A Daughter Of The Long Pine
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Part Two
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With angelica and Sheeba hovering close on her right, Shamba led the Tribe of
Bok down the steep way leading to the entrance of Sanctuary. The path was
little more than a narrow ledge, winding about the face of a cliff. The
footing kept breaking into stuttering steps. In places, the wall of grey
rock leaned outwards, overhanging the ledge; and there was only a low wall on
the open side to guard the five hundred foot plunge to Shining Lake.
Occasionally, Shamba would hesitate, supporting herself against the rock
wall. The Skar Dalers had hurt her badly; but she was determined to arrive
unaided at Sanctuary; it was a matter of obstinate pride worthy of Sheeba.
More than once, she slipped and fell heavily. The first time, Angelica had
reached to support her; but Shamba had rounded on the Netherlander with such
savagery, it had frightened the girl. Now, at each set of steps, Angelica
would hover uncertainly, offering no help. Sheeba, more practically, moved
outside them both, keeping a wary eye for the stumble that might prove
disastrous. In this fashion, they came out at last upon the great
semi-circular terrace before the door of Sanctuary.
A noon day sun was striking hotly into the rocky basin. Benches had been
carved from upthrusts of rock to either side of the entrance. A dozen or so
Ogrons sat upon the benches. They were of all ages and all Tribes; and not a
one of them was able bodied. The diverse group were resting at their ease,
enjoying the winter sunshine. They all wore simple cream tunics. The
unfolding flower symbol of Sanctuary had been embroidered in multi-coloured
threads over the heart. Nearby, several naked children were playing a game
with carved knuckle bones.
A tall male, who had been leaning on the stone parapet guarding the drop to
the lake, pushed himself upright. He came to greet the travel worn trio as
they emerged onto the western end of the terrace. Though he was tall and
powerful looking, his clothes having difficulty containing the swell of his
muscles, he moved slowly with a pronounced limp. He paused a few feet from
them, and made a welcoming gesture with his hands, spreading his arms wide to
show them empty of weapons.
Angelica moved in front of her companions. She gave back the ritual
response, making the sign of acknowledging authority. In her best Keeper of
Histories voice, she declared that: "We are of the Tribe of Bok. My chief
comes in desperate need, seeking the All Mother's Sanctuary."
At the unexpected introduction, the male flashed his fangs in surprise. He
took a moment to compose himself, and then smiled in welcome. "Though your
Tribe is unknown to me," he said, "all who are in need of the All Mother's
Sanctuary are welcome here."
Angelica moved back to the left, ceding way for her Chief. With an out-flung
arm, she ushered Shamba forward. Shamba straightened, lifted her head
proudly, and spoke the formal request for Sanctuary.
"I, Shamba, and she, Sheeba, and she, Angelica, being useless , worthless and
of no value to our Mother's Tribes..." Here, Sheeba looked mortally stricken.
A bitter, resentful anger flared suddenly in her golden eyes. "...And being
cast off by Lore and Custom of our Mothers' Tribes, seek succour at the All
Mother's Sanctuary."
The impressive male nodded his head. "Sanctuary is granted, in the All
Mother's name," he rumbled. "I, San, formerly of Green Valley, now of
Sanctuary, give you greeting. You are welcome." He dipped his chin
momentarily, to show his embarrassment, before adding, "the formal Reception
Committee was disbanded for the season at midnight, when it was certain that
you would not come...The Skar Dalers are very vigorous in defence of the Lore
and their Hunting Grounds."
He took a moment to assess them with a practised eye. On seeing the blood
down shamba's legs, a slight scowl touched his features. So, he thought, the
report was true then...Poor child... The sooner their reception processing
was begun, and a Healer saw that one, the better.
He took a step back, swinging out a brawny arm at the small entrance.
"Come," he invited; "let us adjourn indoors. I'm afraid the All Mother's
Arch Priestess will not be able to give you formal greeting; for she is very
busy with the affairs of our community; but she will be honored to make time
to make you proper welcome after the evening meal. For now, it shall be my
honour to attend upon you personally, and see to the formalities of your
processing."
A little girl of around five seasons jumped up suddenly. She trotted over to
stand before the newcomers. Looking into the faces of each in turn, she
eventually held up a hand to Sheeba. Cradled in the perfect little palm was
a twist of bronze shaped like a sinuous snake. It was the Totem of the West
River Tribe.
Sheeba flinched away, completely at a loss. She did not know how to respond
to this overture by the child. No one had ever given her anything in her
life. None had even wished to be in the same place as her, let alone touch
her, because of her black pelt.
"A gift given in innocence does honour to both receiver and giver," Angelica
declaimed softly. Sheeba shot a glance full of panic at the Netherlander.
Angelica smiled encouragement. She said, "you really ought to accept."
There was a long pause, charged with tension, before Sheeba shrugged. She
turned an uncertain smile upon the little girl, who was watching her
expectantly. The expression on her pretty face held no guile. Sudden
resolve motivated Sheeba. Feeling dreadfully self-conscious, she crouched
down and extended a hand.
The little girl giggled, and pushed the totem into the waiting hand. Before
Sheeba could say anything, the girl reached up, gripped Sheeba's jaw, and
nuzzled against her face. Then she was scampering away to hide behind the
legs of one of the women, who had risen from the stone benches.
Slowly, thoughtfully, Sheeba rose. She kept her gaze fixed on the Totem,
afraid to look elsewhere, lest she be forced to meet the eyes of the
onlookers. The moment quickly became excruciating for the High Dale girl.
Sensing this, San said, "come. There is much formality to be gone through...
And the soonest begun, the soonest done."
As they followed San to the doorway, the people sunning themselves on the
benches looked them over with eyes full of curiosity. Their gazes were full
of compassion when they fell upon Sheeba's black pelt, and upon Angelica's
leg; but they turned to puzzlement as they looked over Shamba, and could find
no obvious deformity.
San preceded them to the unobtrusive opening at the focus of the benches.
The only thing to mark this place the entrance to a place of consequence, was
the exquisitely realised carving above the entrance. It was of the Unfolding
Flower. The rose-like bloom was one of the thousand and four symbols
representing the All Mother. Like a scatter of raindrops, amid the
complicated folds of the petals, a dozen small lenses glittered in the sun as
they moved to track the group.
