Hiero Desteen: 01 - Hiero's Journey (18 page)

You are strong, Enemy,
came the next grudging thought.
Are you a renegade brother of ours or perhaps a new mutation we know nothing about? We have continuously watched and guarded this wavelength since we realized that you had slain our brother and stolen his
(indecipherable name or symbol)
communicator.

Hiero sent no answering thought. The other knew he was listening, however, and he had a feeling that the Unclean, almost certainly one of their wizard lords, would not be able to stop talking. It was obvious that they had no idea who or what he might be. They were arrogantly sure, though, that he must have their kind of twisted, sick mind, whatever he was, and the idea that one of their despised foes, an Abbey priest, had such power was obviously alien to them.

You are not one of the disciples of the tree-worshippers, the soft Earth lovers, who call themselves the Eleventh Commandment Seekers, that is plain,
came the thought.
We know their mind patterns, and you are far more like us in power and cunning,

A dubious compliment, another section of Hiero's mind recorded, at the same time making
note of the fact that the Eleveners, while implacable foes of the Unclean, yet apparently were also in some kind of communication with them.

We lost you in the great marsh,
came the cruel thought.
And we sent an uncertain ally, now also seemingly lost, so that perhaps, though he is very strange, even to such as we, you slew him as well In an case, you found, the
(undecipherable),
which you also took from our brother's body, And you silenced it.
There came a pause.

Will you not speak?
The thought was sweet now, with the evil, persuasive sweetness of uncatalogued sin.
We, our great Brotherhood, acknowledge you as a full equal. We wish you to join us, be one of us, share our power and our purposes. Do not fear. We cannot find you unless you wish us to. We wish only to exchange thoughts with a mind of such power as yours, and one so different.
The thought was soft and honey, sickly, sweet.
Speak to us, our Enemy, whom we wish to make a friend.

The priest held his mental barrier raised high, as a gladiator
secutor
once held a shield against the deadly net of the
retiarius.
He remembered the Elevener, Jone, who had died to save Luchare and his remark, "In all your thoughts and deeds there are lies." Further, Hiero was by no means sure that the other and his crew could not locate him, should he try and speak to them as they asked.
In fact,
he decided,
maybe they can even trace me now, while I just listen to them. Who knows what they can do?

He tore the contacts off his head and slammed the antenna back in and telescoped the main rod shut, all in one motion. The alien voice stopped abruptly. Yet at the very edge of his mind once more, he could feel the faint (and irritating) plucking and twisting as it still attempted contact.

He concentrated, thinking hard. Perhaps if he altered the basic mind shield he had been taught at the Abbey,
so
—then, using his new powers, next activated another, different mental shield, causing that one to overlie the other,
thus.

It worked. As his new barrier fitted over the old, the voice or mind touch ceased abruptly, like the light of a snuffed-out candle. He was no longer conscious of any contact at all, and he was sure he had shaken off the enemy.

He looked up. It was full dark again, but the moon was bright, and Luchare and Gorm sat together a few feet away, in silent companionship, waiting for him to return to them. The morse could be heard as he fed himself down at the bottom of the rock, as usual keeping an unsleeping guard.

Hiero rubbed his eyes. "Don't worry," he said. "The Unclean were just trying a few games. They can't do it any more, and I'll be all the more ready next time."

"Are they following us? Are they able to—to talk with your mind?" the girl asked hesitantly.

"No, not now. They don't know where or, for that matter, what I really am, and I think they
are getting a bit worried about me. Anyway, they've been sending out a constant wide-band signal, somehow tuned to what they had learned of my personal brain pattern, trying to get into contact. I felt it, took out this thing—" he kicked the communicator—"which belonged to one of them, the one we killed, and talked to them. You see," he went on, "they think I'm a Leemute or something, some new kind of evil mutation, or just a naturally evil human like themselves. My mind seems to be changing somewhat, and they can't figure me out.

"Well, I got worried and cut them off, and then I fixed their probe so that they can't annoy me either. I don't think they have a hope of locating us that way any longer."

He next repeated what he had said, only this time to the bear, using a short-range band he felt no one could pick up or home in on.

Gorm understood remarkably well and even drew a surprising conclusion.
You are strong now, friend/Hiero. It will be difficult/ impossible for most
(of the)
enemy, except for the strongest/oldest/ most senior, to overcome you.

This was more of a statement than a query, and it made Hiero feel sure that the bear actually understood something of his, the priest's, new mental development.

They slept the night peacefully away, and after breakfast down on the beach the next morning, Hiero decided to cast the symbols and use the glass. He was almost certain that none of the Unclean were close by, and it seemed worth a small risk.

He explained the process, got his equipment, robed himself, said the brief invocation, and waited for events. The girl, the bear, and the morse waited quietly on the sand a little way off. Luchare was fascinated, but wise enough to realize that there must be no distraction and that questions could always be asked later.

Hiero's first view in the crystal was precisely what he wanted. A large bird, probably a sea bird, with white wings (he could see them flash) and excellent eyes, was flying along the coast to the east, going exactly the way the man wanted to go himself. The view was superb.

He could see that the seacoast sand ran, uninterrupted by river mouths or even small streamlets, for many, many leagues. The great Palood followed the coast only a few miles inland, but was separated from it by a more or less constant barrier of higher ground on which grew rank scrub and palmettos. Fair off, in one place only, the marsh touched the coast.

Far away too, in the remotest distance, Hiero could see what appeared to be many islands, but they were hard to make out. As the bird dipped and wheeled, using the air currents to plane, he also saw plumes of smoke rising from a stockaded village on a small river far back in the West. Obviously this was the camp of their erstwhile foes, the pale-skinned bird worshippers. Nothing else stirred, except that, well out to sea, on the distant horizon, some great dark thing made a stir on the water as it swam. If it was a fish, it certainly stayed curiously high out of the water, but he could make out no details.

