Children of the Gates (6 page)

“The Chinese,” Hadlett said softly.

Those in the woods watched the cautious advance, as the newcomers went along the same route as the Mongols. Nick wondered if they were in pursuit of the former band. If so, he was not sure of their chances when or if they did catch up. Somehow those rifles looked less efficient than the bows of the horsemen who in their time, as Lady Diana had observed, had accounted for armored knights.

“The whole country,” commented Crocker, “is getting a little too crowded.”

“Yes. And what is the reason for all this activity?” Hadlett added.

“It’s got a nasty kind o’ smell to it,” Stroud broke in. “The sooner we get under cover, I’d say, the better. Maybe there’s a huntin’ party out.”

They spent no time in a fruit harvest. As soon as the Chinese squad was well gone, they broke from the copse and traveled at a jogging pace along the protection of a wall, pushing to reach a ridge about a mile and a half away. Nick thought that most of them could make that effort without difficulty, but he wondered about Mrs. Clapp and the Vicar. He saw Jean fall in beside the older woman and take Jeremiah’s basket, to carry herself.

There was a straggling growth of vegetation in the fields, resembling self-sown grain, though its like was new to Nick, for the ripe heads were red with protuberant seeds or grains. It also possessed narrow leaves studded on the edges with tiny hooks that caught at their clothing with amazing strength so they had to constantly jerk free.

Nick swallowed. He was thirsty, but he had no time to drink from his canteen. The need for speed was so manifest in the attitude of the others that he kept steadily on. Linda had taken Lung up to carry him, though the Peke had walked most of the morning.

Luckily the rise of the ridge was a gradual one, but it taxed their strength after that trot across the open. Stroud signaled a rest. There was plenty of cover and from here one could see some distance.

“More drifters!” Jean and Linda were on either side of Nick, and the English girl indicated, at a distance too far to see details of clothing or accoutrements, another band of travelers.

Stroud and Crocker, Nick noted, had flopped over, shading their eyes against the sun, studying not the country beyond but the sky above.

“No sign of ’em,” the Warden said.

“Not yet. But there’s too much movement. If a big hunt was on—”

“We stay flat an’ under cover until dusk,” Stroud decided. “Yes, that’s pushin’ it,” he added at an exclamation from Lady Diana. “But I don’t see how else we can do it—’less we spend the night right here.”

“How far are we,” Nick ventured to ask, “from your place?”

“About three miles straight. But keepin’ under cover adds to that. We’ve seen more drifters today than we have in weeks before—”

“And now we see something else!” the Vicar interrupted. “The Herald—we are not too far from the city.”

There was no concealment, no hunting for cover by that colorful figure below. As the Mongols, he was mounted. But he did not bestride any rough-coated half-pony. The animal bore a general resemblance to a horse right enough, save that its legs were longer and thinner. And its white coat had about it a halo of light such as had been cast by the hair of the Green Man in the forest.

Mounted on this creature, which skimmed the ground at so swift a pace as made Nick stare, was a man, or at least a humanoid. His clothing was as dazzling as the brilliant coat of his steed, a kind of patchwork of bright colors centering in a stiff and sleeveless tabard that flared out over his hips as if boned. Under that were breeches such as the Green Man had worn. And on his head was a four-cornered cap, the points of which projected.

Unlike the forest man, his hair was short, sleeked to his head. And what little showed was very dark. On his face, a line of hair, as fine as if it had been drawn on with a delicately handled brush, crossed his upper lip, to bracket either end of his mouth.

There was purpose in the way he rode, in the wide, ground-covering strides of his horse. And then, watching their going more carefully, Nick perceived what he had not at first sighted. The “horse” was not hooved, but had clawed paws not unlike those of a hound.

And—they did not touch the surface of the ground over which it passed. The thing galloped as if it followed some invisible pathway some inches above the foundation. It did not swerve or even appear to leap as it came to one of the walls about the fields. Instead it simply rose higher in the air, crossing the obstruction, climbing a little more with each pace, heading for the ridge some distance away.