In a cold, grey chamber deep under the lowest levels of Sanctuary, a Dalek
watched them enter. Multiple views were displayed on a screen, which formed
one wall. Centered on the screen was a huge close up of Angelica's head and
shoulders. Dotted around this centre-piece, like tiny moons, were smaller
views of Shamba and Sheeba. When the group had passed from sight, the Dalek
rolled to the console, extended a manipulator arm, and opened a com-link.
"Out post Nine reporting," it announced in its metallic grating. The dead
atmosphere of the chamber swallowed the sound, permitting no echo. "A
potentially suitable Node Controller has been detected. Testing will begin
immediately. Bio-Engineering Section to stand by to initiate conversion
procedure on satisfactory outcome of test program."
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San ushered the girls into a round chamber cut into the living rock. The
walls of dull grey stone were shot through with an intricate marbling of some
light yellow mineral, forming unexpected patterns. A ledge ran around the
wall at a level comfortable for sitting. A "little sun" shone from the apex
of the domed ceiling. The air was soft with moisture; and an astringent
scent irritated their nostrils. Across from where they had entered was
another arched doorway, closed by a hide curtain. Warm water ran from under
the curtain, to drain through a hole in the centre of the floor.
"Leave all of your belongings here," San directed.
Sheeba was reluctant to be parted from her gear, especially the knives. She
started to protest; but San explained quietly that, "your gear will b
returned to you just as soon as it has been sterilised. It will be waiting
for you when you have finished bathing. Now, off you go, through the curtain
there... And do not drink the water. I shall be waiting for you in the
robing chamber." With that, he stepped from the room.
The three girls disrobed, and pushed past the curtain. Beyond was a short
tunnel sloping up. A rivulet of warm water ran down a gully in the centre.
At the far end, they came out onto a broad ledge, running all around a
circular pool. Four more of the "Little Suns" were reflected in the dark
water, shifting and breaking up as the surface was disturbed by a steady
infall of water. The echoes of splashing water filled the chamber. Mist
rose up in lazy curls, to condense on the cold stone, and fall back as a
gentle rain.
Angelica let out a little cry of joy. She brought her hands together in a
sharp smack, punctuating her sudden delight. Even before the echoes had
stopped reverberating, they were drowned in the crash of water as Angelica
went in with a flamboyant plunge.
Sheeba leapt back from the surge of water. She looked for a moment as though
she might bolt; but the sight of Shamba, standing unconcerned in the ankle
deep backwash, laughing out loud at Angelica's exuberant antics, steadied
her. Shamba glanced back at the High Dale girl. "It's quite safe," she
said. "It's not more than chest deep."
"I'm not afraid," Sheeba said automatically. "A High Daler fears nothing."
"Come in, then," Shamba urged, sitting down on the edge, and slipping into
the water. She turned to dare the High Daler with her gaze. Sheeba
hesitated only a moment, then she went to the edge, and tentatively lowered
herself in beside Shamba.
To begin with, Sheeba was very tense, moving with exaggerated caution as
though expecting a disaster to overwhelm them at any moment; but the sight of
Angelica moving in the water with a grace and power she could not manage on
land, distracted the High Daler from her fear. By the time they left the
pool, twenty minutes later, it was with a considerable degree of reluctance
on Sheeba's part.
The robing room was twice as large as the disrobing room. Full length
mirrors of polished metal were set in the walls. There was a rack of cream
tunics, and a scatter of grooming implements on a side table. Best of all,
there was a narrow vertical slot in the rock, from which blew a refreshing
blast of icy mountain air.
Giggling like cublings, they jostled each other for the best position,
turning round and round in the sweet smelling air. It was such fun that it
was some time before Sheeba realised that she was actually touching the
cripple. She stiffened suddenly, struggled for a moment with herself, before
moving away. She took up a grooming implement, and peered into a mirror.
Her gaze lingered longingly upon the reflection of her two companions, still
enjoying the air bath.
Acutely aware of Sheeba's withdrawal, a look of calculation and concern
replaced the ecstatic expression on Angelica's face. A short while later,
Angelica noted Sheeba struggling to reach some tangles in her mane between
her shoulders. Angelica considered that the time was ripe to try and coax
Sheeba into the heart of the Tribe.
She nudged Shamba to get her attention, and indicated Sheeba's predicament.
It was obvious to Shamba what Angelica expected her to do. Shamba found
herself unwilling; but when Angelica put an irresistible appeal into her
gaze, Shamba gathered her resolve. She moved purposefully across to Sheeba.
The High Daler saw her coming in the mirror, and went rigid. A vicious war
broke out in her heart. It was obvious what Shamba intended. Sheeba wanted
that with all of her being; but at the same time, she was filled with an
intense, yet indefinable fear. What if?... What if?... What if?...
She was still grappling with her panic, when Shamba gently touched her
shoulder. Sheeba made a strange little whine, and cringed away; but when
Shamba's fingers began to pluck at the tangles, Sheeba found herself leaning
back in an instinctive reaction to the grooming activity. She was trembling
uncontrollably, right to the core of her being.She could not recall ever
being so afraid - nor so happy.
Angelica looked on well pleased.
Soon, their toilet complete, the three girls selected tunics. They quickly
drew on the soft white linen clothing. They spent several minutes marvelling
at the feel of the strange material, and at sight of themselves reflected in
the mirrors, until San came in to hurry them up.
"It's nearly time for the midday meal," he explained. "Afterwards, there
will be a medical examination; and after that, I will give you a short tour
of Sanctuary." He handed them back their possessions, bundled up in sterile-
smelling linen wraps, and ushered them from the robing room. Both Angelica
and Shamba had looked apprehensive at the prospect of "medical examinations".
Sheeba just wrinkled her nose in distaste at the smell of the linen cloth.
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A meal had been set out for them in a small, circular chamber. The rock
floor was covered with bright rugs. They eat in the tribal fashion,
squatting around a large copper pot. Using two pronged sticks, each in turn
speared the delicious chunks of meat floating in a thick stew. A spicy aroma
filled the air. From beyond a curtained entrance, there came the sound of
many people eating in a larger chamber.
As they enjoyed their first proper meal in more than ten days, Shamba was
observing Sheeba with side long glances. The High Daler kept peering at the
"Little Sun" with a superstitious awe in her eyes; and when Sheeba thought
herself unobserved, she kept signing to ward off evil.
Angelica had also noticed, for she began speaking in an aggravatingly know it
all tone. "They aren't magic, you know. They are made to shine by
e-lec-tri-ci-ty. The Sanctuary generates the energy using the hot
springs..."ð
Sheeba brought up a clawed fist to strike the girl for her impertinence.
