The pick of the horse herd7, a roan stallion, was brought in to be picketed8 near Ross as sacrifice number two, and two of the hounds were in turn leashed close by. Foscar, his best weapons to hand and a red cloak lapped about him, lay waiting on a bier. Near-by squatted9 the tribal wizard, shaking his thunder rattle10 and chanting in a voice which approached a shriek11. This wild activity might have been a scene lifted directly from some tape stored at the project base. It was very difficult for Ross to remember that this was reality, that he was to be one of the main actors in the coming event, with no timely aid from Operation Retrograde to snatch him to safety.
Sometime during that nightmare he slept, his weariness of body overcoming him. He awoke, dazed, to find a hand clutching his mop of hair, pulling his head up.
"You sleep—you do not fear, Foscar's dog-one?"
Groggily12 Ross blinked up. Fear? Sure, he was afraid. Fear, he realized with a clear thrust of consciousness such as he had seldom experienced before, had always stalked beside him, slept in his bed. But he had never surrendered to it, and he would not now if he could help it.
"I do not fear!" He threw that creed13 into Ennar's face in one hot boast. He would not fear!
"We shall see if you speak so loudly when the fire bites you!" The other spat14, yet in that oath there was a reluctant recognition of Ross's courage.
"When the fire bites...." That sang in Ross's head. There was something else—if he could only remember! Up to that moment he had kept a poor little shadow of hope. It is always impossible—he was conscious again with that strange clarity of mind—for a man to face his own death honestly. A man always continues to believe to the last moment of his life that something will intervene to save him.
The men led the horse to the mound15 of fagots which was now crowned with Foscar's bier. The stallion went quietly, until a tall tribesman struck true with an ax, and the animal fell. The hounds were also killed and laid at their dead master's feet.
But Ross was not to fare so easily. The wizard danced about him, a hideous16 figure in a beast mask, a curled fringe of dried snakeskins swaying from his belt. Shaking his rattle, he squawked like an angry cat as they pulled Ross to the stacked wood.
Fire—there was something about fire—if he could only remember! Ross stumbled and nearly fell across one leg of the dead horse they were propping17 into place. Then he remembered that tongue of flame in the meadow grass which had burned the horse but not the rider. His hands and his head would have no protection, but the rest of his body was covered with the flame-resistant fabric18 of the alien suit. Could he do it? There was such a slight chance, and they were already pushing him onto that mound, his hands tied. Ennar stooped, and bound his ankles, securing him to the brush.
So fastened, they left him. The tribe ringed around the pyre at a safe distance, Ennar and five other men approaching from different directions, torches aflame. Ross watched those blazing knots thrust into the brush and heard the crackle of the fire. His eyes, hard and measuring, studied the flash of flame from dried brush to seasoned wood.
A tongue of yellow-red flame licked up at him. Ross hardly dared to breathe as it wreathed about his foot, his hide fetters19 smoldering20. The insulation21 of the suit did not cut all the heat, but it allowed him to stay put for the few seconds he needed to make his escape spectacular.
The flame had eaten through his foot bonds, and yet the burning sensation on his feet and legs was no greater than it would have been from the direct rays of a bright summer sun. Ross moistened his lips with his tongue. The impact of heat on his hands and his face was different. He leaned down, held his wrists to the flame, taking in stoical silence the burns which freed him.
Then, as the fire curled up so that he seemed to stand in a frame of writhing22 red banners, Ross leaped through that curtain, protecting his bowed head with his arms as best he could. But to the onlookers23 it seemed he passed unhurt through the heart of a roaring fire.
He kept his footing and stood facing that part of the tribal ring directly before him. He heard a cry, perhaps of fear, and a blazing torch flew through the air and struck his hip24. Although he felt the force of the blow, the burning bits of the head merely slid down his thigh25 and leg, leaving no mark on the smooth blue fabric.
"Ahhhhhhh!"
Now the wizard capered26 before him, shaking his rattle to make a deafening27 din28. Ross struck out, slapping the sorcerer out of his path, and stooped to pick up the smoldering brand which had been thrown at him. Whirling it about his head, though every movement was torture to his scorched29 hands, he set it flaming once more. Holding it in front of him as a weapon, he stalked directly at the men and women before him.
The torch was a poor enough defense30 against spears and axes, but Ross did not care—he put into this last gamble all the determination he could summon. Nor did he realize what a figure he presented to the tribesmen. A man who had crossed a curtain of fire without apparent hurt, who appeared to wash in tongues of flame without harm, and who now called upon fire in turn as a weapon, was no man but a demon31!
