Midworld (17 page)

It was two days before sufficient supplies could be readied for the second attempt to reach the giants’ station-Home. Two days to prepare for a death the Akadi had not achieved, most of Born’s fellows believed.

He had proved himself thrice now in a span of time no longer than a child’s dream. This did not alter the belief among his fellows of his madness. They thought, as Losting did, that there is a peculiar bravery that is part of insanity. Therefore they exhibited respect toward Born now—but not admiration. There is no recompense in admiring madness.

Born felt only their indifference, without sensing the attitude that provoked it, since none would admit their belief in his madness to his face. This made him madder, but in a different sense. So he sharpened axe and knife till it seemed there would be little left of either, and he thought private angry thoughts.

He had come back from the fight with the grazer. He had come back from the giants’ sky-boat demon. He had come back from the Akadi. And he would come back from the giants’ station and bring all the wonders they promised him! Maybe, maybe then, at last, Brightly Go would see daring and courage and intelligence whereas everyone else saw only madness; see that they were worth much more than bulk and strength.

Of all the hunters, only Losting, for his own peculiar reasons, would come with him still. Had Born not saved the lives of the others? True, they admitted, but all the more reason not to carelessly throw them away. Losting, then, whom Born could go without seeing for the necessary weeks or months of travel and be blissfully content, would accompany him. He was secretly glad of the aid the big hunter would provide, but publicly taunting.

“You think I go to my death. Then why come with me?” he sneered, knowing the reason full well.

“Some say the forest protects the mad. If so, it surely will save you. And I am as mad as you, for is not love a kind of madness?”

“If so, then we are surely both mad,” Born agreed, tightening the clasp on his cloak. “And they have been right all along, and I am the maddest of the lot.”

“Remember, Born, you’ll not convince me to stay. I’ll see you die or come back with you.” He turned his attention to the two waiting giants, who were talking with the chief.

Both had consented to accept a present of water-repellent cloaks, though they still insisted unreasonably on wearing their own tattered clothing underneath. When Born argued the absurdity of retaining such fragments, they countered with their old argument of catching cold. That stopped Born, for who was to say what strange maladies might exist among the giants?

“They have learned much in the days they have lived among us,” he observed, “though each is still as clumsy as a child. At least now they ask before touching, look before stepping.”

“What do you think of them, Born?”

Losting asked.

“We must watch constantly to see that they do not kill themselves before we reach their station-Home.”

“Not that,” Losting corrected. “I meant, do you like them as persons?”

Born shrugged. “They are very different. If all they claim is true, they can do us good. If not”—he made a noncommittal face—“it will be a tale to tell our grandchildren.”

That simultaneously brought the picture of a certain young female to both minds.

The conversation ended by mutual agreement. It would not do to begin a journey longer than any had ever made with fighting. There would be fighting enough in the world before they reached their goal. On that one thing, both were agreed.

Many in the village had come to see them off with good wishes and gifts of food, though none would meet Born’s eyes. They had long since returned to the daily business of gathering food and caring for the Home. So they took their leave of the Home, the chief and one lone child watching them go. A fat ball of fur rocked near the child, the cub Suv. The sight reminded Born of another child, another cub, now returned to the world.

He turned his gaze outward.

The sky-boat had been equipped with a good Mark V ranger, new beacon tracker, tridee broadcast unit, and automatic beamhoming device. Now all this equipment was so much scrap, broken and twisted by gravity and by the sky-demon.

Logan took out the tiny black disk with the clear face and once more blessed whoever among their outfitters had seen fit to include the compass in their tiny boot survival packs. She hoped this planet possessed nothing in the way of magnetic abnormalities. At least, they had not been told of any. But then, skimmers were supposed to be foolproof, too.

Different variations on the same thought had occurred to Born. In that respect this journey was suicidal, for they had only the giants’ word on where they were going.