Recollecting that she was about to touch a crippled Netherlander, she dropped
her hand. The expression of frustration on her face was almost comical.
Shamba, who had tensed at the raised hand, wondered why Angelica was still
deliberately trying to provoke Sheeba. She also wondered why the
Netherlander girl looked so pleased at almost having goaded Sheeba into
violence. Shamba suspected the girl was playing some game too deep for a
straightforward person like herself to understand; but that was only to be
expected - for was not Angelica to be a Keeper of Histories?
The tense moment passed. Shamba relaxed. San resumed his explanation of how
Sanctuary was organised, and how it sustained itself. "Because of the nature
of the people we take in, there is always a chronic shortage of able bodied
people to do the manual labour." He paused to consider the three crouched
around the stew-pot. "We like to start new comers in the fungus gardens," he
went on; "the work is rather hard... But for you two..." He nodded politely
to Sheeba and Shamba. "... For you two, the work will not be unduly
arduous. And it is the most useful contribution you can make to the
community here, until we are able to discover whether you have any hidden
talents, which might be more usefully utilised elsewhere."
Sheeba bridled at the suggestion. "I am Sheeba of High Dale," she declared
in high dudgeon. "High Dalers are hunters. We do not grub around in caves
for fungus. That is work for Netherlanders;" and she shot a look of disdain
at Angelica.
"We do not have hunters as such, Sheeba," San explained patiently. It was
evident from his manner that Sheeba's reaction was not uncommon. "However,
we do have need of able-bodied warriors to guard our community against
raiders, and to bring in such game as is to be found.... If it is more to
your liking, I shall arrange for you to join our Boundary Wardens."
Sheeba nodded her agreement. San turned to Shamba. "And you, Shamba of Long
Pine... Have you any particular objections to the fungus gardens? It is an
essential part of life here. Prey animals are so scarce in this season that
Sanctuary would starve without the fungi harvesters."
"I will work in the gardens," Shamba said. "I am strong; and if it be as
necessary as you say, then how may this Long Pine decline the offer of such
an honour?"
"Well said, Shamba of Long Pine," San declared, smacking his hands together
to demonstrate his approval. He turned to Angelica. "And you, child of The
Walkers on Water, do you have any hidden talents, I wonder?" It was plain
from his manner, and the smile he gave the girl, that the question was
rhetorical.
Angelica lifted her head, assuming the Gravitas. "I am a Keeper of the
Histories," she declaimed proudly. Then her demeanour deflated a little, and
she added in a less authoritative tone, "or I would have been... Had it not
been for my leg."
"Splendid! Splendid!" San exclaimed. He brought his hands together with a
sharp smack in a spontaneous display of delight. "The southern edges of the
Highlands are so much less harsh than the true Highlands that we get so few
Netherlanders seeking Sanctuary...And never before a potential Keeper of the
Histories. How would you like to retell the Lore of the Netherland to our
scribes?" San asked this with an air of someone inquiring whether a starving
man would like to join a banquet. The leap of excitement in Angelica's face
gave him his answer.
"Do you know your letters?" he asked.
"No," Angelica admitted, suddenly crestfallen when she feared the treasure
might be withdrawn.
"No matter," San assured, still smiling broadly. "We possess scribes
a-plenty growing fat behinds." He turned to an elderly Green Valer squatting
at the doorway. "Naarby, after we have eaten, please to hunt up that lazy
good for nothing young rascal, Twang. It's high time that young scamp earned
his keep. Have him wait in the library for me."
After the meal, San escorted the trio to a wide corridor. Down each side,
carved from the living rock, were benches. An acrid chemical smell tainted
the air, which made the girls, particularly Sheeba, uneasy. The far end of
the passage was screened by a leather curtain. San bade them sit, and pushed
past the hanging. They heard him exchange a few words with someone. A
moment later, San was back. He ushered Sheeba into the examination room.
In a very few minutes, Sheeba emerged. She told Angelica to go in. Angelica
was gone for much longer; but eventually she emerged, her eyes alight with
wonder and excitement at all the new marvels she had witnessed. Absently,
she bade Shamba enter.
Shamba was gone for a very long time. When she came out, her face was set
grim. She would neither meet Sheeba's eyes, nor acknowledge Angelica's
concerned inquiries. There was an aura of suppressed fury about her.
Angelica laid a hand upon her arm; but Shamba flinched away, flashing her
fangs to drive the child off. Angelica recoiled in shock at the reaction of
her Chief, and stood peering thoughtfully after the group as San led them off
for a tour of the underground cave system.
To begin with, Angelica was subdued, puzzled by Shamba's reaction to her
visit with the Healer. She wondered what could have made her Chief so angry;
this place was a treasure trove of wonders to be marvelled over, not be
angered by.
Angelica's quiet mood could not last long, for she was a true-born Keeper of
the Histories. Soon her inate wonder at things had her bubbling over with
enthusiasm. Her excitement kept overflowing into animated exclamations of
delight. She chattered on incessantly about all the new sights, sounds and
scents. She was possessed by the overwhelming need of a Keeper to be
explaining the marvels to her Tribe, no matter that they seemed not to be
interested just then.
Sheeba was more than a little intimidated by everything, especially the
unfamiliar technology. The unnatural smells, intermingling with the
comforting scent of the people, made her hackles rise. She felt little
inclination to "humour" the cripple by responding to her exhortations to
"look there, Sheeba, what a marvelous thing!" or "Sheeba, isn't this such a
wonderful place?" Sheeba, for her part, trailed around in the rear of the
group, doing her best to ignore Angelica's prattling.
The sullen mood of the other two rather put a damper on the tour for
Angelica. Even San's careful attention to her enthusiastic inquiries could
not save her mood. Soon, Angelica fell once more into silence. After a
couple of hours, San led them up endless steps and ramps, turning eventually
into a dead-end cave. A little sun glowed over the entrance. The tunnel was
about twenty feet deep, and had three round openings, one in the back wall,
and one in each side wall. They were about four feet above the floor; and
each had a step or bench carved from the rock beneath, at just the right
height for sitting.
"These will be your nests for the time being," San explained. "They are a
little remote from the heart of our community; but experience has
demonstrated that such as yourselves, newly come from the wild, are often
intimidated by living in such close quarters with people of different tribal
traditions. We have found that distance helps to keep trouble and fighting
to a minimum. You may, of course, move in wherever you feel most comfortable
once you have found your feet in our community." After his little speech, San
excused himself, and departed.
