“Naturally, I’ll say nothing whatever!” Jantiff glumly addressed
himself to the food; the next meal might be long in coming. He voiced a forlorn
hope: “Perhaps I can somehow secure passage out of Balad on a cargo ship?”
“Most unlikely. Cargo ships reject all passengers. Otherwise
starmenters dressed like tourists would take passage, destroy captain and crew
and whisk their booty away across space. Anywhere in the Primarchic
[32]
a cargo ship sells for a million owls and no questions asked. And you may be
sure that the shipping lines are well aware of this. I suggest that you dismiss
Balad Space-port from your plans.”
Jantiff looked out across the dour forest he must traverse afoot:
all to no purpose if Swarkop were to be believed. At Baled be was further
removed than ever from his passage home. Still, under the circumstances, what
better options had been open to him? He said tentatively: “Perhaps I could persuade
you to deliver a message to the cursar in Uncibal? The matter is of
great importance.”
Swarkop’s eyes bulged in disbelief. “You suggest that I ride
that vile man-way into Uncibal? My dear fellow, not for a hundred ozols! You
must transmit your messages by telephone, like everyone else.”
Jantiff hastened to agree. “Yes, that’s the best idea, of
course!” He stood aside as Swarkop manipulated controls; the barge slanted down
upon Lake Neman: a great gash across the wilderness brimming with black water
and never more than two or three miles wide. Swarkop brought the barge to a
halt and thrust a lever: slag poured down upon the end of a dike already half
across the lake.
“The plan is to strike a road
from
Balad across the Sych to Lake Neman, thence to the head of the Buglas River,
then across the Dankwold; or perhaps Shubart intends to blast through the
Dailledaws; yes, that must be the case, since I’ve carried six great cargoes of
frack north to Uncibal Depot—enough to pulverize Zade Mountain and cut a new
Dinklin River gorge.”
“It seems a tremendous project.”
“True, and quite beyond my understanding. But then I am Lemiel
Swarkop, hireling, while Shubart is Grand Knight and Contractor, and there the
matter rests.”
Swarkop dowered the barge to the base of the causeway.
Throwing open the cab door, he leaned out to inspect the countryside. The air
was cold and still; Lake Neman lay flat as a black mirror. “The day will be
fine,” declared Swarkop with a heartiness Jantiff refused to find infectious. “Trudging
the Sych in the rain is not good sport. Good luck to you, then! Fifty miles to
Balad: two days’ easy journey, unless you are delayed.”
Jantiff’s ear discovered alarming overtones in the remark. “Why
should I be delayed?”
Swarkop shrugged. “I could lay forth a thousand ideas and
still fall short of reality. Giampara
[33]
will dispose.”
“Is there an inn along the way where I might rest the night?”
Swarkop pointed to the shore of the lake. “Notice that
tumble of milk-stone; it marks a grand resort of the ancient times, when lords
and ladies dallied up and down the lake in barges with carved silver screens
and velvet sails. Then there were inns along the road to Balad. Now you’ll find
only a roadmender’s hut just past Gant Gap; use it at your own risk.”
‘“Risk’?” cried Jantiff. “Why should there be risk?”
“The roadmenders sometimes set out traps to startle the
witches. The witches sometimes leave hallucinations to startle the roadmenders.
Build four blazing fires against the gaunch; lie down in the middle and you’ll
be safe until morning. But keep the fires flaming high.”
“What is a gaunch?” asked Jantiff, looking dubiously along
the edge of the forest.
‘ “That question is often asked but never answered. The
witches know but they say nothing, not even to each other.” Swarkop mused a
moment. “I suggest that you put the matter out of your mind. You’ll know the
gaunch when you meet him face to face. If you do not do so the matter becomes
moot. Fire is said to be a deterrent, if it blazes higher than the creature
cares to step, and there is my best advice.”
Swarkop bundled up what remained of his provisions and thrust
the pack upon Jantiff. “You’ll find plums, kakajous and boneybuttons along the
way. But don’t steal so much as a turnip from the farmers: they’ll take you
for a witch and hunt you down with their wurgles. Once again: good luck.”
Swarkop backed into the cab and closed the door. The barge lifted and slid off
across the lake.
Jantiff watched until the barge disappeared into the distance.
