The Cry of the Halidon (44 page)

“Craft found out about his son,” said Alex. “He’s trying to buy off Ferguson.”

“The purchase might well be to Jamaica’s advantage, and Ferguson is not a hostage high on your scale of values.”

“I brought him to the island. He is valuable to me,” answered Alex coldly.

“We shall see.” Daniel turned to the girl. “Tell the scouts
to stay where they are. Hold Ferguson and the runner; instructions will follow. What about the Jensen man?”

“He is all right. The scouts are tracking him.”

“He left camp?”

“He’s pretending to be lost, our men think. Early this morning, soon after Dr. McAuliff left, he had his carrier stretch what is called an … azimuth line. He had the man walk quite a distance while he reeled out the nylon string. The signals were by tugs, apparently—”

“And Jensen cut the line and tied his end to a sapling,” interrupted Alex in a rapid monotone. “With a loop around a nearby limb.”

“How do you know this?” Daniel seemed fascinated.

“It’s a very old, unfunny trick in the field. A distasteful joke. It’s played on green recruits.”

Daniel turned again to the girl. “So his carrier could not find him. Where is Jensen now?”

“He tried to pick up Malcolm’s trail,” replied the secretary. “The scouts say he came very close. He gave up and circled back to the west hill. From there he can watch the entire campsite. All means of entrance.”

“He will wait the full three days, starving and trapped by cats, if he thinks it will help him. He does not dare go back to Warfield without something.” Daniel looked at Alex. “Did you know you were
his
choice to direct the survey?”

“
I
was
his
 …” McAuliff did not finish the statement. There was no point, he thought.

“Tell our people to stay with him,” ordered the minister. “Get close, but don’t take him … unless he uses a radio that could reach the coast. If he does, kill him.”

“What the hell are you saying?” demanded McAuliff angrily. “Goddammit, you have no right!”

“We have every right, Doctor. You adventurers come to this land. Soil it with your
filth
. Don’t speak to me of
rights
, McAuliff!” And then as suddenly as he had raised his voice, he lowered it. He spoke to the girl. “Convene the Council.”

D
aniel led McAuliff down the steps into the matted grass on the left bank of the miniature channel of rushing water. Neither man spoke. Alex looked at his watch; it was nearly eight o’clock. The rays of the twilight of sun shot up from behind the western mountains in spectral shafts of orange; the intercepting hills were silhouetted in brownish black, emphasizing their incredible height, their fortress-immensity. The lake was a huge sheet of very dark glass, polished beyond the ability of man, reflecting the massive shadows of the mountains and the streaks of the orange sun.

They walked down the slope of the clearing to the stone fence bordering the grazing fields. At the far left was a gate; Daniel approached it, unlatched the large single bolt, and swung it open. He gestured McAuliff to go through.

“I apologize for my outburst,” said the minister as they walked into the field. “It was misdirected. You are a victim, not an aggressor. We realize that.”

“And what are you? Are you a victim? Or an aggressor?”

“I am the Minister of Council. And
we
are neither. I explained that.”

“You explained a lot of things, but I still don’t know anything about you,” said McAuliff, his eyes on a lone animal approaching them in the darkening field. It was a young horse, and it whinnied and pranced hesitantly as it drew near.

“This colt is forever breaking out,” laughed Daniel as he patted the neck of the nervous animal. “He will be difficult to train, this one.
Hyee! Hyee!”
cried the Halidonite as he
slapped the colt’s flank, sending it kicking and prancing and snorting toward the center of the field.

“Maybe that’s what I mean,” said Alex. “How do you train … people? Keep them from breaking out?”

Daniel stopped and looked at McAuliff. They were alone in the large pasture, awash with the vivid colors of the dying Jamaican sun. The light silhouetted the minister and caused McAuliff to shield his face. He could not see Daniel’s eyes, but he could feel them.

“We are an uncomplicated people in many ways,” said the Halidonite. “What technology we require is brought in, along with our medical supplies, basic farm machinery, and the like. Always by our own members, using untraceable mountain routes. Other than these, we are self-sufficient on our lands. Our training—as you call it—is a result of understanding the immense riches we possess. Our isolation is hardly absolute. As you will see.”