Sheeba glanced around the dead-end tunnel, feeling a growing sense of
oppression at the closed-in place. To distract herself, she knelt up on the
ledge on the left. She pulled aside the hide curtain screening the circular
entrance to a spherical chamber. The cubby hole was just large enough to
accommodate a single person. Sheeba stuck her head inside. The floor was
lined with bedding. The natural smell of the heaped furs was swamped by an
acrid chemical taint. Sheeba's nose wrinkled with distaste. Reaching in,
she flipped aside a fur, her other hand cocked, ready to strike; but no
animal life scuttled for cover. She lowered her hand, and leaned on the
curving sill, a scowl on her face.
The nest was as sterile as the rest of this warren of caves. It made
Sheeba's skin crawl. An intense longing for the open mountainside, and the
smell of the pines, surged up inside her heart. Just then, Sheeba was
distracted from her growing disquiet by an unfamiliar male voice.
She stood from the ledge, and turned to see a youth standing under the light
cast by the little sun. The sight was somehow sinister; and a shiver of
foreboding ran down her spine. The boy was wearing a pale blue robe.
Although he was well set up, there was about him that "softness" which Sheeba
was beginning to associate with all those she had met who were Sanctuary
bred.
"My name is Twang of the Library Tribe," he was saying. He spread his arms
in the welcome gesture. "Welcome to Sanctuary, Daughters of the Mountain...
Which of you is Angelica, Keeper of Histories of the Walkers on Water?"
Sheeba scowled at his abruptness. Such curtailing of greeting ritual was
rude in the extreme. Before she could make her irritation known, however,
Angelica took a step forwards. She made the gesture of acknowledging
authority. "I am Angelica, Keeper of Histories of the Walkers on Water. On
behalf of the Tribe of Bok, and in the name of Shamba, formerly of Long Pine,
my Chief, I give you greeting, Twang of the Library Tribe," she declaimed,
allowing a little of the Gravitas to surround her, neatly emphasising Twang's
bad manners with her studied formality.
Now it was Twang's turn to do an acknowledgement of authority; but he did so
with such a degree of elaboration that it brought the scowl back to Sheeba's
face. Twang said, "I have come to show you round our library... As Keeper
of Histories, I know that you will be eager to see the library. Is it
convenient for you to come now?"
Angelica looked to Shamba for permission. Shamba signed assent. When
Angelica looked to her bundle of possessions, Shamba added, "go with your
hunter and see the library... We will see to your gear." The light which
shone in Angelica's face brought an indulgent smile to Shamba.
When the pair had departed, Shamba noticed the intense scowl on Sheeba's
face. "What's the matter with you?" she asked.
"He has the manners of an Outlander, and the eyes of a predator," Sheeba
said.She took up the Green Valley spear, hefting it for balance. "I do not
trust that one with our Keeper of Histories. I think I will keep an eye on
them." Her glance to Shamba for permission was merely a courtesy.
Any satisfaction which Shamba might have felt at Sheeba's use of "Our Keeper
of Histories" was checked by her unease at having Sheeba running loose with a
weapon in this strange place.
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In the close confines of the fungi gardens, the stench of the people's shit
was awful; but as time went on, Shamba stopped noticing. What she could not
quite get used to was the way the swollen globes of the fruiting bodies
seemed to pulsate in the dim light. The great grey spheres of the fungi hung
in obscene bunches, anchored into cracks in the dripping walls and ceiling by
sickly white filaments. At least their succulent smell did much to alleviate
the stench of the sewage on which they throve.
Shamba worked in these caves every day. Sanctuary had supplied her with a
smock for work; but the heat and humidity were so oppressive, that she wore
only the utility belt to carry her tools. With five others, she helped to
spread sewage and tend the crop. Each day, they went to a different part of
the cave system to harvest those fruits which were displaying a soft bluish
sheen, signifying their ripeness. Carefully, the globes were cut from their
filaments, and put into wickerwork baskets for transport up to the living
levels. Fresh from the mountains, Shamba found the work easy, even restful.
At the end of each day's labour, she would go up to the bathing chambers to
wash and enjoy a plunge in the pool. Often, Angelica would join her there,
and the girl would talk about her day. Shamba found the girl's incessant
prattling relaxing as they lolled in the warm water.
At infrequent intervals, Sheeba would join them for an evening swim; but the
High Dale girl was never truly comfortable in water. For that matter, she
was never very comfortable underground. Her duty with the Boundary Wardens
was the only thing which kept her sane. Most of her time was spent, with two
companions, doing long tours through the surrounding countryside. They took
prey animals where they could be found, and discouraged trespass upon
Sanctuary grounds. She loved her time in the mountains, and was thankful to
the All Mother that she need only spend two nights in every Ten-Day actually
underground.
On the occasions when Sheeba joined them in the pool, Angelica, in her Keeper
of the Histories personna, would sit upon the pool's edge in a state of
rapture, absorbing Sheeba's tales of her adventures in the wilds. Angelica's
mind fed hungrily upon these stories, moulding their essence into the growing
History of the Tribe of Bok, which was swelling inside her like a developing
baby.
Angelica always enjoyed these reunions; but best of all was when Sheeba would
reenact a successful hunt. Crouching by the wall, Sheeba would sign silently
to pretend hunters, signalling them to hold, move, go left, go right or close
in. Then, when the moment was right, she would spring up and sprint around
the pool, stabbing with the Green Valley spear several times before casting
it aside and wrestling with the imaginary Great Bok or Potteroo, finally
subduing the mortally wounded beast with a vast effort. Accompanying these
exertions would be loud yells of triumph, intermingled with a very realistic
evocation of the beast's death screams. At the successful conclusion of
these wild struggles, Angelica would clap her hands in glee.
Unknown to the trio, others studied these re-enactments through hidden
surveillance devices positioned about the pool chamber. More often than not,
it was the child's every action which came under the closest scrutiny.
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San knew it was coming, even before he heard it. The aura of cold malice
preceded it, chilling the air. He shivered where he sat, cross-legged at the
low table in his cubby.
He set down the quill pen beside the document over which he had been
labouring. He straightened, peering around at the cluttered hollow he used
as an office. It was late at night; everything was in shadow. The sounds
from Sanctuary were muted.
He felt suddenly very alone. His feelings of guilt for the things he had
done crowded close. It was cold comfort to remind himself that these
terrible crimes had been necessary for the survival of Sanctuary. San
offered a tiny prayer to the All Mother - not that she would hear one such as
he, a sinner so steeped in evil.