Swinging around, he scrutinized the edge of the forest but found only dark
foliage and darker shadows. He squared his shoulders to the road and trudged
off south toward Baled.
Dawn, rising into the sky, projected Jantiff’s shadow along the
road ahead of him; as in Arrabus the light seemed to shimmer with an
over-saturation of color. In these middle latitudes half around the curve of
Wyst, the effect if anything seemed emphasized, and Jantiff fancied that if he
were to examine one of the light spatters, where a ray struck down through the
foliage, he would find innumerable points of color, as if from ten million microscopic
dew drops… He recalled his first wonder at the light and the stimulation it
had worked on him; small benefit had he derived! In fact, to the contrary: his
sketches and depictions had set in motion those events which were the source of
all his troubles! And the end not yet in sight! At least from. Baled he could
telephone the cursar, who would certainly provide him transportation back to
Uncibal and safe access through Uncibal Space-port. And Jantiff, marching south
at a brisk stride, began to take an interest in the landscape. When eventually
he returned to Zeck, what wonderful tales he would be able to tell!
The road led up a long slope through sprawling heavy-holed
trees, then breasted a low ridge. Ahead lay forest and yet more forest: trees
indigenous and exotic, some perhaps tracing a lineage back through the Gaean
Reach, all the way to Old Earth itself! Jantiff’s imagination was stirred; he
imagined himself arriving a Alpha Gaea Space-port on Earth, with fabulous
cities and unimaginable antiquities awaiting his inspection! How much
would it cost? Two or perhaps three thousand ozols. Where would he ever gain so
much money? One way or another; nothing was impossible. First: a safe return
to Zeck!
Beguiling himself with fancies and prospects, Jantiff put
miles behind him, walking with long steady strides. When Dwan reached its zenith,
little more than halfway up the sky to the north, Jantiff halted beside a rivulet
and ate a portion of his provisions. For the moment, at least, the forest
seemed placid and devoid of menace. How far had he come? Ten miles at least…
Fifty yards along the road a group of eight folk emerged from the forest.
Jantiff tensed, then decided to sit quietly.
Three of the folk were women in long gowns, and three were
men, wearing black vests over pale green pantaloons; one was a child and another
a stripling. All were blond; the child’s hair was flaxen. Upon spying Jantiff
the group came to a wary halt, then, neither speaking nor making signals, they
turned and went off along the road to the south, the stripling and the child
bringing up the rear.
Jantiff watched them go. From time to time the child looked
back, whether or not by reason of instruction, Jantiff could not determine,
since the child made no comment to its elders. They rounded a bend and were
lost to view.
Jantiff immediately jumped to his feet and went to that spot
where the witches had emerged from the forest A few yards off the road he saw a
tree burdened with plump purple fruit. Jantiff restrained himself. The witches
might or might not have been eating the fruit; perhaps it carried a venom which
must be dispelled by cooking or other treatment… Jantiff proceeded on his
way, and at his previous gait, unconcerned whether or not he might overtake
the witches. They had shown no hint of hostility, and surely, they could apprehend
no threat from him. But when presently he commanded a view along the road the
witches were nowhere to be seen.
Jantiff ,walked steadily onward, his strides becoming slower
and his legs beginning to ache as the afternoon waned. As Dwan angled low into
the northwest the land heaved up ahead in a line of stony juts and retreating
gullies. On a promontory overlooking the road the ruins of a great palace lay
tumbled among a dozen black tzung trees: a dolorous place, thought
Jantiff, no doubt a rendezvous for melancholy ghosts. He hastened past with all
the speed his legs could provide: up a gulch where a small river bounded back
and forth between rocks—Gant Gap, Jantiff decided. It was a place dark
and cold; he was pleased to emerge upon a meadow.
Dwan almost brushed the horizon. Jantiff looked in all directions
for the shed Swarkop had mentioned, but no such structure could be seen.
Lowering his head he set off once more along the road, as the last rays of
Dwan-light played across the meadow. The road ,entered a new forest, and Jantiff
hunched along in the gathering darkness, assured that he had passed the shed by.
A waft of smoke reached his nostrils: Jantiff stopped
short, then walked slowly forward and presently saw a spark of firelight fifty
yards ahead.