Up and up, always well above the ground now. The paws worked evenly, without effort. It was gaining altitude steadily, ready to cross the ridge. Now Nick heard a whining hum—from the rider?

No, that came from overhead.

“Hunter!” Stroud warned.

They cowered within their cover as there appeared, as suddenly as if the sky parted to drop it through, a flyer. This was like the saucer they had witnessed in battle beside the lake, but very much smaller. And from its bubble top a ray of light shot groundward.

Nick felt a choking sensation. He could not move, was rooted to the ground on which he lay. There was a tingling close to pain through his body.

The ray held steadily on the climbing-horse thing and its rider. But neither looked up to their attacker. Nor did the gallop of the beast fail. The ray increased in intensity. Nick heard a whimper from Lung, a growl from the cat basket. Yet neither animal protested more loudly.

However, the beam was centered on the rider, strengthening until Nick had to glance away from that searing brightness. When he dared look again it was to see the rider slowly descending on the other side of the ridge. Whatever weapon the flyer used had no effect on the Herald. He continued to speed on, completely disregarding the attack as if the alien had no existence.

Yet the saucer followed, training the beam on the Herald, as if by the persistence of its power it could eventually win. When both were well gone, the Herald only a spot of color rapidly disappearing into the distance, the saucer relentlessly in his wake, Nick discovered that he felt better. He hunched up to watch the strange hunt go out of sight.

“A hunter, but it didn’t get him,” Crocker said. “And he’s heading for the city. Defense, not attack—”

“What do you mean?” Nick wanted to know.

“Just that. The hunters try to break down the cities, but the cities never retaliate. They don’t let off ack-ack, never send a bolt back. It’s as if they don’t care, as if the hunters can’t touch them, and so they needn’t bother to fight. You saw the Herald—he never even looked up to see who or what was strafing him! If we only had a defense like that—”

“We can accept their offer,” the Vicar said quietly, “You know that, Barry.”

“No!” The pilot’s return was violent. “I’m me, Barry Crocker, and I’m going to stay me. Even if I have to run and hide all over this country!”

“What happens if one accepts a Herald’s offer?” pushed Nick. “You said that one changes—how?”

Crocker did not allow the Vicar to answer. He scowled at Nick.

“You just change. We saw it in Rita.” And he closed his mouth as if he could not be forced to add to that.

“You see,” Hadlett answered slowly, gently, as if there was some emotion here he feared to awaken fully, “there was another one of us once, Barry’s fiancée. She met the Herald before we understood, and she accepted what he offered. Then she came to us to urge us to do likewise—”

“She was better dead!” Crocker pushed away from them.

“But what happened to her?” Nick persisted. “I think we, Linda and I, have a right to know—if the same choice should be offered to us.”

“It will be,” Lady Diana replied sharply. “But the boy’s right, Adrian. Give him the truth.”

“There were”—the Vicar hesitated as if he found giving that truth a difficult, almost painful matter—“certain physical changes. Perhaps those could be accepted. But there were mental, emotional ones also. To our belief, Rita—the Rita who returned to us—was no longer human. Men have an inborn fear of death that very few of us are able to overcome, we shrink from even the thought. This change is like a kind of death. For the one who accepts it crosses a division between our life and another. There is no return. We have in us such an aversion to what they become that we cannot stand their presence near us. I am trying to find the proper words, but in reality this change must be faced to be fully understood.”

The Vicar met Nick’s eyes, but all the rest, save Linda, looked away, almost as if they were afraid, or ashamed of what he said. The Lady Diana spoke again, a rough note in her voice:

“Well, Stroud, do we sit here much longer?”

6

In spite of the cover about them Nick felt exposed, helplessly defenseless before whatever might come from the sky, or pad across the land. Yet the way he could overlook from the ridge was far too open. Down there he thought they had no way of passing unseen.