San caught the humming of the travel motor then. Moments later, the grey
cone shape of the Master filled the doorway. Its eye stalk went round the
room, before centering on San. The Master had two manipulators instead of a
gun stick. Held in the steel claws was a black oblong box. The cone of cold
grey metal glided up to the low table. The Master thrust the box at San, who
took it reluctantly.
"These are the units wee require," the Master spat out without preamble. The
lights on the dome flickered in time to the staccato utterances, momentarily
lighting the stacks of papers and the rack of pigeon-holes on one wall.
San set the box upon the table. He pressed a button on the top left corner;
the face of the box lit up. The display contained a montage of six colour
pictures of naked Ogrons, three male and three female. Below each was a
scrawl of script, which San could not read. His lips curled back to show his
fangs in a gesture of impotent anger.
The three males he expected. They were born and raised in Sanctuary. It was
their time; and there could be little other useful future for them than to go
as soldiers in the Masters' many wars.
He was not surprised either at two of the women. Sheeba would make a fine
warrior. Shamba, too, would make a fierce, if somewhat more thoughtful
soldier; but the girl Angelica?... San's features creased with puzzlement .
He could not for the life of him see what possible talents the budding Keeper
of Histories had that would interest the Masters? They usually only required
the fiercest and fittest physical specimens that could be garnered in
Sanctuary.
The Master spoke again. "The female unit designated, Angelica, will be
delivered to our portal on level seven in two hours time," it commanded.
San was surprised; the Masters had never made such a risky request before.
They were always very careful to conceal their doings within Sanctuary. San
wanted to ask, "why the girl?" but he knew well that the Masters did not
explain their orders. They commanded. You obeyed. That was how the world
worked.
"It will be done," San said; and indeed it would be - no matter that he had
grown extremely fond of the engaging child, or that it would break Twang's
heart. The boy had evidenced a powerful attraction to the new Keeper of
Histories from the Walkers on Water. With an effort, San hardened his heart
against his feelings, already working out in his mind how to get the girl to
the entrance to the Master's hidden levels was to be arranged without
arousing suspicion.
The Master backed from the doorway, and rolled out of sight. The oozing
bitterness of the creature lingered, souring the air of San's little cubby.
The stench easily overpowered the familiar smells of his books and papers,
reminding him of his sins.
He squatted at the table for a long time, regarding the life-like pictures on
the face of the box. Not for the first time did he wonder if bargaining with
the Masters had been wise. No matter how he posed the question to himself,
San could not discover an acceptable answer to that question. Without the
Master's assistance, Sanctuary would have foundered long since; but the
cost?...
Rising abruptly, he went in search of Twang.
If the All Mother's Arch Priestess ever found out how Sanctuary was
supported, and his part in it, she would be outraged. The thought of her
fury directed at him worried San not at all... What he would not be able to
endure, would be her forgiveness.
As he left in search of Twang, San did not notice the figure concealed in a
fold of rock across from the door. Eyes, full of a sick fear at San's
betrayal, followed him out of sight. Then the shadowed figure hurried off in
the opposite direction.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
The loudest sound in the library was the slight rustle of Angelica's finger
tip moving over the paper as she traced along the lines of script. The
action helped to keep her focused on the squiggles of black ink, which had a
distressing tendency to blur into incomprehensible tangles while she tried to
decipher them.
It did not help that her claws kept snagging in the rough woven paper. Twang
had urged her to have her claws clipped; but for some reason she could not
name, Angelica had chosen not to follow the practice of all those who used
the library. As she unhooked her claw for the tenth time, she reflected that
it was perhaps a good idea, rather than being just a mark of the Library
Tribe.
Carefully smoothing the page, she laid the book back in the pool of light
around the candle. She sat back from the table, allowing the shadows filling
the large chamber to cocoon her. Cocking her head, Angelica listened to the
night time sounds of Sanctuary. Over the last couple of months, they had
become intimately familiar to her. Unconsciously, her Keeper's Gift added
them to the growing story of her life.
Familiarity had done nothing to dull her delight in everything. Even now, on
donning the blue library robe, the thrill of excitement was as keen as on the
first occasion.
Every day she would study late into the night, learning her letters. Always,
she looked forward to the evenings with eager anticipation, especially those
occasions when Twang tutored her personally. Her tummy did a little flip
flop at thought of the young scribe; and she wondered what the errand was
which was keeping him away for so long.
She settled further down in her chair, absently matching her breathing to the
gentle sighing sound at the edge of hearing. She still fancied it to be the
breathing of Shenki, Lord of the Underground, even though another part of her
mind informed her that it was only the air pumps of the ventilation system.
No matter the truth, it still had a soothing effect. The warm air was
redolent with the comforting scent of the People, the damp, earthy smell of
the rock walls and that particularly delicious aroma of hundreds of hide
bound books.
Angelica drew a great draft of the soft air deep into her lungs. It was so
calming that her eyelids began to droop. She was on the point of dozing off,
when a new scent intruded upon her consciousness. It was sharp, mechanical,
and undershot with an oozing bitter quality. Angelica had scented the odd
whiff of that smell here and there about the tunnels before, but never enough
to impress itself strongly upon her mind.
The smell snapped her wide awake.
She rose, and stood a moment, casting about with her nose. The smell seemed
to be wafting from a dark canyon between the racks of shelving. Her
instinctive tribal wariness made her draw the long bladed knife, which she
habitually wore at her left hip, concealed under the library robe.
Cautiously, she moved to investigate.
As she passed in silence between the stacks, the light from the candle
diminished rapidly, leaving her in almost total darkness. Towering all about
her, the shelves of books took on a menacing aspect. From ahead, there came
a slight sound of movement. There was a metallic clink, and a strange hum,
which made the fur all over her body stand straight out. A dim, bluish
illumination spilled from some source beyond the last rack of books.
Angelica froze. Something huge and clumsy was moving about in the furthest
corner of the library, casting shadows across the walls. Whatever was
causing the shadow to dance, it was coming her way. In moments, the thing
was going to enter the alleyway where she was hiding.
The hum came again. The blue glow shrank to nothing, leaving her in almost
total darkness, alone with the creature. Her conscious mind barely
registered the fact that the unpleasant smell of oozing bitterness had faded.
If she turned to flee, the creature would be upon her in an instant. A basic
tenet of tribal existence was that you never turned your back on anything.
With the dangerous creatures habitually hunted by the Tribes, fleeing would
almost always prove fatal.
