Midworld (18 page)

That night a lavish blaze illumined the interior of the branch, reflecting off dark nodules and twisted stalactites of cracked wood and bark. Born studied the giants.

Under the soothing effect of the fire and the excellent shelter, he felt more inclined to talk than he had for many days.

“I have almost come to believe that you truly come from a world other than this, Kimilogan.” Cohoma’s expression didn’t change, but Logan appeared pleased. “That’s a big step, Born, and an important one. I’m not surprised, though, that you made it. You’re obviously the most perceptive of your people, and the most receptive to change, to new ideas. That’s going to be very important.” She stirred the coals nearest her with a twisted stick, listened to the ever-steady trickle of nightwater outside. “You know, Born, when you and your people and the other tribes here rejoin the family of man they’re going to need someone to speak for them with our company.” She glanced up at him evenly. “I can’t think of a better candidate than yourself. With what you’ve already done for the company in rescuing Jan and myself, I don’t see how you can help but be chosen. Such a position would be very advantageous for you.”

Losting listened to this and said nothing. His respect for Born’s cleverness was as great as his dislike for his person. He snuggled back against Geeliwan and listened to what Born, not the giants, had to say. “The world you say you come from does not sound very inviting,” Born replied, and then held up a quieting hand as Cohoma seemed ready to object, “but that is a matter of personal choice. Clearly you feel much the same way toward this world. That is of no matter.” He paused thoughtfully, leaned forward to lend emphasis to his next words. “What I wish to know is—if you are so satisfied with your own world and the others you say exist, why come with much trouble and difficulty to this one?” Suddenly, his face shadowed by the firelight, the hunter did not look quite so primitive.

Cohoma and Logan exchanged glances.

“Two reasons, Born,” she finally replied.

“One is simple to understand; the other … well, I think you will, in time. I don’t know if chief Sand or Reader the shaman would.”

She toyed with the stick, flicked a glowing coal outward into the rain-drenched edge of the cave. It hissed as the tepid drops struck it. “It has to do with the acquisition of something called money, which in turn has to do with commerce. All will be made clear to you at the station. Once you understand your own special position regarding it, you’ll see why I’m reluctant to go into details just yet. All I will say is that you—and your people—will benefit considerably, just as Jan and I and our friends will. “The other thing is lesser for some men, more important for others—curiosity. The same thing that drove you to descend to find out what our skimmer really was. The same thing that’s driving you, against your better judgment, against the advice of all your friends, to try and return us safely to our station. It’s the same thing that’s carried mankind and the thranx from star to star— curiosity, and the other thing.”

“What are thranx?” Born asked. “Some folk I think you’d like, Born.”

She stared out at the darkness. “And who’d like this world very much, more so than my people.”

“Are there any of these thranx at your station?” Losting suddenly asked.

“No. None are a part of our”—she hesitated—“company, or group, organization, tribe, if you will.” She smiled brightly. “Everything will become much clearer when we reach the station.”

“I’m certain it will,” Born mused agreeably, staring into the dancing flames. Later, as he rolled himself up in his cloak and over into the softly snoring bulk of Ruumahum, he wondered if he would. He also wondered if he wanted to.

NO ONE KNOWS HOW
silently a big animal can move until an adult furcot has unexpectedly padded up close to him. Ruumahum moved that way when the odor woke him, rising so muffled-ear quiet even Born, lightest of sleepers, failed to awake. The aroma came from outside and above, so heavy with its distinctive musk it penetrated down through two levels and the still falling rain. Geeliwan stirred in sleep as Ruumahum padded to the front of the cavern. He stuck his head outside, stared upward with triple piercing eyes, which blinked frequently against the stinging rain.

The smell was unmistakable, but there was no harm in making sure. He gripped the wood with forelegs, followed with the middle pair and then the hind, and swung out onto the side of the trunk. Closebunched leg muscles worked in unison as he clawed his way up the trunk. It was harder than finding a spiralling path in the thick vegetation, but time was important if his suspicion was correct. The hair behind his ears bristled as the threatening miasma grew stronger and stronger. Few sensory impressions can raise the hackles of a furcot. Ruumahum was absorbing one of them now.