Jantiff approached with great caution and looked out upon a small
meadow. Here, in fact, was the shed: a crude structure set thirty yards back
from the road. Around the fire sat eight folk: three men of widely disparate
age; three women, equally various; a boy of four or five and a girl somewhat
past her adolescence. These were evidently the folk Jantiff had seen earlier in
the day: how had they arrived so soon? Jantiff could not fathom their speed;
they clearly had been at rest for at least an hour. He studied them from the
shadows. They seemed neither uncouth nor horrid, after the reputed witchling
style; indeed they seemed quite ordinary. Jantiff recalled that their far
ancestors were the nobility whose palaces lay shattered across the Weirdlands.
All were blond, their hair ranging from flaxen through pale brown to dusty umber.
The girl in particular seemed almost comely. A trick of the firelight? Perhaps
one of her hallucinations or glamours?
None spoke; all stared into the fire as if deep in meditation.
Jantiff stepped forward. He attempted a hearty greeting, but
achieved only a rather reedy “Hallo!”
The small boy troubled to turn his head; the others paid no
heed.
“Hallo there!” called Jantiff once more, and stepped forward.
“May I join you at your fire?”
Certain of the folk gave him a brief inspection; none spoke.
Accepting the absence of active hostility as an invitation,
Jantiff knelt down beside the blaze and warmed his hands. Once again he essayed
conversation: “I’m on my way to Baled where hopefully I’ll take passage
offplanet. I’m a stranger to Wyst, actually; my home is Zeck, out along the
Fiamifer. I spent a few months in Uncibal but had quite enough of it. Too many
people, too much confusion… I don’t know if you’ve ever visited there…”
Jantiff’s voice dwindled off to silence; no one seemed to be listening. Odd
conduct, to be sure! Well, if they preferred silence to conversation they were
well within their rights. If these were truly witches, they might know
mysterious means to communicate without sound. Jantiff felt a tingle of awe;
covertly he inspected the group, first left, then right. Their garments, woven
from bast and dyed variously green, pink or pale brown, were serviceable forest
wear; in the place of hats the men wore kerchiefs, the women’s hair fell
loosely over the ears. Each had gilded his or her fingernails so that they
glinted in the firelight. Otherwise they displayed no ornaments, talismans or
amulets. Whatever mysteries they controlled, their methods were not obtrusive.
Apparently they had supped; a cooking pot rested upside down on a bench, and
also a platter with fragments of skillet cake.
Emboldened by the acceptance of his presence, Jantiff put
forward: “I am very, hungry; I wonder if I might finish off the skillet cake?”
No one seemed to care one way or another. Jantiff took a
modest portion of the cake and ate with good appetite.
The fire began to burn low; the girl rose to her feet and
went to fetch logs. She was slender and graceful, so Jantiff noticed; he leapt
to his feet and ran to assist her, and it seemed that her lips twitched in an
almost imperceptible smile. None of the others paid any heed, save the small
boy who watched rather sternly.
Jantiff ate another piece of skillet cake, wondering meanwhile
whether the group planned to sleep in the shed… The door was closed;
perhaps they feared the roadmenders’ tricks.
The fire glowed warm; the silence soothed; Jantiff’s eyelids
drooped. He fell asleep.
By slow and fitful degrees Jantiff awoke. He lay on the
ground, cramped and cold; the fire had burnt down to embers. Jantiff peered
through the darkness; no one was visible: the witches were gone.
Jantiff sat up and hunched over the coals. A spatter of cold
rain fell against his face. Laboriously he rose to his feet and stood swaying
in the darkness. Shelter would be most welcome. Dubiously he considered the
shed; it should be in yonder direction.
Groping through the darkness, he found the plank walls, and
sidled to the door. The latch moved under his hand; the door creaked ajar.
Jantiff’s heart jerked at the sound, but no one, or nothing, seemed to notice.
He listened. From inside the hut: silence. Neither breathing, nor movement, nor
any of the sounds of sleep. Jantiff tried to step forward, but found that he
could not do so: his body thought better of the idea.
For a minute Jantiff stood wavering, every instant less disposed
to enter the hut. There was something within, said a mid-region of his brain;
it would seize him with a horrible babbling sound. So in his childhood had gone
a remembered nightmare, perhaps, an anticipation of this very moment. Jantiff
backed away from the door. He stumbled off to where he and the girl had
gathered firewood, and presently found dead branches which he brought to the embers.