For once, Angelica gave free rein to her hunter's instincts. She stepped
around the end of the shelving. With all her strength, she brought the knife
up in a disembowelling thrust.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
For a long time, the clumsy antics of the lurker in the deserted fungi
gardens puzzled Shamba. She lay concealed in the aromatic gloom, resting on
a pile of the fern fronds the gardeners used to give the sewage more "body".
There really did not ought to be anyone down here at all at this late hour -
which was why Shamba was here. She needed some time alone to think.
In the last couple of weeks, she had finally admitted to herself that her
worst fears had come to pass. There was much to think about; and the
familiar aromatic gloom of the silent fungi gardens had seemed a good place
to dwell upon her trouble.
"He's trying to creep in here," Shamba thought, unable to suppress a grin.
The unseen male's painfully stiff movements were, Shamba had belatedly
realised, a Sanctuary born' s idea of stealth. He had the instinct, but
lacked any practice. Shamba might have been more amused, had she not been so
wrapped up in her own problems. However, she pushed them aside for the
moment, and rose. She did not even bother to draw the knife from the utility
belt.
Making no sound whatsoever, Shamba padded through the almost complete
blackness in the direction of the furtive sounds. Though she could recognise
the lurker as male by scent, the smell of the sewage and fungi were too all
pervading for her to identify the individual. He had gone into one of the
growing chambers. Shamba moved in closer, and crouched by the entrance.
By listening to the furtive groping sounds, and sampling the masked scents
with delicate sniffing, Shamba was able to accurately follow the intruder's
actions. There was the rustle of a robe as he reached up, the snick of a
knife, once, twice, three times as he cut three fruiting bodies. The sharp
sap scent from the cut filaments made her mouth water. She heard him stoop
and put the fruits into a hide sack, which to judge from its smell, had been
kept on a ledge in the lower south tunnel.
Shamba stopped breathing as the thief gathered up his loot, and moved past
her, close enough that his clothing brushed her face. Unobservant as she
knew them to be, Shamba still found it hard to believe that she had not been
discovered. His proximity had allowed her to put a face and name to the
personal scent, which only served to deepen her puzzlement at this strange
night time behaviour.
She gave him a few moments to get clear, before rising and following, silent
as a ghost. She trailed him at a discrete distance out of the darkened
gardens, and up into the high-level tunnels. Here, the soft night-time
illumination was provided by an occasional "Little Sun" set on the apex of
bends to make the most of available illumination.
At last, her quarry turned into a blind tunnel. Shamba came up to the
entrance, and peered in. The tunnel ran steeply upwards for about twenty
feet, then ended in a blank wall. Of her quarry, there was no sign.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
Her growing love doomed her. She wanted to please him, especially as she had
almost gutted him in the dark canyon between the stacks of books. But for
Angelica's wilderness honed reflexes, Twang would have been opened from groin
to chin; and had Twang been wilderness born, he might even have avoided the
deep gash along his arm.
The pair sat at the library table, in the pool of wavering yellow light from
the candle, whilst Angelica made a fuss of bandaging the wound. She was
alternately staring intently at her working hands, and darting shyly guilty
glances up at his watching brown eyes. Had she not been so much in love,
Angelica might have interpreted the expression in them properly. She might
not have drunk from the clay jug. She might have questioned the jug's
miraculous survival after being dropped on a stone floor; or she might have
examined it to discover the secret; and in so doing discovered the darkness
hidden within.
She did none of these things, distracted as she was by the strength of the
new and thrilling feelings flowering inside her young heart.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
Shamba walked into the tunnel and stood listening. The air was chilly,
scented with snow laden pines. Quiet scrabbling sounds drew her attention to
the ceiling. Looking up, she found herself peering into a narrow crack in
the roof. Tiny particles of dust sifted down on her face. As she stared
into the hole, a dark shape far up the crevice moved aside; and she caught a
look at the starry heavens.
Shamba cursed. She could not fit up there. After a moment's thought, she
took off at a run, heading for the nearest exit leading out upon the
mountainside above Sanctuary. In a couple of minutes, she was pushing past
the door wards, ignoring their greetings and questions.
It took her ten minutes of casting about to find the narrow crack from which
the thief had emerged. She trailed his marks in the snow for several hundred
yards, before she ran into a little family group under some pines. The
hunter was demonstrating to two adolescents the proper casting of a spear,
while nearby a young mother squatted beside a small fire, nursing a tiny
baby. Shamba stood for a long moment, watching the young mother suckling her
cubling in the uncertain fire-light. The sight reminded her acutely of the
dilemma she had gone to the gardens to think upon.
A solid thud, and a yell of triumph, broke Shamba from her uneasy musing.
One of the youths had just made a successful cast. The spear had hammered
into the trunk of a pine, dead centre in the target picked out on the ridged
bark.
Turning away from the happy family scene, Shamba made her way back to the
entrance. Whatever Sholko had been about, it was probably not her concern,
and surely not worth this much bother so late in the evening.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
She seemed to be floating on her back, three feet in the air, in a haze of
oozing bitterness. The world was sliding past at a steady pace; yet there
was no sensation of motion. Little suns, square in shape, floated over head
like passing clouds, causing her world to flare and dim. Angelica wanted to
shield her gaze from the painful lights, but could neither lift a hand to
cover her eyes, nor squeeze them shut. During one of the flares, she caught
a glimpse of Twang's face floating over her.
All this was very frightening; but the most disturbing aspect was the
vagueness of everything. As Keeper of Histories, she was accustomed to the
world standing out in almost painful clarity. The indistinct quality
frightened her badly; and the world flowing past was alien in a way that
terrified her to her soul. It was not so much the unfamiliarity, more the
fearful suspicion that it might be beyond the power of her mind to
comprehend.
Angelica began to panic; but was immediately distracted by the world
rotating. The floating motion stopped. A few feet above her face, a little
sun snapped on, glowing a bright yellow, and making her eyes water. Movement
in the tail of her eye drew Angelica's sluggish attention in that direction.
Looming over her was a strange, grey, cone shaped machine. The creature
clutched a shining bowl before it. From the device, a cable snaked away to a
wall covered with flickering lights.
The air was suddenly reverberating with a metallic squawking. Angelica
cringed at the unearthly noise, a shiver of pure terror going right through
her. The racket seemed some kind of demonic language. The creature's
unintelligible words were apparently answered by Twang. His voice seemed to
Angelica, oddly flat and bereft of its usual exciting undertones.
