.”

“We don’t have to deny our ability any longer, Jared.” She held on to his arm. “That’s all behind us now. We can be ourselves for the first time—really ourselves! Oh, isn’t it wonderful?”

“Sure.” He rubbed the lump on his forehead. “It’s wonderful.”

“That girl who was waiting for you at the Lower Level—”

“Zelda?”

“What an odd name—and a fuzzy-face too. Was she a—friend?”

At least the echo-generating conversation was under way again. And now he could readily hear all the obstacles.

“Yes, I suppose you’d call her a friend.”

“A
good
friend?”

He led her confidently around a shallow pit, half-expecting a complimentary “
Now
you’re zivving!” But it didn’t come.

“Yes, a good friend,” he said.

“I gathered as much—from the way she was waiting for you.”

With his head turned away, he smiled. Zivvers, it appeared, were not lacking in normal human sensitivity. And he felt somewhat gratified over the pout-formed distortion of her words when she asked, “Are you going to—miss her much?”

Hiding his amusement, he offered bravely, “I think I’ll manage to get over it.”

He faked another cough and detected a vague hollowness lurking in the rebounding sound. Fortunately, he kicked a loose stone with his next step. Its crisp clatter betrayed the details of a chasm that stretched halfway across the corridor.

Della warned, “Ziv that—”

“I ziv it!” he shot back, leading her around the hazard.

After a while she said distantly, “You had lots of friends, didn’t you?”

“I don’t think I was ever lonesome.” He regretted the statement immediately, suspecting that a Zivver in his position more logically
would
have been lonesome—dissatisfied with his lot.

“Not even knowing you were—different from all the others?”

“What I meant,” he hastened to explain, “was that most of the people were so nice I could almost forget I wasn’t like them.”

“You even knew that poor Zivver child,” she added thoughtfully.

“Estel. I only heard—zivved her once before.” He told her about encountering the runaway girl in the corridor.

When he had finished she asked, “And you let Mogan and the others get away without even telling them you were a Zivver too?”

“I—that is—” He swallowed heavily.

“Oh,” she said with belated comprehension, “I forgot—you had your friend Owen with you. And he would have heard your secret.”

“That’s right.”

“Anyway, you couldn’t desert the Lower Level, knowing how much they needed you.”

He listened suspiciously at her. Why had she been so quick to provide the answers for which he had been only groping? It was as though she had whimsically put him on a hook, then deftly taken him off again. Did she
know
he was no Zivver? Somehow it seemed his entire plan to investigate the possible Zivver-Darkness-Eyes-Light relationship might be slipping into an obscure echo void.

Again he was jarred from his thoughts by the portentous sound of fanning wings—still too distant for Della to detect. Without slowing his pace, he concentrated on the ominous flapping. There were two of the beasts trailing them now!

The logical thing to do, he readily heard, would be to dig in and face the soubats promptly—before they attracted others to the pursuit. He held off with the hope that the passage would narrow sufficiently to let him and the girl through but not the soubats.

He slowed his pace and waited for Della to say something so there would be more sounding echoes.

Clop!

The impact of shoulder against hanging stone wasn’t quite as jolting this time. It merely spun him half-around.

Angered, he snatched a pair of clickstones out of his pouch and rattled them furiously. To Radiation with what she thought! If the truth that he wasn’t a Zivver was going to come out, let it come!

Della only laughed. “Go ahead and use your stones if it’ll make you feel any more secure. I went through the same thing when I first started zivving steadily.”

“You did?” He stepped off at a brisk pace now that what lay ahead was so sharply audible.

“You’ll soon get used to it. It’s the air currents that cause all the trouble. They’re beautiful but tiring.”

Currents? Did that mean there was some way she could be aware of slow, swirling air in the corridor—something
he
could
hear
only when it was further agitated by the passage of a spear or arrow?

It was Della who tripped this time. She fell against him, throwing them both off balance and sending them reeling against the wall.

She clung to him and he could feel the moist warmth of her breath on his chest, the cleaving softness of her body against his.

He held her for a moment and she whispered, “Oh, Jared—we’re going to be
so
happy! No two people ever had more in common!”

Her cheek was smooth where it pressed against his shoulder and her banded tress of hair lay softly across his arm, dancing as it moved with the slight motions of her head.