From childhood, Daniel explained, the Halidonite was told he was privileged and must justify his birthright by his life’s actions. The ethic of contribution we imbued in him early in his education; the need to use his potential to the fullest. The outside world was shown in all its detail—its simplicities, its complications; its peace and its violence; its good and its evil. Nothing was concealed; exaggeration was not left to young imaginations. Realistic temptation was balanced—perhaps a bit strongly, admitted Daniel—with realistic punishment.

As near to his or her twelfth birthday as possible, the Halidonite was tested extensively by teachers, the elders of the Council, and finally by the minister himself. On the basis of these examinations, individuals were selected for training for the outside world. There followed three years of preparation, concentrating on specific skills or professions.

When he or she reached sixteen, the Halidonite was taken from the community and brought to a family residence on the outside, where the father and mother were members of the tribe. Except for infrequent returns to the community and reunions with his own parents, the outside family would be the Haldonite’s guardians for a number of years to come.

“Don’t you have defections?” asked Alex.

“Rarely,” replied Daniel. “The screening process is most thorough.”

“What happens if it isn’t thorough enough? If there are—”

“That is an answer I will not give you,” interrupted the minister. “Except to say the Maze of Acquaba is a threat no prison can compete with. It keeps offenders—within and without—to a minimum. Defections are extremely rare.”

From the tone of Daniel’s voice, Alex had no desire to pursue the subject. “They’re brought back?”

Daniel nodded.

The population of the Halidon was voluntarily controlled. Daniel claimed that for every couple that wanted more children, there invariably was a couple that wanted fewer or none. And, to McAuliff’s astonishment, the minister added: “Marriages take place between ourselves and those of the outside. It is, of course, unavoidable and, by necessity, desirable. But it is a complicated procedure taking place over many months and with stringent regulations.”

“A reverse screening process?”

“The harshest imaginable. Controlled by the guardians.”

“What happens if the marriage doesn’t …”

“That answer, too, is not in bounds, Doctor.”

“I have an idea the penalties are stiff,” said Alex softly.

“You may have all the ideas you like,” said Daniel, starting up again across the field. “But what is of the greatest importance is that you understand that we have scores … hundreds of guardians—halfway houses—throughout the countries of the world. In every profession, in all governments, in dozens of universities and institutions everywhere. You will never know who is a member of the Halidon. And that is our threat, our ultimate protection.”

“You’re saying that if I reveal what I know, you’ll have me killed?”

“You and every member of your family. Wife, children, parents … in the absence of the formal structure, lovers, closest associates, every person who was or is an influence on your life. Your identity, even your memory, will be erased.”

“You can’t know every person I talk to, every telephone call I make. Where I am every minute.
No
one can! I could mount an army; I could find you!”

“But you will not,” said Daniel quietly, in counterpoint to McAuliff’s outburst. “For the same reason others have not.… Come. We are here.”

They were standing now on the edge of the field. Beyond was the tentacled foliage of the Cock Pit forest, in shadowed blackness.

Suddenly, startlingly, the air was filled with a penetrating sound of terrible resonance. It was a wailing, inhuman lament. The tone was low, breathless, enveloping everything and echoing everywhere. It was the sound of a giant woodwind, rising slowly, receding into a simple obscure theme and swelling again to the plaintive cry of a higher melody.

It grew louder and louder, the echoes now picking up the bass tones and hurling them through the jungles, crashing them off the sides of the surrounding mountains until the earth seemed to vibrate.

And then it stopped, and McAuliff stood transfixed as he saw in the distance the outlines of figures walking slowly, purposefully, in the measured cadence, across the fields in the chiaroscuro shadows of the early darkness. A few carried torches, the flames low.

At first there were only four or five, coming from the direction of the gate. Then there were some from the south bank of the black, shining lake; others from the north, emerging out of the darkness. Flat-bottomed boats could be seen crossing the surface of the water, each with a single torch.