The machine extended the shiny bowl over her face, closing out the light.
Angelica screamed.
No sound came out of her madly working throat.
She bolted upright at the library table, her heart pounding in her chest,
breath coming in ragged gasps. Whirling in her confused mind was a powerful
sense of unspeakable violation. A deep shiver of revulsion passed through
her frame. She dragged at the rumpled blue robe, desperate to be free of its
touch. The fabric stank of that oozing bitterness. Fighting free from the
folds of cloth, she cast it away with a violent gesture.
Hugging herself, she stared wildly around at the library. The large room was
mostly in darkness. A single candle on the table threw a vague pulsing light
over the nearer book shelves. The smell of the books calmed her.
Beside the candle lay the over-set clay jug. The last of the drink Twang had
thoughtfully brought for her, while she studied her letters late into the
night, had spread across the table top and soaked into the edge of the book
she had been studying.
Bemusedly, she set the jug upright. Had it all been a dream? A dream
brought on by working too hard? She wanted to believe, but could not shake a
lingering sense of unspeakable violation.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
Sheeba lay flat on her stomach under the vines of a sting berry. A roof of
snow, supported by the vines, hid her from any watchers higher up the
mountainside. She had not seen them; but she knew they were there.
The weight of the snow was pressing the sting berry vines across her bare
ankles. The painful tingling was becoming difficult to ignore. Dangerous as
it would be, the dash would have to be made soon, even though her hunter's
instincts told her it would be prudent to wait for the early evening light to
fade some more before striking.
Fifty yards up-slope from her position, a group of boulders clustered on the
open snow field. Something was hiding there; but neither Sheeba, nor her two
companions, had any clue as to what it might be. There was no way of either
moving down-wind, or getting closer, without moving into the open.
A hundred paces beyond the boulders, the pine forest began, marking the
boundary of Sanctuary grounds. From concealment among the soaring trunks,
other eyes watched the developing situation with a keen interest.
There was nothing to be gained by delaying any longer. Sheeba lifted her
right hand a few inches clear of the snow, and flickered her fingers in the
"silent speech" of the High Dale hunters.
Twenty paces to her right, in a hollow so shallow it seemed a snake could not
find cover there, a completely concealed hunter named Shab, lifted a finger
to acknowledge Sheeba's instructions. Silently, the Green Valley refugee
counted off the agreed time. Suddenly, he rose, clattering his weapons. He
kicked up a great cloud of the powdery snow, which the stiff breeze caught,
whipping it away like smoke across the steep slope. Allowing his ankle
length white fur drape to flutter and snap in the wind, Shab began to walk at
an angle to the right, hopefully drawing the attention of both the concealed
watchers, and the thing lurking in the boulders. Playing decoy was
dangerous; but if the lurker's attention was not diverted, then Sheeba's part
in this hunt could be suicidal.
Sheeba, too, knew the risks of this tactic; but she did not hesitate. She
exploded from under the vines, leaving her white fur drape to flutter to the
snow. In a dazzling burst of speed, she sprinted up the slope, covering the
distance in seconds. With a blood curdling scream, the High Dale woman leapt
in among the boulders.
At first sight of the prey, Sheeba was so surprised, she failed to block a
club swung at her. The Bok thigh bone caught her in the side. The blow was
so weak, she hardly felt it, preoccupied as she was with re-directing the
killing thrust. A youth, in a grubby Sanctuary tunic, was cowering among the
rocks. The young Ogron scrabbled back from the spear, which had thudded into
the ground inches from his side. He dropped the club, and held out his hands
in a desperate acknowledgement of authority.
Before Sheeba could do anything, a shadow fell across the boulders. She
glanced up to see Shab and his mate, Jind, standing on the rocks. Each held
spears poised to stab.
On seeing the youth, Jind exclaimed, "Sholko!" She jumped down, her fur drape
belling out around her lean body. The youngster wriggled back further into a
crevice. He stank of fear.
Shab stepped down from the rock, and grounded the butt of his spear.
"Whatever are you doing out here, cubling?" he demanded. "Your mother's been
running around like a headless Rock Hen looking for you."
The youth did not reply; his eyes were full of apprehension. Jind squatted
by him, and reached out a hand. Laying it across his shoulders, Jind began a
desultory grooming of his matted neck mane. "Why, Sholko?" she asked in a
gentle tone.
The youth leaned into the protective arc of her arm. Jind drew the fur drape
about them both. Sholko snuggled himself against the hard muscled torso. At
last, he said, "they're coming for me." A deep shudder ran through his body.
He buried his face against Jind's chest. "I herd San talking with one of
THEM," he mumbled into the thick winter pelt. "They are coming for me soon.
I had to get away before they come for me. I don't want to go with THEM!...
I want to stay with mother."
That last cry from the heart sent a shiver through Sheeba. She began to ask,
"who are they?" but Shab interrupted, his voice scornful. "You'll not get
far packing a trail bag like that, cubling." With his spear, he raked over an
untidy bundle wrapped in a hide blanket, assessing with an expert eye the
pathetic attempt at making up a travelling pack. Turning back to the youth,
he said, "not that it matters... There's nowhere for you to go."
Sholko shuddered, and tried to burrow deeper into Jind's pelt. The woman
gave him a reassuring hug. She peered up at the darkening sky. "I think
we'd best be moving, if we are to get Sholko back to Sanctuary... And return
before dark," she added.
Sholko stiffened. He pushed himself away from Jind's side, and scrambled up.
"I'm not going back," he cried.
Sheeba noted with concern the boy's barely controlled panic. Had he been a
wild-born Ogron, she'd have been backing off, anxiously readying her spear.
Sheeba forced herself to relax, and took a moment to consider the state of
the fading daylight, before saying, "there's no point in us all going... Not
with that party out there. It's too much of a risk for us all to go. I'll
take the boy back. A suckling Bok like him will give me no trouble... And I
can get back before full dark. If the Skars are looking to give us trouble,
it'll not be until after second moon rise."
"I told you... I'm not going back," Sholko shouted. He looked directly into
Sheeba's face, and warned, "and neither should you. They have sold your
entire Tribe for some machines. If you want to save yourself, you should not
go back at all. You should come with me now. Once they have you back inside
again, you'll never leave... Until they come to collect you. By then it
will be..."
While Sholko was speaking, Jind had shot a horrified glance at Shab, who
scowled. The naked fear in the silent exchange made Sheeba's hackles rise.