He willed the sight to end and opened his eyes to examine next what he held in his closed left fist. First, before looking, he called Luchare and Gorm over. There was nothing really secret, or, for that matter, sacred, about the symbols. The prayer which preceded the casting in the bowl was simply to ask God's help in making the choice, but the things themselves were not like a piece of Communion bread or a cup of sacramental cider.

The girl was eager to know more and the bear appeared interested too, although Hiero wondered how much of the abstract thought he actually grasped. The amount of brain in that fur-covered skull was still a mystery.

What now lay in the priest's brown hand were some already familiar signs and also some not yet utilized on this particular venture. There were five symbols altogether.

The Spear and the Fish were both back. "War and water, battle and ships, fishing and hunting," Hiero said to Luchare as he set those two aside. Next he looked at the Clasped Hands.

"That sign means a friend in need." He smiled at her. "A good sign, one of the best. It can also mean an old friend will appear soon, or that I will make a new one, one whom I can trust. There's another symbol quite like it, this Open Hand." He showed it to her. "That one showed up when Gorm appeared first. But the Clasped Hands are a little different." They meant a friend for life, among other things, but he somehow did not mention that fact.

"Could it mean me?" she asked. "I mean, I have so few friends of my own, and I wondered ...?"

"It almost certainly does mean you. I doubt if we're going to see many other people very soon, and those we do are most unlikely to prove friends. Let's assume we each have a new friend." They both smiled this time, the copper face and the dark brown one displaying twin sets of perfect white teeth.

"Let's see," Hiero went on, "what else have we? Two more? Well, first the Lightning. That has three meanings, of which two are very uncommon. First, I could be hit, that is, actually struck by lightning. I take leave to doubt that. Next, I could grow very, very angry. It sometimes means beware of anger. Possible, but I never felt less angry." He laughed and turned the little thing over on his palm. "No, I think the usual thing, the commonest of all its meanings, is meant again. Just plain, very bad weather; in fact, a big storm. We'd better keep our eyes open for it." He placed the Lightning with the other three.

"Last, what have we? The Boots, or Shoes, as some call them. A long journey, and one which hardly needed an appearance, since I knew that before I set out. I guess it means that as long as I thought it would be, it will end up being even longer still." He stared at the tiny, fringed boots in his hand and then gathered up all five symbols and replaced them in the bag with the other thirty-five.

"Can you really make more sense out of it?" the girl asked. "It seems, well, a bit vague. Most of the stuff could almost be guessed, if you think about where we are, who we are, and what
we're doing."

"First," the priest said as he finished unrobing and packing, "you're absolutely right. It
is
a bit vague. But I'm not a good talent at this particular form of foreseeing. I know men, friends of mine, who could get a lot more out of it, maybe draw ten symbols or even fifteen at one time, and make an extraordinary and detailed prediction. I've never got more than six myself, and I feel I've done well if I get even a modest clue as to what's coming."

They both mounted, Luchare in front as usual, and with Gorm ranging in front, he continued to lecture. "Now, we do have something to go on. The symbols are an odd mixture of forces, you know. Part of it is genuine prediction, part wish fulfillment, and part a subconscious—I'll explain that later—attempt to influence future events.

"So—we have the Spear, the Fish, the Clasped Hands, the Lightning, and the Boots. A reading of the obvious answers might, I stress
might,
run as follows: a long journey, filled with battle, impends upon us, or me. A true friend will help, and the journey, or perhaps the next part, will be on, in, or over water. Now there are lots of other permutations possible. Oh, yes, the journey will start with a bad storm, or in one or something. That's what I get, anyway. And I feel pretty certain that the storm is coming. That's the surest of all of the signs."

The prospect did not look much as if a storm were in view. The sun shone brightly, as it had for the past few days. The blue sea danced and sparkled, the tiny whitecaps not even indicating a stiff breeze. Rafts of small ducks and other waterfowl whirled out on the water offshore, rising in clouds and then settling as they fed and played.

Gorm,
Hiero sent,
what weather is coming?
The animals could usually sense weather a day or two ahead, especially if the change were going to be drastic.

To his surprise, the priest received a negative answer from the bear.
No bad wind, water, coming. Sun, moon, quiet air is all
(that)
comes.

"It may be," he said to Luchare, when he had explained his silent question, "that the weather is still too far away. The symbols are apt to be pretty uncertain about time, at least when I use them."

"Could I learn to use them, do you think?" she asked. They were so close, she riding only an inch in front of him, that she did not even have to turn her head. When the morse moved quickly, the scented, corkscrew curls blew in Hiero's face, and he kept resolving to ask her to tie them up. Curiously, he never seemed to get around to doing it.

"Can't see why not. There are children, back in my country, who can use them more effectively than I. It's a talent, that's all. My own are a little different. I can do a good job of farseeing, I can talk to animals pretty well, and now, just lately, I seem to be learning some new tricks, mostly about how to fight with my mind. But using the Forty Symbols to forelook just doesn't seem to be my best attribute. You might be a whole lot better. We'll try it out later on."

"What about using my own mind, the way you do? It would be wonderful to talk the way you and the bear do. Could I learn that too?"

"Well," Hiero said, "you could, I'm sure. It's just a talent and not a particularly uncommon one, either. But, unlike casting the Forty, which is more or less instinctive, mind speech and the other mind attributes, up to and including telekinesis, the manipulation of solids by mental force—that's a rare gift, incidentally—all have to be
taught.
And, once taught, practiced, practiced constantly. I started at the age of ten, and many of the Abbey scholars started earlier still. Some actually get selected when they can barely talk, on the basis of some very complicated tests. So, you see, it's not all that easy."