The wall of people wavered and broke. Women screamed and ran; men shouted. But no one threw a spear or struck with an ax. Ross walked on, a man possessed32, looking neither to the right or left. He was in the camp now, stalking toward the fire burning before Foscar's tent. He did not turn aside for that either, but holding the torch high, strode through the heart of the flames, risking further burns for the sake of insuring his ultimate safety.
The tribesmen melted away as he approached the last line of tents, with the open land beyond. The horses of the herd, which had been driven to this side to avoid the funeral pyre, were shifting nervously33, the scent34 of burning making them uneasy.
Once more Ross whirled the dying torch about his head. Recalling how the aliens had sent his horse mad, he tossed it behind him into the grass between the tents and the herd. The tinder-dry stuff caught immediately. Now if the men tried to ride after him, they would have trouble.
Without hindrance36 he walked across the meadow at the same even pace, never turning to look behind. His hands were two separate worlds of smarting pain; his hair and eyebrows37 were singed38, and a finger of burn ran along the angle of his jaw39. But he was free, and he did not believe that Foscar's men would be in any haste to pursue him. Somewhere before him lay the river, the river which ran to the sea. Ross walked on in the sunny morning while behind him black smoke raised a dark beacon40 to the sky.
Afterward41 he guessed that he must have been lightheaded for several days, remembering little save the pain in his hands and the fact that it was necessary to keep moving. Once he fell to his knees and buried both hands in the cool, moist earth where a thread of stream trickled42 from a pool. The muck seemed to draw out a little of the agony while he drank with a fever thirst.
Ross seemed to move through a haze43 which lifted at intervals44 during which he noted45 his surroundings, was able to recall a little of what lay behind him, and to keep to the correct route. However, the gaps of time in between were forever lost to him. He stumbled along the banks of a river and fronted a bear fishing. The massive beast rose on its hind35 legs, growled46, and Ross walked by it uncaring, unmenaced by the puzzled animal.
Sometimes he slept through the dark periods which marked the nights, or he stumbled along under the moon, nursing his hands against his breast, whimpering a little when his foot slipped and the jar of that mishap47 ran through his body. Once he heard singing, only to realize that it was himself who sang hoarsely48 a melody which would be popular thousands of years later in the world through which he wavered. But always Ross knew that he must go on, using that thick stream of running water as a guide to his final goal, the sea.
After a long while those spaces of mental clarity grew longer, appearing closer together. He dug small shelled things from under stones along the river and ate them avidly49. Once he clubbed a rabbit and feasted. He sucked birds' eggs from a nest hidden among some reeds—just enough to keep his gaunt body going, though his gray eyes were now set in what was almost a death's-head.
Ross did not know just when he realized that he was again being hunted. It started with an uneasiness which differed from his previous fever-bred hallucinations. This was an inner pulling, a growing compulsion to turn and retrace50 his way back toward the mountains to meet something, or someone, waiting for him on the backward path.
But Ross kept on, fearing sleep now and fighting it. For once he had lain down to rest and had wakened on his feet, heading back as if that compulsion had the power to take over his body when his waking will was off guard.
So he rested, but he dared not sleep, the desire constantly tearing at his will, striving to take over his weakened body and draw it back. Perhaps against all reason he believed that it was the aliens who were trying to control him. Ross did not even venture to guess why they were so determined51 to get him. If there were tribesmen on his trail as well, he did not know, but he was sure that this was now purely52 a war of wills.
As the banks of the river were giving way to marshes54, he had to wade55 through mud and water, detouring56 the boggy58 sections. Great clouds of birds whirled and shrieked59 their protests at his coming, and sleek60 water animals paddled and poked61 curious heads out of the water as this two-legged thing walked mechanically through their green land. Always that pull was with him, until Ross was more aware of fighting it than of traveling.
Why did they want him to return? Why did they not follow him? Or were they afraid to venture too far from where they had come through the transfer? Yet the unseen rope which was tugging62 at him did not grow less tenuous64 as he put more distance between himself and the mountain valley. Ross could understand neither their motives65 nor their methods, but he could continue to fight.
The bog57 was endless. He found an island and lashed66 himself with his suit belt to the single willow67 which grew there, knowing that he must have sleep, or he could not hope to last through the next day. Then he slept, only to waken cold, shaking, and afraid. Shoulder deep in a pool, he was aware that in his sleep he must have opened the belt buckle68 and freed himself, and only the mishap of falling into the water had brought him around to sanity69.