Dropping his spears, he touched her face and felt the even flow of trim features, firm and fine from hairline to chin. Her waist, molded to the concavity of his other hand, was evenly curved and supple, flaring out to modestly rounded hips.

Not until then had he fully realized she might quite easily become more than just a means to an end. And he was certain he had been wrong in suspecting she was trying to deceive him—so certain that he found himself thinking of forgetting everything else and settling down with her in some remote, lesser world.

But sobering logic barged in on his reverie and he retrieved the lances abruptly, shoving off down the passage. Della was a Zivver; he wasn’t. She would find happiness in her Zivver World and he would have to be content with his quest for Light—if he managed to survive his bold invasion of the Zivver domain.

“Are you zivving now, Della?” he asked cautiously.

“Oh, I ziv all the time. Soon you will too.”

Experimentally, he listened sharply with the faint hope that he would notice some indiscernible change in the things about her. But he heard nothing. It must be as he had previously suspected: the lessness he sought was so minor that he would have to be in the presence of a number of Zivvers before its cumulative effect would be noticeable.

But, wait! There was a more direct approach.

“Della, tell me—what do you think about Darkness?”

And he could hear her echo-conveyed frown as she repeated the question and added uncertainly, “Darkness abounds in the worlds—”

“Sin and evil, no doubt.”

“Of course. What else?”

It was evident she knew nothing of Darkness. Or, even if she could perceive it, she still didn’t recognize it for what it was.

“Why are you so concerned over Darkness?” she asked.

“I was just thinking,” he improvised, “that zivving must be something opposite to Darkness—something good.”

“Of course it’s good,” she assured, following him around a lesser depression and along the shore of a suddenly emerged river. “How could anything so beautiful be bad?”

“It’s—beautiful?” He tried to eliminate the questioning inflection at the last beat. But, still, the words came out more interrogation than statement.

Her voice was animate with expressiveness. “That rock up ahead—ziv how it stands out against the cool earth background, how warm and soft it is. Now it’s not there, but just for a beat—until that breath of warm air goes by. Now it’s back again.”

His mouth hung open. How could the rock be there and not there in the next instant. It had continued to cast back
clicks
from his stones all the while, hadn’t it? Why, it hadn’t moved even a finger’s width!

The passage, he could hear, was wide and straight, with few hazards. So he put his stones away.

“You’re zivving now, aren’t you, Jared? What do you ziv?”

He hesitated. Then, impulsively, “Out there in the stream—I ziv a fish. A big one, standing out against the cool river bed.”

“How can
that
be?” she asked skeptically. “
I
can’t ziv it.”

But certainly it was there! He could hear the swishing of its fins as it stabilized itself. “It’s there, all right.”

“But a fish is no colder or warmer than the water around it. Besides, I’ve never been able to ziv rocks or anything else in water—not even when I’ve just thrown them in.”

Covering over the blunder would call for boldness. “I can ziv fish. Maybe I ziv different from you.”

She was audibly concerned. “I hadn’t thought of that. Oh, Jared, suppose I’m not really a Zivver after all!”

“You’re a Zivver, all right.” Then he lapsed into a troubled silence. How could anyone expect to outsmart a Zivver?

The fearsome rustle of leathery wings overtook him and he marveled that anything that distinct could escape the girl’s attention. The creatures had reached an enlarged stretch of the passage and, making the most of ample flying room, were streaking forward.

Then he pulled up and trained his ears acutely on the rearward sounds. No longer were there only two soubats stalking them. It was clearly audible that their number had at least doubled.

“What is it, Jared?” Della questioned his alert silence.

One of the creatures filled the air with its strident cry.

“Soubats!” she exclaimed.

“Just one.” No point in alarming her when, with a little luck, they might lose the beasts entirely. “You take the lead. I’ll bring up the rear—in case it gets in position to attack.”

He prided himself on having worked a temporary advantage out of the situation. With her in front, he no longer had to prove occasionally that he was zivving. Now, with her hand in his, he had only to follow her lead. Still, vocal sounds were even more desirable for fetching obscure impressions, so he primed the conversation.

“Leading me by the hand like this,” he offered facetiously, “you remind me of Kind Survivoress.”

“Who’s that?”

Trailing Della along a ridge that ran beside the stream, he told her of the woman who, in his childhood dreams, used to take him to visit the child who lived with her.

“Little Listener?” she repeated the name after he mentioned it. “That’s what the boy was called?”