Stroud was making a careful survey of the same territory. “We can work along there.” His finger indicated the slope of the ridge far to the right. “When we get that far we can see better what’s still ahead—”

The journey along the ridge was a rough one. They had to take part of it on their hands and knees, scuttling from one patch of brush to the next. It was hardest on Mrs. Clapp. But she made no complaint and the rest took turns by her side, giving what unobtrusive help they could. At least they did not witness the return of the hunting saucer, nor did they see any more drifters in the country below. However, by the time they reached Stroud’s halting point, the sun was well west. Mrs. Clapp’s face was deeply flushed and she breathed in small gasps. Her hands, as they lay across her knees, were shaking. Privately Nick thought she would never make it without a good rest.

“We wait ’til dusk,” Stroud said. “Eat and wait.”

Nick’s canteen and another Stroud carried made the rounds and they ate from their supplies. To all sighting, the land below appeared deserted now. But, as the sun crawled down the sky, Nick became aware of another light radiant in the northeast.

He was sharing the watch with Jean. Now he touched her shoulder lightly and pointed to the glow.

“The city,” she answered his unasked question. “At night it is all alight—you have never seen anything like it.”

He wondered if he detected a wistfulness in her voice.

“How close have you seen it?” The mysterious city, or cities, intrigued him. Apparently they were secure havens of safety for their inhabitants.

“Close enough,” she returned, “close enough to be afraid.” For a moment she was silent and then she added:

“What the Vicar said about Rita—is true. She was—different. But she was crying that last time she tried to come to us. She didn’t mean us any harm—she wanted to help—”

Her voice was uneasy, as if in some way she felt guilt.

“But you all turned her away.” Nick regretted his words the moment he spoke.

Jean turned her head to look straight at him. “We sent her away,” she said harshly.

Nick was disconcerted. Why had he said that? These people knew what they were doing, what they had to do to survive here. And what he had voiced sounded like an accusation.

Jean had turned away again to watch the dusk creeping across the land. Though she lay within easy touching distance, Nick sensed that in one way she had totally withdrawn.

“If we go on”—he wanted to break that silence—“how can Mrs. Clapp make it? She is exhausted—”

“I know.” Her tone was remote. “But she will have to try and we can all give her a hand. We must get to a place we can trust before nightfall.”

“See anything?” asked Stroud from behind them.

Jean shook her head. “It’s been clear. The city’s turned up tonight.”

The glow in the sky strengthened as the natural light failed.

“But the far ridge will cut that off.” Stroud appeared satisfied at that thought. “We’d best be gettin’ to it.”

The descent from the ridge was gradual. Jean again had Jeremiah’s basket. And Linda, carrying Lung, had closed in on Mrs. Clapp’s left. When they hit the more level country Stroud set a brisk pace and the Vicar dropped back to the three women.

They took breaks at intervals, and Mrs. Clapp made no complaint. But it was plain to see that only her determination kept her going. Even her collecting tote now swung from Linda’s shoulder to balance her own duffel bag.

Lady Diana moved in, setting her hand firmly, without any word, under Mrs. Clapp’s arm. What they would do when the full dark came Nick could not tell. Luckily this was the season when twilight held. And the land also had light from the glow in the sky.

The night was not quiet. Nick’s tense nerves twitched in answer to the sounds. There were cries, sometimes wailing. None of the sweet, beguiling singing such as he had heard the night of the rain. Rather these held an abiding terror to feed one’s fears, made one look at intervals over one’s shoulder to see what sniffed along one’s trail. He longed to ask what this or that noise meant. But as his companions accepted them he would not.

“We’re well along,” Stroud announced at one halt. “We’ve only a short bit now, then we’ll lie snug.”

They were out of the fields, nearly at the foot of the ridge above which blazed the radiance of the city. As Stroud led right again, they followed a smoother path between more tumbled walls—this could be a lane.

So they arrived at a black bulk of building, its walls also stone, though now the twilight was so subdued Nick could not be sure just what it was like. With the ease of familiarity Stroud opened a door and entered.