Somehow he got back to the tree, rehooked the buckle and twisted the belt around the branches so that he was sure he could not work it free until daybreak. He lapsed70 into a deepening doze71, and awoke, still safely anchored, with the morning cries of the birds. Ross considered the suit as he untangled the belt. Could the strange clothing be the tie by which the aliens held to him? If he were to strip, leaving the garment behind, would he be safe?
He tried to force open the studs across his chest, but they would not yield to the slight pressure which was all his seared fingers could exert, and when he pulled at the fabric, he was unable to tear it. So, still wearing the livery of the off-world men, Ross continued on his way, hardly caring where he went or how. The mud plastered on him by his frequent falls was some protection against the swarm72 of insect life his passing stirred into attack. However, he was able to endure a swollen73 face and slitted eyes, being far more conscious of the wrenching74 feeling within him than the misery75 of his body.
The character of the marsh53 began to change once more. The river was splitting into a dozen smaller streams, shaping out fanlike. Looking down at this from one of the marsh hillocks, Ross knew a faint surge of relief. Such a place had been on the map Ashe had made them memorize. He was close to the sea at last, and for the moment that was enough.
A salt-sharpened wind cut at him with the force of a fist in the face. In the absence of sunlight the leaden clouds overhead set a winterlike gloom across the countryside. To the constant sound of birdcalls Ross tramped heavily through small pools, beating a path through tangles76 of marsh grass. He stole eggs from nests, sucking his nourishment77 eagerly with no dislike for the fishy78 flavor, and drinking from stagnant79, brackish80 ponds.
Suddenly Ross halted, at first thinking that the continuous roll of sound he heard was thunder. Yet the clouds overhead were massed no more than before and there was no sign of lightning. Continuing on, he realized that the mysterious sound was the pounding of surf—he was near the sea!
Willing his body to run, he weaved forward at a reeling trot81, pitting all his energy against the incessant82 pull from behind. His feet skidded83 out of marsh mud into sand. Ahead of him were dark rocks surrounded by the white lace of spray.
Ross headed straight toward that spray until he stood knee-deep in the curling, foam-edged water and felt its tug63 on his body almost as strong as that other tug upon his mind. He knelt, letting the salt water sting to life every cut, every burn, sputtering84 as it filled his mouth and nostrils85, washing from him the slime of the bog lands. It was cold and bitter, but it was the sea! He had made it!
Ross Murdock staggered back and sat down suddenly in the sand. Glancing about, he saw that his refuge was a rough triangle between two of the small river arms, littered with the debris86 of the spring floods which had grounded here after rejection87 by the sea. Although there was plenty of material for a fire, he had no means of kindling88 a flame, having lost the flint all Beaker traders carried for such a purpose.
This was the sea, and against all odds89 he had reached it. He lay back, his self-confidence restored to the point where he dared once more to consider the future. He watched the swooping90 flight of gulls91 drawing patterns under the clouds above. For the moment he wanted nothing more than to lie here and rest.
But he did not surrender to this first demand of his over-driven body for long. Hungry and cold, sure that a storm was coming, he knew he had to build a fire—a fire on shore could provide him with the means of signaling the sub. Hardly knowing why—because one part of the coastline was as good as another—Ross began to walk again, threading a path in and out among the rocky outcrops.
So he found it, a hollow between two such windbreaks within which was a blackened circle of small stones holding charred92 wood, with some empty shells piled near-by. Here was unmistakable evidence of a camp! Ross plunged93 forward, thrusting a hand impetuously into the black mass of the dead fire. To his astonishment94, he touched warmth!
Hardly daring to disturb those precious bits of charcoal95, he dug around them, then carefully blew into what appeared to be dead ashes. There was an answering glow! He could not have just imagined it.
From a pile of wood that had been left behind, Ross snatched a small twig96, poking97 it at the coal after he had rubbed it into a brush on the rough rock. He watched, all one ache of hope. The twig caught!
With his stiff fingers so clumsy, he had to be very careful, but Ross had learned patience in a hard school. Bit by bit he fed that tiny blaze until he had a real fire. Then, leaning back against the rock, he watched it.
It was now obvious that the placement of the original fire had been chosen with care, for the outcrops gave it wind shelter. They also provided a dark backdrop, partially98 hiding the flames on the landward side but undoubtedly99 making them more visible from the sea. The site seemed just right for a signal fire—but to what?