The possibility that they did not have a good idea of where their station lay was something he preferred not to think on. It did his spirits no good. Besides, he reasoned, if they did not have a fairly accurate idea, surely they would not have forsaken the safety and comfort of the Home on the wild chance that they would stumble across the station by searching at random. As to what might await Losting and himself on their arrival at the mysterious station, he did not know. Handling himself among new people was not a major concern at the moment. Many days had passed since they had left the Home. Though it now lay many rests behind them, the emotion uppermost in Born’s mind was neither homesickness nor apprehension of what might lie ahead.

Rather, he felt a peculiar combination of tedium and tension—tedium arising from the day-to-day discovery that each new section of the world was identical to that which lay within throwing distance of the Home and tension from the inescapable feeling that tomorrow it might not be. After the first seven-day the giants kept to themselves as much as possible, save for an occasional question whenever they encountered a plant or forest dweller new to them. That left Born with no one to talk to but Losting. Not surprisingly, the expedition proceeded with a dearth of jovial patter. The hunters continued to regard each other with a mixture of hatred and respect.

These cancelled each other out and kept the party operating on an even emotional keel.

Both men knew that this was neither the time nor the place for a violent settlement of their differences. Mutual slaughter would have to wait until their glorious return. As Born had predicted, the specially designed jungle-resistant fabric of the giants’ clothing began to rot away under the steady assault of a forest which had failed to read the manufacturer’s label. Cohoma and Logan were more grateful each day for the green cloaks they had been given. A good cloak offered its wearer concealment from enemies, and protection from the night-rain, served as bedding, and had a dozen and one other uses.

The giants grew more assured, more confident of their surroundings, as each new day came and went without incident.

Considering their still incredible awkwardness in negotiating the treepaths, Born felt the little knot of humans had been exceptionally fortunate so far. The only serious encounter they had had could hardly have been predicted. It nearly cost them Logan.

“I’ll be damned,” she had remarked to her companion, pointing up and to their right. “Is that a patch of clear sky over there, or am I hallucinating?” Born and Losting were moving just ahead of them, and neither hunter was paying much attention to the giants’ conversation.

Cohoma looked in the indicated direction. He saw what certainly looked like an oval section of blue sky streaked with fluffy white clouds. “Not unless we’re both seeing things. Must be another hole in the forest, like the one our boat made coming down.” They angled toward it.

At that moment Losting turned to make sure their charges were safe behind them.

“Stop—this way!”

Born was slightly ahead of Losting. At the other’s shout, he turned and immediately saw the cause of the hunter’s concern. “It’s all right,” Logan answered confidently. “I know about the sky-demons from first-hand experience.” She shook her head, smiled. “We’re too far down in the forest, and this hole’s too narrow to let even the smallest flier descend. We’re safe.” She took another couple of steps along the broad cubble toward the ellipse of clear blue. Losting yelled again and hurriedly tried to explain, even as both giants continued walking. Knowing the ineffectiveness of trying to argue with Cohoma and Logan, Born was already running toward them. As he jumped from branch to cubble, his snuffler clattering and banging against his back, he was fighting to untangle his axe from its belt loop. The two blind giants were almost to it now. He could see the slight rippling around the edges of the blue. The axe would be too late.

Fortunately, others had also detected the danger. Ruumahum and Geeliwan were there. Powerful jaws closed gently but firmly on tough cloak material. Another function of the multipurpose cape was abruptly demonstrated as the two furcots yanked backward in unison. Logan yelped.

Cohoma’s exclamation was more detailed. Born had the axe out and ready just in case, as the two giants were dragged clear of the blue patch. The fluttering around the fringe of that broad blue circle matched the stuttering of his heart. Both quieted simultaneously. Thank the Home! An axe would not have been much good against a clouder, and he would have hated to depend on Losting’s speed with a snuffler. Ether way, the clouder would certainly have killed one if not both of the giants before the jacari poison could take effect.

Losting came up alongside him. The big hunter had his own axe out. Together they examined the oval section of sky and clouds, ignoring the two giants who were now struggling angrily to their feet.