The long vertical climb was tiring, even for him. Then he saw it, still far above, but moving steadily downward, and he knew why their excellent shelter had been empty: This was a silverslith’s tree.

It had their scent, that was certain. They were already dead, unless the persons could devise a new thing. Turning, he rushed back down through branches and vines, eating up the meters with prodigious plunges and leaps. He was making enough noise to rouse every night prowler nearby, which was the idea. Perhaps one would be foolish enough to investigate. The temporary snack might divert the silverslith for a few precious minutes.

They had little time. The silverslith was moving slowly, deliberately, playing with its intended prey. And the giants would slow them further. He burst into the cave noisily enough to wake Born and Losting instantly. Geeliwan gave a warning growl, relaxed at the familiar smell.

Ruumahum stood panting before them, wet fur glistening in the glow from the coals. “Wake others,” he puffed. While Losting moved to rouse the giants, Ruumahum whispered something in the talk of furcots, which prompted Geeliwan to hurry to the cave entrance. He stationed himself there, staring upward.

“What’s going on? What is it now?” Cohoma grumbled sleepily as Losting shook him. Logan had already moved to a sitting position and waited to be told.

“We must leave here immediately,” Born told them. He fastened his cloak more tightly at his neck, moved to gather his few things. Losting was doing likewise. “This is a silverslith’s tree. It explains why we did not have to fight for this shelter. It is shunned, as we should have shunned it. There was no reason to suspect, none. I feel no better for it, though.”

“All right,” Logan asked tiredly, “another pesty beast. What’s a silverslith, Born, and what can we do about it?”

“Leave,” he replied tightly, using a thick fragment of wood to push the glowing embers from the fire toward the cave mouth. The rain would put them safely out.

“In the middle of the night?”

“The silverslith dictates this, not I, Kimilogan. We can only run and weave, weave and run. There is a chance it will tire and leave us.”

“Something that will follow us, like the Akadi?” Cohoma wondered. The seriousness of the situation had finally penetrated his sleep-numbed brain.

“No, not like the Akadi. Compared to the silverslith, the mind of the Akadi is as changeable as … as”—he fumbled for a suitable analogy—“the desires of a woman. Once having the scent of one who has invaded its tree, the silverslith will follow till the invader is eaten. Nor can it be outrun like the Akadi. And unlike the Akadi, it does not sleep.”

“Now that’s got to be legend,” Cohoma insisted, fumbling with his cloak. “There’s no such thing as a warm-blooded creature that doesn’t sleep, and only a few coldblooded ones can go without rest.”

“I do not know the temperature of its blood,” Born commented, moving toward the cave mouth, “nor even if it has blood. No one has ever seen a silverslith bleed. I will not banter with you now.” Oddly enough, he grinned. “When you are tired from running, I suggest you stop for a nap and see what wakes you in the night.”

“Okay, we believe you,” Logan confessed, trying to arrange her clothes. “We’ve got to, after what we’ve seen. A creature whose living cycle runs in weeks instead of days. So many weeks of wakefulness, so many weeks of sleep.”

“The silverslith does not sleep,” Born reiterated forcefully. Deciding it was useless to argue with those who refused to accept the truth, he finally made a curt gesture to them to follow.

Losting had prepared torches, bundles of torches. But they still had to locate the globular leaves that would shield the flame from the rain, and there was no time to look. They had to get away from the tree.

Hopefully they would encounter some of the fairly common growths along the way. Until then they would be forced to make their way in darkness.

“Quickly,” Ruumahum growled with furcot impatience. “It senses us.”

“Geeliwan!” Losting whispered. The furcot moved to the nearest liana, jumped from it to a lower branch growing from another tree, down to another and another. Then it looked back up, eyes gleaming in the night. They would be the only beacons they had in the forest.

Losting went next, followed by Cohoma. Logan looked back up at Born as she was about to move to the liana. “I thought it was too dangerous to travel at night?”

“It is,” he admitted, “but it is death to stay here.”

She nodded. “Just wanted to make sure this wasn’t some kind of test,” she replied cryptically, turning and moving from liana to branch.