Ross's hands shook slightly as he fed the blaze. It was only too clear why anyone would make a signal on this shore. McNeil—or perhaps both he and Ashe—had survived the breakup of the raft, after all. They had reached this point—abandoned no earlier than this morning, judging by the life remaining in the coals—and put up the signal. Then, just as arranged, they had been collected by the sub, by now on its way back to the hidden North American post. There was no hope of any pickup100 for him now. Just as he had believed them dead after he had found that rag on the sapling, so they must have thought him finished after his fall in the river. He was just a few hours too late!
Ross folded his arms across his hunched101 knees and rested his head on them. There was no possible way he could ever reach the post or his own kind—ever again. Thousands of miles lay between him and the temporary installation in this time.
He was so sunk in his own complete despair that he was long unaware102 of finally being free of the pressure to turn back which had so long haunted him. But as he roused to feed the fire he got to wondering. Had those who hunted him given up the chase? Since he had lost his own race with time, he did not really care. What did it matter?
The pile of wood was getting low, but he decided103 that did not matter either. Even so, Ross got to his feet, moving over to the drifts of storm wrack104 to gather more. Why should he stay here by a useless beacon? But somehow he could not force himself to move on, as futile105 as his vigil seemed.
Dragging the sun-dried, bleached106 limbs of long-dead trees to his half shelter, he piled them up, working until he laughed at the barricade107 he had built. "A siege!" For the first time in days he spoke108 aloud. "I might be ready for a siege...." He pulled over another branch, added it to his pile, and kneeled down once more by the flames.
There were fisherfolk to be found along this coast, and tomorrow when he was rested he would strike south and try to find one of their primitive109 villages. Traders would be coming into this territory now that the Red-inspired raiders were gone. If he could contact them....
But that spark of interest in the future died almost as soon as it was born. To be a Beaker trader as an agent for the project was one thing, to live the role for the rest of his life was something else.
Ross stood by his fire, staring out to sea for a sign he knew he would never see again as long as he lived. Then, as if a spear had struck between his shoulder blades, he was attacked.
The blow was not physical, but came instead as a tearing, red pain in his head, a pressure so terrible he could not move. He knew instantly that behind him now lurked110 the ultimate danger.
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1
tribal
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| adj.部族的，种族的 | |
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2
wail
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| vt./vi.大声哀号，恸哭；呼啸，尖啸 | |
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minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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refinement
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| n.文雅；高尚；精美；精制；精炼 | |
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kin
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| n.家族，亲属，血缘关系；adj.亲属关系的，同类的 | |
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herd
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| n.兽群，牧群；vt.使集中，把…赶在一起 | |
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picketed
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| 用尖桩围住（picket的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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squatted
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| v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的过去式和过去分词 )；非法擅自占用（土地或房屋）；为获得其所有权；而占用某片公共用地。 | |
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10
rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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groggily
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| adv.酒醉地；东倒西歪地 | |
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creed
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| n.信条；信念，纲领 | |
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spat
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| n.口角，掌击；v.发出呼噜呼噜声 | |
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mound
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| n.土墩，堤，小山；v.筑堤，用土堆防卫 | |
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hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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propping
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| 支撑 | |
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fabric
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| n.织物，织品，布；构造，结构，组织 | |
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fetters
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| n.脚镣( fetter的名词复数 )；束缚v.给…上脚镣，束缚( fetter的第三人称单数 ) | |
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smoldering
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| v.用文火焖烧，熏烧，慢燃( smolder的现在分词 ) | |
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insulation
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| n.隔离；绝缘；隔热 | |
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writhing
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的现在分词 ) | |
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onlookers
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| n.旁观者，观看者( onlooker的名词复数 ) | |
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hip
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| n.臀部，髋；屋脊 | |
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thigh
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| n.大腿；股骨 | |
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capered
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| v.跳跃，雀跃( caper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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deafening
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| adj. 振耳欲聋的, 极喧闹的 动词deafen的现在分词形式 | |
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din
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| n.喧闹声，嘈杂声 | |
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scorched
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| 烧焦，烤焦( scorch的过去式和过去分词 )； 使（植物）枯萎，把…晒枯； 高速行驶； 枯焦 | |
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defense
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| n.防御，保卫；[pl.]防务工事；辩护，答辩 | |
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demon
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| n.魔鬼，恶魔 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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hind
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| adj.后面的，后部的 | |
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hindrance
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| n.妨碍，障碍 | |
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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singed
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| v.浅表烧焦( singe的过去式和过去分词 )；（毛发）燎，烧焦尖端[边儿] | |
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jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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beacon
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| n.烽火，（警告用的）闪火灯，灯塔 | |
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afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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42
trickled
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| v.滴( trickle的过去式和过去分词 )；淌；使)慢慢走；缓慢移动 | |
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43
haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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44
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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45
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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46
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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mishap
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| n.不幸的事，不幸；灾祸 | |
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hoarsely