Within minutes there were ten, then twenty, thirty … until McAuliff stopped counting. From everywhere. Dozens of slowly moving bodies swaying gently as they walked across the darkened fields.

They were converging toward the spot where Alex stood with Daniel.

The inhuman wailing began again. Louder—if possible—than before, and McAuliff found himself bringing his hands
up to his ears; the vibrations in his head and throughout his body were causing pain—actual
pain
.

Daniel touched him on the shoulder; Alex whipped around as if he had been struck violently. For an instant he thought he had been, so severe were the agonizing sensations brought on by the deafening sound of the horrible lament.

“Come,” said Daniel gently. “The
hollydawn
can injure you.”

McAuliff heard him accurately; he knew that. Daniel had pronounced the word: not “halidon” but “hollydawn.” As though the echoing, deafening sound had caused him to revert to a more primitive tongue.

Daniel walked rapidly ahead of Alex into what McAuliff thought was a wall of underbrush. Then the Halidonite suddenly began to descend into what appeared to be a trench dug out of the jungle. Alex ran to catch up, and nearly plummeted down a long, steep corridor of steps carved out of rock.

The strange staircase widened, flaring out more on both sides the deeper it went, until McAuliff could see that they had descended into a primitive amphitheater, the walls rising thirty or forty feet to the surface of the earth.

What was the staircase became an aisle, the curving rock on both sides forming rows of descending seats.

And suddenly the deafening, agonizing sound from above was no more. It had stopped. Everything was silent.

The amphitheater, carved out of some kind of quarry, blocked out all other sound.

McAuliff stood where he was and looked down at the single source of light: a low flame that illuminated the wall of rock at the center rear of the amphitheater. In that wall was embedded a slab of dull yellow metal. And on the slab of metal was a withered corpse. In front of the corpse was a latticework of thin reeds made of the same yellow substance.

McAuliff needed to go no closer to realize what the substance was: gold.

And the withered, ancient body—once huge—was that of the mystic descendant of the Coromanteen chieftains.

Acquaba.

The preserved remains of the progenitor … spanning the centuries. The true cross of the Tribe of Acquaba. For the believers to see. And sense.

“Down here.” Daniel’s words were whispered, but Alex heard them clearly. “You will sit with me. Please, hurry.”

McAuliff walked down the remaining staircase to the floor of the quarry shell and over to the Halidonite on the right side of the primitive stage. Jutting out from the wall were two stone blocks; Daniel pointed to one: the seat nearest the corpse of Acquaba, less than eight feet away.

McAuliff lowered himself on to the hard stone, his eyes drawn to the open catafalque of solid and webbed gold. The leathered corpse was dressed in robes of reddish black; the feet and hands were bare … and huge, as the head was huge. Allowing for the contraction of two centuries, the man must have been enormous—nearer seven feet than six.

The single torch below the coffin of gold shot flickering shadows against the wall; the thin reeds crisscrossing the front of the carved-out casket picked up the light in dozens of tiny reflections. The longer one stared, thought Alex, the easier it would be to convince oneself this was the shell of a god lying in state. A god who had walked the earth and worked the earth—two hundred years could not erase the signs on the enormous hands and feet. But this god, this man did not toil as other men.…

He heard the sounds of muted steps and looked up into the small amphitheater. Through the entrance, hidden in darkness, and down the staircase they came, a procession of men and women separating and spreading throughout the later stone aisles, taking their seats.

In silence.

Those with torches stood equidistant from each other on graduating levels against opposite walls.

All eyes were on the withered body beyond the latticework of gold. Their concentration was absolute; it was is if they drew sustenance from it.

In silence.

Suddenly, without warning, the sound of the
hollydawn
shattered the stillness with the impact of an explosion. The thunderous, wailing lament seemed to burst from the bowels of rock-covered earth, crashing upward against the stone, thrusting out of the huge pit that was the grave of Acquaba.

McAuliff felt the breath leaving his lungs, the blood rushing to his head. He buried his face between his knees, his hands clamped over his ears, his whole body shaking.