“Praise be,” Nick heard Mrs. Clapp’s breathy voice. “Not one minute too soon for these old legs o’ mine. Just get me in, m’lady, an’ let me sit a little. Then I’ll be as right as right again. I’m a mite too old for all this scramblin’ about, that I am.”

“Nonsense!” Lady Diana propelled her forward with a right good will. “Don’t you forget, Maude, we all took a dose of that hunter’s ray back there. That doesn’t do anyone any good.”

There was a glimmer of light in the doorway. As Nick crossed the threshold, Crocker behind him thudded shut a stout door to close out the night. The light was feeble, but it showed the American most of a single big room with a fireplace double the size of any he had ever seen, a bench, some stools and a table—all made of wood and massively heavy.

Mrs. Clapp dropped rather than sat on one of the stools, and Jean hastened to put Jeremiah’s basket down beside her. There was a pleading mew from the cat. Mrs. Clapp fumbled with the fastening to allow him out. He shook himself vigorously and then looked about, sniffing at the fireplace, and beginning a cautious exploration of the room.

There were windows, Nick could see, but each was covered with an inner barred shutter. Crocker had just dropped into place a similar but thicker bar across the door. Their light came from a bowl on the table where a cord burned in liquid. There was a pleasant scent from that burning and, in the room itself, an aura of peace and security that was relaxing.

“What is this place?” Linda put Lung on the floor and he flopped flat at once, his chin supported by his paws. “Somehow—it feels—good!”

The Vicar seated himself on the bench not too far from Mrs. Clapp. He smiled at the girl.

“A place to rest, yes, and more than rest, recruitment for the spirit. We have found several such. Some are the work of man’s hands—others are of nature. But from them you may draw peace of mind and relaxation from all tensions. This was perhaps built by one who was an exile here, even as we are. We believe it was once a farm—in days when this land was not so troubled as it now is. There is iron set into the door bar and across the windows—which means that those who built were of our kind. But how they brought into their building this spirit of contentment, that we cannot tell. Perhaps all emotions are heightened in this time-space. We meet terror in some places, this blessed quietude in others. While in our own world, if such exist, our senses are not attuned to recognize them.”

Stroud had subsided on a stool, his thick legs stretched out before him, his craggy face only partially lighted by the lamp.

“We could stay, weren’t it so close to the city. At least we can hole up for now.”

That feeling of peace lulled them all. Nick’s legs ached, he could not remember when he had walked so far. And while the pressure of the need to escape had kept him going, now that that was removed his fatigue settled all at once, bringing every ache and pain of misused and seldom-used muscle with it. A little later he was glad enough to stretch out flat on one of the heaps of dried leaves along the wall to which Crocker pointed him. And sleep came quickly.

There were dreams, not frightening, but rather the kind one longs to hold onto, to prolong. Even when he drifted awake and knew he was awake, he held his eyes shut and reached again for the dream. However, it was not only gone, but he could not remember it at all.

“Nick! Oh, why doesn’t he wake up! Nick!” A fierce whisper, a hand on his shoulder.

Reluctantly he opened his eyes. Linda crouched by him. Though the lamp was out he could see her face in the thin gray light that came from a small opening very high in the walls.

“Nick!” She shook him harder.

It took a great effort of will to answer her.

“Yes—”

“Be quiet!” She leaned closer. “You’ll wake one of them.”

The urgency in her tone was enough to make him sit up. It banished the peace of this place.

“What is it?”

“Lung—he’s gone!” Now that he showed himself fully aroused, Linda withdrew a little. “There was a whistling and he went!”

“Went how? The door’s barred—” It was true. The bar Crocker had put there last night was still firmly in place.

“In the other room—” She jerked at his arm. “There’s an open window. Lung ran—I got there just in time to see him squeeze through—”

He followed as silently as possible in her wake. Around him he could hear snores, the heavy breathing of those deep in slumber. Linda’s hand reached back for him, drew him on. They passed the fireplace and turned right. There was a brighter glimmer of the gray light.