Ruumahum and Geeliwan had let loose their cloaks, but rested close by, watching. Born nodded to Ruumahum, once. The old furcot snorted and disappeared with Geeliwan into the brush.

The hunter studied Logan as she fought to remove her tangled cloak from between her legs. Her face was flushed.

“What’s the harm in letting us have a look at the sky again, Born? Still afraid of sky-demons? Maybe it doesn’t mean much to you, but we’ve had nothing over our heads but green for two weeks now. Just a glimpse of normal sky—even if it’s a bit green-tinged—is a visual treat for us. To panic like this just because—”

“I would risk leaving you a look at your Upper Hell were we high enough for it,”

Born replied calmly.

“Well, this’ll do since we’re not.

What’s wrong with it? It’s just another well in your world, a natural one, unlike the one we made when our skimmer fell.”

Born shook his head. One must force oneself to be patient with these giants, he reminded himself. They could not emfol.

“You see no sky and no clouds. That which you see is a clouder resting in killing mode.

It was about to make a meal of both of you.” If the situation had not been so deadly serious, Born might have found Logan’s expression amusing. She turned a confused gaze on the circle of “sky,” examined the clouds drifting within it. She eyed Cohoma, who shrugged and looked blank. “Born, I don’t understand. Is there some kind of animal that sits around such openings and waits for something to enter the open space?

I don’t see anything like that.”

“There is no open space,” Born elaborated carefully. “Watch.”

They withdrew to a position behind some thick succulents and waited. Ten, twenty minutes of silence, at the end of which both giants were growing nervous and fidgety. At about the twenty-fifth minute a small brya—a four-footed, four-clawed herbivore about the size of a pig—wandered toward the patch of blue while rooting in the dense growth beneath it for edible aerial tubers.

Again Born detected the fluttering around the fringe of the sky, but didn’t point it out to Cohoma and Logan. He didn’t have to—they saw it for themselves.

The brya wandered into the space beneath the sky. When it was in the exact center, the sky fell, clouds and all. The quivering clouder resembled a thick mattress lined on its edges with hundreds of cilia. It literally enveloped the brya, which squealed only once. The clouder moved jerkily for a minute or two, then relaxed.

Five minutes later the fringe of tentacles or cilia extended. The clouder climbed back up to its nesting place, stripping the surrounding vegetation in the process to keep plenty of clear space beneath it. It settled into place once more, four meters above the nearest growth. It was pebbled and green on top. Its underside was shaded so much like a section of sky speckled with clouds that Logan had to blink to make sure it had really moved. A few bones, too tough for even the clouder’s supremely efficient digestive juices, were carefully thrown clear once excreted. “Camouflage, yes. Protective mimicry, yes,” Logan whispered. “But a carnivore that imitates the sky—”

Cohoma was equally awed, especially when he considered he might easily have gone the way of the brya had not the furcots intervened.

Born sighed and turned to lead on. “I am not sure what that means, but the sky is the sky and a clouder is a clouder. Walk under the last and soon see nothing.” He started back down the cubble. A suitably chastized Logan and Cohoma followed, looking uneasily to their right as they passed the innocent-seeming circle of blue and white.

“Just when you think you’ve got this ecosystem figured,” Cohoma mumbled, “got the predators and the prey identified and cataloged, something like that nearly snaps your head off. Carnivores that imitate the sky! Next thing you know, Born’ll be warning us about something that imitates nothing!”

Three days later they encountered the palinglass and again barely escaped being consumed.

Weeks had passed. Many nights later they secured an especially good camp in the hollow of a Pillar branch. The wood-walled cave was more than large enough to accommodate all six of them comfortably, if it was unoccupied.

Born and Losting motioned for the two giants to stay behind when they first saw the orifice. They then approached the cavernous scar cautiously, loaded snufflers held ready. It seemed unlikely that such a fine, solid shelter, so spacious, would be devoid of life. Such was the case, however. Neither Ruumahum or Geeliwan had detected any scent. When the hunters entered the hollow, they found only very old droppings, and more deadwood than they could use in a hundred fires.