After great effort he blew up the fire and finally achieved a heartening blaze.
Warm once more he sat down, resolved to remain awake. He turned to look at the
hut, now visible in the firelight. Through the open door nothing could be seen.
Jantiff quickly averted his gaze, to avoid giving offense… His mind wandered;
his eyes closed… A creaking sound brought him sharply awake, Someone had
closed the door to the shed.
Jantiff jerked up to his knees. Run! Take wild and instant
flight! The hysterical animal within himself keened and raved… But run
where? Off into the darkness?’ Jantiff fetched more wood and built up the fire,
and no longer was he urged to sleep.
A dank light seeped into the sky. The meadow took on
substance. Beside the guttering fire Jantiff was like a figure carved from
wood. He stirred up the fire, feeling ancient as the world itself, then rose
stiffly to his feet and ate the last of his bread and meat. He turned a single
incurious glance toward the shed, then trudged somberly away toward the south.
Halfway through the morning the overcast lifted. Lambent
Dwan-light burst down upon the landscape and Jantiff’s spirits lifted. Already
the events of the previous night were sliding from his mind, like the episodes
of a dream.
The road crossed a river; Jantiff drank, bathed his face, and
ate berries from a low-growing thicket. For ten minutes he rested, then once
again went his way.
Gradually the land altered. The forest thinned and sheered
back from stony meadows. At noon Jantiff encountered a lane leading away to the
right, and thereafter similar lanes left the road every mile or so. Jantiff
walked across a wild stony land, grown over with coarse shrubs and land corals.
To his left the forest continued into the southeast dark and heavy as ever.
During the middle afternoon he came upon a farmstead of
modestly prosperous appearance. A young man of his own age worked behind a
fence whitewashing the trunks of young fruit trees. He stood erect at Jantiff’s
approach, and came to the fence to secure a better view: a sturdy fellow with a
narrow long-nosed face and sleek black hair tied in three tufts. Jantiff gave
him a courteous greeting, then, not caring for the farmer’s expression of sardonic
bewilderment, continued along his way.
The farmer’s curiosity, however, was not to be denied. “Hola
there! Hold up a minute!”
Jantiff paused. “Are you addressing me?”
“Naturally. Is anyone else present?”
“I believe not.”
“Well, then! You’re not of these parts certainly.”
“True,” said Jantiff coldly. “I am a visitor to Wyst. My
home is Frayness on Zeck.”
“I don’t know the place. Still I daresay there are millions
of chinks and burrows about the Cluster of which I know nothing.”
“No doubt this is the case.”
“Well then—why are, you walking the Sych Road which leads
nowhere but to Lake Neman?”
“A friend flew me out from Uncibal and put me down at Lake
Neman,” said Jantiff. “I walked the road from there.”
“And what of the witches: did you see many? I am told a new
tribe just moved over from the Haralumilet.”
“I encountered a group of wandering folk, yes,” said Jantiff.
“They troubled me not at all; in fact, they seemed quite courteous.”
“So long as they forbore to feed you their tainted
[34]
food you’re in luck.”
Jantiff managed a smile. “I am fastidious about such things,
I assure you.”
“And what will you do in these parts?”
Jantiff had prepared an answer to such a question: “T am a
student traveling on a research fellowship. I wanted to visit Blale before
returning home.”
The farmer gave a skeptical grunt. “You’ll find nothing here
to study; we are quite ordinary folk. You might have studied to better effect
at home.”
“Possibly so.” Jantiff bowed stiffly. “Excuse me; I must be
on my way.”
“As you like, so long as you don’t wander into the orchard
among my good damsons, whether to study or to meditate or just to stroll,
because believe you’re there to pilfer, and I’ll loose Stanket on you.”
“I have no intention of stealing your produce,” said Jantiff
with dignity. “Good day to you.”
He continued south where the road skirted the damson orchard;
he noted clusters of fruit dangling almost within reach. He marched resolutely
past, even though he was apparently not under observation.
The land became settled. To the west spread cultivated lands:
farmstead after farmstead, with orchards and fields of cereal. To the east the
forest thrust obdurately south, as heavy, tall and dense as ever. Jantiff
presently saw ahead a cluster of ramshackle structures: the town Baled. To the
right a group of warehouses and workshops indicated the site of the space-port.
The field itself was barren of traffic.