Born hesitated long enough to murmur to Ruumahum as the furcot stared upward into the rain. “How much time?”

“It will search every niche of cave. Then follow.”

“Any chance we could fight it, old friend?” Ruumahum snorted.

“Born dreams. Fight silverslith? Not even silverslith-young.” His gaze went upward again. “Not young. Old one, big. Very big.”

Born grunted noncommittally, glanced upward. He had another new thought. It was a frightening thought, but nothing else offered itself in substitution, and there was no time for detailed speculation. They could probably stay ahead of the silverslith. But they could not run away and leave it, nor could they shake it from their trail, or fight it. Eventually fatigue would slow them, stop them, and the untiring killer would finish them at its leisure. Still reluctant to propose the thought, he moved rapidly with the others away from the tree.

They had been traveling for some time when faint thunder boomed across the forest from somewhere behind them. It was caused by an abrupt displacement of air, but its source was not electrical in nature.

“It has discovered our absence,” Born explained to Logan, in response to the unvoiced question. “It will spend a few minutes voicing its rage and then come after.”

“Tell me, Born,” she asked, struggling to stay behind the vague shape of Losting working his way through the dense growth, “if a silverslith never gives up till its quarry is killed, how do you know so much about its habits, and what it looks like? You do know what it looks like?”

The giant was wasting too much energy on talk. Ever polite, he responded, “There are tales of a party of twenty or thirty being attacked by one. They scattered in as many directions. Not even a silverslith could follow every scent to its source before some had faded. A few survived to tell of the monster.”

“You’re saying not even twenty or thirty of you …”

“And as many furcots.”

“… and their furcots could fight one of these things?”

“Too big, too strong,” Born told her.

“I thought your jacari poison would kill anything.”

“Silverslith skin is too thick,” he explained. “Also, jacari poison works on … on”—he searched his memory for the ancient term—“the nervous system.”

“Then why wouldn’t it affect a silverslith?” Cohoma asked. “It’s got to have some vulnerable points.”

“When it comes, you show me,” Born muttered. “Anyway, silverslith has no nervous system, the tale says.”

Logan’s willingness to credit the creature with the ability to go long periods without rest or sleep did not extend this far. “Oh, come on, Born,” she said with the confidence of superior knowledge, “every animal has a nervous system.”

“Has it?”

“An animal couldn’t live without a nervous system, Born.”

“Couldn’t it?”

“At the very least,” she added, “it must have some kind of rudimentary brain and central locomotor system.”

“Must it?”

She gave up. Cohoma hadn’t paid much attention. He was still musing on the fact that this thing pursuing them could put thirty furcots to flight.

“Look, how much of this is true and how much of it has been embroidered by the survivors of that attacked party? Naturally they’d want to make out the invulnerability of anything that forced them to run.”

Born was about to reply, but Ruumahum interrupted him. It was unusual for a furcot to break into a conversation between persons. Ruumahum did so to keep Born’s adrenalin level low until more energy was needed later. “Silverslith tree,” he growled softly, “only thing in world Akadi change march-path for. Big persons shut up now and watch own path.”

That information was enough to cause Logan and Cohoma to overlook the fact that they had been given an order by an overgrown pet. They pondered it as they hurried on in silence.

Meanwhile Born continued to turn his earlier thought over and over in his head. He tried to argue his way out of it; it held him tight as a grazer’s arm. He tried to avoid it; it stood firmly in the way of his thoughts like the silverslith’s Pillar-tree. Temporarily he managed to forget it by cursing himself for failing to recognize the tree for what it was. That huge, dry, inviting shelter, so empty, so shunned. Fool! “Fool’s fool!” he muttered aloud.

“And I with you,” Losting muttered nearby, but Born hardly heard him.

“Don’t berate yourself, Born. You said there was no way of telling what it was,” Logan told him.

“No. If it had been lower, Ruumahum would have scented it. But it was far, far up the trunk, near the very top probably, hellhunting.”

“Hell-hunting?”

“Fishing the night sky for air-demons,” he explained. “Reaching up to pull down fliers at the treetops, like the one that attacked your skimmer when it fell.”