Here was another room, the door to it a little open. Inside there was no furniture, but there was the square of an open, barred window, set quite low in the wall. Nick did not have to be told that the bars were iron.

Linda dropped his hand, ran to the window, her hands gripping those bars as she pressed against them, striving to see out into the light of pre-sunrise.

Perhaps time had eaten away the strength of that metal barrier, or perhaps there was some concealed catch the girl’s weight activated. The crisscross of bars swung outward and Linda half fell, half scrambled through.

Nick hurled himself after her. “Linda, don’t be a fool! Come back here!”

If she heard him she was not about to obey. As he banged into the lattice that had fallen into place again, Nick could see her moving out into the yard calling Lung softly. The bars now seemed solid, but he beat his fist against them, and once more the lattice gave and he went through.

“Linda!” he shouted. If it awakened the others, all the better.

He could see her by an opening in the wall.

“I see him,” she called back. “Don’t follow me, he’s being naughty—he’ll run again unless I can coax him. And he certainly won’t come if he sees you.”

There was no way Nick could reach her in time. Unheeding of her surroundings, she was already through that gap, now calling again.

“Lung—here, Lung—Lung—Lung—”

In spite of her admonition, Nick pushed open the window bars again and went after her. Maybe what she said was true and, seeing him, the Peke would be wary. But he had to reach her, make her understand the danger of wandering out this way. If necessary she would have to abandon Lung for her own safety.

However, even as he knew the logic of that, Nick also realized he could never make Linda agree to it. It might take physical force to return her to safety.

“Lung—Lung, you bad, bad boy! Lung—” Linda crouched in the lane, her hand out, her voice coaxing. “Lung—” With her hand she dug into the big patch pocket on her jeans. “Lung—goodies—the kind you like—goodies, Lung!”

Nick could see the Peke. He had stopped, was looking back at Linda. Nick slowed to a halt. If Linda could coax him to her—

“Goodies, Lung—” She spoke as if this was a game she had had to play before.

Lung turned a little, his pink tongue showing, as if he already tasted what she had to offer.

“Goodies—” Linda made the word a drawn-out drawl.

One step, and then two, the Peke was returning. Nick held his breath. As soon as Linda could get her hands on Lung it would be his turn to hurry them both back to the house.

“Good—good—Lung—” The Peke was almost within reaching distance of her hands now. On the palm of one were some broken pieces of brown biscuit. “Good Lung—”

Sharp, shrill, a whistle.

Instantly the Peke whirled, looked toward the stand of trees to their left, from which the sound had come. He barked and was gone in a flash.

Linda cried out, stumbled to her feet, and dashed after him, aware of nothing but the running dog. Nick called, and then went after her, prudence thrown away, knowing that somehow he must stop Linda before she met whatever summoned Lung.

The Peke was still barking. And Linda shouted in return, calling his name at the top of her voice. Nick kept silent. No use wasting breath when she would not listen.

He might have caught her, but a stone half-embedded in the ground proved his downfall. As the toe of his boot met that, he sprawled forward, hitting the ground hard enough to knock the breath from his body.

It was a moment or two before he could claw his way to his feet again. Linda had gone, only a swinging branch guided him. But he could still hear the barking and her calls. The little fool—stronger names came to his mind as he went on. Doubtless his folly was as great as hers in following. But if he went back for help she could be lost. He would have to take the chance as it was the only one he had.

Thrusting his way through bushes at the cost of bloody scratches, Nick won to an open space under the trees. Though the direction of those barks and calls might mislead, they were all he had to guide him. And somehow the sounds were reassuring, at least they were both able yet to make them.

“Lung—Lung!” Between those two words there was a change in tone. The first utterance had been a call, the second—what? A protest?

Nick pushed on at the best pace he could, and, without warning, stepped into an open, treeless glade. Before him stood Linda, but she was making no effort to capture Lung.

The small dog was still barking, sitting up on his haunches, waving his forepaws excitedly in the air. While she whom he was wooing with all his might smiled and enticed him with something held tantalizingly in her hand.