The Forerunner Factor (26 page)

Thorn sat up, holding the cuffed arm away from his body as if he still feared to let it touch any part of him. “You are right.” He began to edge backwards, using the growth as cover. As Simsa started to follow, there was a shaking in the fire-touched brush. A small sapling crashed forward, falling outward towards the avenue, baring a new wide section to their sight as it came down, tearing half burnt vines with it.

Another of the suited invaders lay there, half covered by the mass that the falling tree had brought down with it, only his legs covered by the thick plating of the suit to be seen. Simsa had no doubt that he was dead. Also she was glad she was unable to see what havoc the return of his own fire had caused.

Thorn had suddenly paused, his tense attitude in the gathering shadows one of a listener. There were other rustlings—Thorn beckoned to her vigorously, his gesture made more emphatic by the gleam of the cuff which continued to hold a light of its own. She glanced at the scepter. Yes, there was also a very wan outline of thin light about the symbols at its crown. She held it in front of her, close to her body, feeling a gentle, pulsating warmth from that same set of horns which had unleashed death earlier.

With what skill they could, they had somehow found a way to a gaping doorway of one of the buildings. To try for the open avenue was to make them easy targets. The inside of the structure was a dark cavern, even though complete twilight had not closed in, but it was a promise of shelter.

Simsa could see that they had entered a single great room which appeared to fill the entire structure, there was no ceiling above, only a continued rise, though narrowing as it went, for the side walls were a series of steps in the form of balconies, off which were dark openings at regular intervals. The lowest of these was supported by carven pillars much like those they had seen elsewhere, stands of vegetation or monstrous life forms.

Thorn had gone to the nearest of these and was running his hands across the deep ridges of the carving. He looked over his shoulder as she joined him.

“These can be climbed. If those Jacks are all suited, they can’t follow us. The suits are far too clumsy to climb in.”

“And if they sit below, waiting for us?”

“At least we shall have a breathing space to plan something.”

He was already climbing and she saw that he was right; the deep gouges left by those who had wrought this representation of a vine wreathed tree gave ample space to fit fingers and toes. She took the warmth of the scepter into her mouth and swung up easily behind him.

They lay side by side on the floor of the first balcony watching the door. Waiting came hard. Simsa again ran the smooth tube of the scepter back and forth between her hands. However, she was firm in keeping a barrier now against wandering memories. In the here-and-now she needed all her awareness for what might happen next, not for what had happened in the long-ago and had no meaning to her at present.

They heard the crunch of heavy footsteps. It was very dark now in the building—there appeared to be no windows at all. Simsa’s night sight had adjusted only to the point where she could detect movement at the door gap . . . very cautious movement. Those others must have found the blasted body of their man, be fearing some attack out of the dark.

Whoever had hesitated there for an instant was again gone. Simsa could not tell whether out or in. Thorn’s shoulder pressed against hers. He had turned his head so that his whisper came so low and close that she could feel the slight pressure of his breath against her cheek.

“They have a body heat detect—a persona. If it is with this party, they will know just where we are. They will try to keep us prisoned here until they can bring some stronger weapon out of the loot to finish us off.”

If he were trying to prove to her how serious their position might be, she was already well aware of that.

“How long?” she whispered in return. Might they keep on climbing up from one balcony to the next?

No! The answer came to that as a wide beam of light which began a slow sweep around the interior of the huge hall, first at floor level, so each of those pillars, such as the one they had just climbed, stood out in sharp relief. Then at the far end of that sweep, on the opposite side from which they lay, the light arose to the second level. Thorn’s hand fell heavy between her shoulders, forcing her against the floor.

“Stay flat!”

There was a solid balustrade for the balcony, reaching perhaps the height of her knees were she standing. Simsa wondered if that would be enough of a barrier to hide them both. Or if the seekers below would realize that they might be so concealed and begin an indiscriminate spraying with their flamers—a wild rush of fire they could not hope to guard against.

The light traveled. She had pillowed her head, cheek against her arm, and watched it sweep. Now the beam had nearly reached them, was turning along their side. Simsa realized she had been holding her breath. She had for these tense moments returned to the old Simsa. Her confidence, her feeling of superiority over these clumsy looters had ebbed. The scepter lay under her hand, but at that moment she could not have released its power even if she would. The sharp danger had swung her to the other side of the balance and she was only a badly frightened girl. That other Simsa—she
must
find her,
be
her again, or she might soon be nothing at all.

15

Yes, close one’s eyes—remember only that Simsa! The Simsa who had stood proud, tall, knowing, unafraid. Do not think of the light moving closer, of alien death by fire, just Simsa.

She willed her heart to slow its beat, she willed fear to be her servant not her master. Even as anger can be willed to become a tool when the time comes, emotions can give greater strengths to one. She
willed.

There was a sharp pain which ran from her cheek into her head—causing for a moment such agony that she thought hazily the flamers of the hunters had found her. Then the pain vanished as swiftly as it had struck, leaving behind it—

This was a strong return of that same feeling she had known in the hall of that other Simsa—that she was new, that she was now another. Dimly, the girl was aware that the hand, clasping the scepter with a force which made her fingers ache, also lay against her head. The ring—the ring had become a bridge!

How—or why—or what—? All questions which must be pushed aside for now. There was an urgency, a need, to act!

What she was doing was a matter of obeying commands, silent commands, delivered from a source she could not define, did not know, who had once been able to do this, and had used such action as a shield and a weapon.

Simsa opened her eyes but did not move her head. She saw the gem which formed the roof of the tower on her ring—saw that only. It grew, spread, became like the pool in which she had lain, became more than the pool—rather a sea. Into that sea she made herself plunge—not the Simsa who was a body, rather the Simsa who dwelt within that body.