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| adv.嘶哑地 | |
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avidly
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| adv.渴望地，热心地 | |
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50
retrace
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| v.折回；追溯，探源 | |
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51
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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52
purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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53
marsh
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| n.沼泽，湿地 | |
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marshes
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| n.沼泽，湿地( marsh的名词复数 ) | |
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wade
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| v.跋涉，涉水；n.跋涉 | |
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56
detouring
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| 绕道( detour的现在分词 ) | |
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bog
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| n.沼泽；室...陷入泥淖 | |
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58
boggy
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| adj.沼泽多的 | |
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59
shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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sleek
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| adj.光滑的，井然有序的；v.使光滑，梳拢 | |
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poked
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| v.伸出( poke的过去式和过去分词 )；戳出；拨弄；与（某人）性交 | |
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62
tugging
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| n.牵引感v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的现在分词 ) | |
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63
tug
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| v.用力拖(或拉)；苦干；n.拖；苦干；拖船 | |
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tenuous
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| adj.细薄的，稀薄的，空洞的 | |
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motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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66
lashed
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| adj.具睫毛的v.鞭打( lash的过去式和过去分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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67
willow
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| n.柳树 | |
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68
buckle
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| n.扣子，带扣；v.把...扣住，由于压力而弯曲 | |
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sanity
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| n.心智健全，神智正常，判断正确 | |
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lapsed
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| adj.流失的，堕落的v.退步( lapse的过去式和过去分词 )；陷入；倒退；丧失 | |
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71
doze
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| v.打瞌睡；n.打盹，假寐 | |
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72
swarm
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| n.(昆虫)等一大群；vi.成群飞舞；蜂拥而入 | |
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73
swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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74
wrenching
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| n.修截苗根，苗木铲根（铲根时苗木不起土或部分起土）v.（猛力地）扭( wrench的现在分词 )；扭伤；使感到痛苦；使悲痛 | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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76
tangles
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| （使）缠结， （使）乱作一团( tangle的第三人称单数 ) | |
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77
nourishment
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| n.食物，营养品；营养情况 | |
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fishy
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| adj. 值得怀疑的 | |
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stagnant
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| adj.不流动的，停滞的，不景气的 | |
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brackish
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| adj.混有盐的；咸的 | |
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81
trot
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| n.疾走，慢跑；n.老太婆；现成译本；(复数）trots:腹泻（与the 连用）；v.小跑，快步走，赶紧 | |
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incessant
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| adj.不停的，连续的 | |
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83
skidded
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| v.（通常指车辆） 侧滑( skid的过去式和过去分词 )；打滑；滑行；（住在）贫民区 | |
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84
sputtering
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| n.反应溅射法；飞溅；阴极真空喷镀；喷射v.唾沫飞溅( sputter的现在分词 )；发劈啪声；喷出；飞溅出 | |
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85
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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86
debris
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| n.瓦砾堆，废墟，碎片 | |
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rejection
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| n.拒绝，被拒，抛弃，被弃 | |
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88
kindling
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| n. 点火, 可燃物 动词kindle的现在分词形式 | |
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89
odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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swooping
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| 俯冲，猛冲( swoop的现在分词 ) | |
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91
gulls
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| n.鸥( gull的名词复数 )v.欺骗某人( gull的第三人称单数 ) | |
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charred
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| v.把…烧成炭( char的过去式)；烧焦 | |
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plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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95
charcoal
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| n.炭，木炭，生物炭 | |
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96
twig
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| n.小树枝，嫩枝；v.理解 | |
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poking
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| n. 刺，戳，袋 vt. 拨开，刺，戳 vi. 戳，刺，捅，搜索，伸出，行动散慢 | |
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98
partially
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| adv.部分地，从某些方面讲 | |
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99
undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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100
pickup
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| n.拾起，获得 | |
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101
hunched
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| （常指因寒冷、生病或愁苦）耸肩弓身的，伏首前倾的 | |
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102
unaware
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| a.不知道的，未意识到的 | |
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103
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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104
wrack
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| v.折磨；n.海草 | |
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105
futile
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| adj.无效的，无用的，无希望的 | |
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106
bleached
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| 漂白的，晒白的，颜色变浅的 | |
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107
barricade
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| n.路障，栅栏，障碍；vt.设路障挡住 | |
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108
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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109
primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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110
lurked
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| vi.潜伏，埋伏（lurk的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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