She sharpened her thoughts, her purpose, fumbling a little at first, then growing more sure, more adept. There was only the grey-blue-white sea which drew her thoughts, to form them anew, send them out as weapons.

Far away, she heard a whisper of sound, a rise and fall of cadence, of the reciting of a ritual in a tongue which had not been spoken for a thousand-thousand lifetimes. There was strength arising from that stream of words, flowing on into her as it grew louder, gathering energy for another in-pouring as it faded again.

Into the waiting sea spilled that force. Its surface was troubled so waves arose—not waves of any liquid, rather surges of power towering higher and higher. So—and so—and so—!
Yes, this was what must be done, even as it had been evoked long ago. The power in her was still not great enough to move the very earth itself—though once such power had been so used—such cadences of rising and falling words had fitted stones into place, had lifted even great burdens skyward. She did not have that, but her efforts were answering in a different way—answering!

The rising turbulence of that sea closed around the essence of her own identity, caught and held her. She could have screamed aloud as that essence was rent by a tearing, a forcing of dismemberment. Now she was two . . . three . . .

Two and three—and still one. Simsa marshaled those others, those parts of her—they were her guardsmen, her warriors. Now it was time to send them into battle.

She looked into a great hall. There was no darkness there for her eyes, though she knew that in truth shadows hung heavy and long. Through the dark below things moved.

There was a haze about them. The haze of energy—two kinds of energy—one came from outward sources, one from inner. It was the inner which was of the greater importance—that source of energy which was born of life force, not from any weapon or rank discovery and foul use by those who meddled in what they could not hope to completely conquer.

Go—so!

Silently she commanded the two which had been born from her own essence, even as she had been reborn out of Simsa of old.

They blazed. They were light itself. And still they were her, night dark of skin, moon silver of hair, with the sign of the Great Mother blazing from head and hand. Two of them stood in the middle of that hall’s darkness facing those who came.

The ones clothed in haze halted. She could see the ripple of their inner essence’s diffusion which answered to every change of emotion. They were first astounded, then triumphant. One thought death—was moved to sight with his weapon to destroy. Two others quickly defeated his desires. She could hear no orders, but the thought behind their communication rang plain. The two she had dispatched must be taken prisoner.

There they stood. To lay hands upon them, to use an entangling device was a matter of no difficulty. Coils of thin white stuff spun through the air. The coils wreathed around the Simsas. It was meant to pull tight, to wrap them past all struggle for freedom. The coils slipped, fell to the floor where they writhed ineffectively as might living things which had been blinded, or broken.

Now he who had sought to kill from the beginning set his weapon on full strength and, over the protests of his companions, fired. Fire streamed, encircled, blazed with force. Those other Simsas stood unharmed.

There was dismay now. The in-hazed ones were touched by alarm, by uneasy awareness that they fronted something not within the range of their knowledge.

Slowly they gave back one step and then another. Simsa who watched gathered together all her strength, sent it flowing into those two others. Glorified by the light which was theirs, which they wore like robes of victory, they moved as one, following the retreat of the enemy.

They held no wands, but their arms arose from their sides, with hands outstretched. Fingers moved back and forth, leaving in the air trails of light which shone in the dark with the same radiance as that which cloaked them. Back and forth went those trails, where they touched they held.

There was a flicker of light. The Simsas were no longer facing the enemy, they were behind them. Before the suited men could clumsily wheel about, once more their hands were busy, weaving more streamers of energy which netted. Again they moved so, and again.

Those who had invaded the hall were now within a net wall of shining filaments, criss-crossing, floating up higher than their helmeted heads, enclosing them into a narrow space. They had all fired—first at this portion of the net wall—then at that. The raw energy they unleashed was caught in the spaces between the lines of that net, held there to render their prison stronger, more dangerous—a place for them to die should it grow solid with what they so unleashed in their fear.

They no longer used their weapons. But the fire which the net now restrained was not quenched, it still hung there, holding them. The two Simsas watched for a long moment, as if so they must make sure of their work. Then—

There was no sea now to draw back what had been sent forth. Simsa’s own body arched with the sharpness of stabbing pain. She had given birth; now that life must return to her, and its entrance was more agonizing than had been the separation. She gasped, perhaps she voiced a scream. If so she only heard a faint echo of it dying away.

She lay on her back—then there were arms about her, lifting her, holding her as if to assure her safety and peace by firm grasp. She could not lift her hand, her eyelids weighed down to veil her sight. She fought that, looked up to see the blur of Thorn’s face, his fear for her now easy to read. There was no alien strangeness about him now. She believed that she might reach into his mind if she wished, draw out thoughts he did not even know lay there—though that she would never do.

“It is well.” she made her lips shape those words though they seemed stiff and hard to move, as if she had forgotten or not used speech for a long time. “All is well, I think.”

He drew her higher in his hold. Her words did not seem to reassure him. Now she turned her head a little. Had that really happened, had those other parts of her appeared to weave the net of fire? Or had she only dreamed it?

“They—they are caught?” She asked it of him, for in his arms she still was not raised high enough to see the hall below, to know whether she had had some fantastic dream. Once more the balance was swinging—perhaps not so far this time. She could believe it had happened—with another’s power.

“Look!” He steadied her with gentle care, drew her still higher, her body yet a limp weight, because she had drawn too heavily upon its resources.

Thus supported, she was able to gaze at what was below. Not darkness—there was a splotch of light within the space not far from the outer door. Irregular in shape it was like a great hearth fire burning. From it streams of light rolled slowly upward. She could see no lines of the net, but through the thin wall of the fire itself she sighted the three who had drawn together, facing the wall they could not broach, prisoners of the united powers they had unloosed here.