Again, she began to ask, "who are they?" but Shab lashed out, cuffing the
youth savagely.
"Be silent!" he snarled. "You foolish, foolish cubling. They are just a
story for mothers to frighten bad little cublings into behaving. True
hunters would not concern themselves with such childish nonsense."
Stung by Shab's scorn, Sholko drew himself up, thrusting out his chest. Of a
sudden, the youth looked much more the proud hunter. "My father was Jarmo of
the Eagle Mountain Tribe," he declared with pride. "I shall be a hunter of
the Eagle Mountain Tribe. I shall go to them, and live free with my own
people."
Shab made an inarticulate sound of contempt before declaring: "You can't,
cubling. They will not have you. We can, none of us of Sanctuary, return to
the Tribes." There was a deep bitterness in his tone. "Even I, who was born
to the Green Valley Tribe, and lived twenty seasons free upon the mountain,
no longer have the endurance to live wild. You, a child of Sanctuary, would
be dead in ten days... Even supposing you could get to Eagle Mountain." Shab
looked pointedly up-slope to the edge of the pines, and the immediate threat
they concealed. "Do you know what is up there, cubling?" he asked, flinging
out an arm to point at the dark trees.
Sholko looked where Shab pointed. He saw nothing but the dark pines, and
looked back to the towering hunter for an explanation.
"Death, cubling," Shab growled. "Death awaits you a hundred paces in that
direction. Now, be sensible. You will return with Sheeba to..."
"NO!" Sholko screamed. He lunged past Shab, scrambled over the great stones,
and bounded away up-slope towards the pines.
Cursing the stupidity of all the Sanctuary born, Sheeba leapt to a boulder.
She held the spear over her head for a moment, before ostentatiously plunging
the point into the frozen ground. Desperately, she made the gesture of
acknowledging authority. "Truce!" she screamed. "Do not kill the cubling!"
As though by magic, five Skar Dalers, wrapped in white furs, materialised on
the slope before the pines. Sheeba had time only to recognise three males,
and two females, before one of the figures drew back an arm, and cast.
The fleeing youth made no attempt to avoid the spear; probably, he did not
even see it coming. For a short while, Sholko's agonised screaming filled
the darkening air, before one of the women drew a knife across his throat.
In only moments, the Skars had stripped the corpse, and retreated into the
pines, leaving the body lying in the center of the churned, red stained snow.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
Sheeba paused a long moment under the little sun at the entrance to the
hearth cave of the Tribe of Bok, watching the cosy little scene. Angelica
was being groomed, sitting, naked, in the "safe haven" formed by Shamba's
legs. Angelica's eyes were half-lidded in utter contentment.
At the sight, an all too familiar envy and bitter resentment welled up inside
Sheeba; but now its former cutting edge was dulled. Puzzling over this,
Sheeba came slowly to the understanding that, but for her own fear of
rejection, she might be sitting where Angelica now sat.
Of a sudden, Sheeba found it easy to relinquish her resentment. She moved
into the blind tunnel. Pushing back the white fur drape, she squatted by the
pair, balancing herself with the Green Valley spear. "Shamba," she said, "we
must go from here, an soon."
Shamba paused in teasing out a tangle from Angelica's shoulder. She glanced
up at the hunter, warned by her abruptness, and the tension in the woman's
voice, that this was serious. "What is it, Sheeba?"
"There is no honour in this place," Sheeba said. "The Tribe of Bok is in
danger. We must go from this place... Now!"
"The Tribe of Bok has nowhere else to go," Shamba pointed out. "The hunters
of Skar Dale await beyond the Boundary Stones." She flashed her fangs, and
returned to finish teasing out the tangle, before asking, "what kind of
danger?" She lightly tapped Angelica's shoulder, starting the girl awake.
"All done," she said. Angelica shook herself, stretched, and went to all
fours. She crawled away, and settled herself against a wall.
Shamba peered up at Sheeba, a thoughtful consideration clear in her
expression. Then she patted the floor between her legs. Sheeba hesitated
only a moment, before shrugging out of her gear and squatting down to present
her back.
Shamba began to comb her claws through Sheeba's mane, more to ease tension,
than to clean the pelt. After a little while, she asked, "what is wrong,
Sheeba? What is this danger which threatens the Tribe of Bok?"
"We are to be sold into slavery." Sheeba said.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
San squatted at the low writing table in his office. A tiny device of the
Masters lay upon the table top. It gleamed like a silver jewel in the
uncertain candlelight. The Master who had just delivered it, stood blocking
the doorway. It was regarding San's cowering form with its single,
malevolent eye.
"You have failed the Daleks," the Master was intoning harshly. "Your errors
have caused the destruction of a valuable unit. The recruitment procedure
must not be jeopardised further. It must proceed as planned with the
remaining units. No more errors will be tolerated. Any failure will be
punished with your extermination."
The Master fell silent. The shadows crowded in around the cowering San as
the flicker of the dome lights died. The loudest sound in the tiny hollow
was the quietly menacing whine of servos as the gun stick was brought to
bear. San cowered lower.
The Master spoke again. "The unit designated, Angelica, will be retrieved
inside Sanctuary."
San kept his eyes fixed on the device. "But that might compromise your
entire operation here," he essayed fearfully. "What if we are discovered?
Surely, it is too much of a risk?"
The Master was silent a moment. It swung slowly from side to side,
considering. Then it pronounced: "The risk has been assessed. The chance of
discovery is high; but the risk is acceptable. The unit is too valuable to
the Daleks to be put at risk in the wild environment. You will find a way to
retrieve the unit without being discovered. The remaining units will be
retrieved as planned. We have provided the homing beacon. These are your
orders. You will obey the Daleks!"
There could be no argument with a Master. San made the gesture of
acknowledging authority. "It will be done... As you command, Master," he
said.
After a last, long glare at San, the Master backed from the doorway, and
glided out of sight. The overpowering stench of oozing bitterness went with
it.
San squatted at his writing table for a long time, regarding the tiny
gleaming device with loathing. At last, he shook himself free of his guilty
fear, and picked it up.
He fetched out a document case from a pigeon-hole. It was a hollow tube of
sturdy, tan coloured shog hide, two foot long, and about as round as a
well-muscled thigh. There was a long loop of leather at one end for
carrying, and a secret compartment in the other. He picked up some scraps of
waste paper. Rolling them up, he slid them into the tube, and sealed it.
Then he undid the ingenious closing device of little metal teeth which hid
the secret compartment, and concealed the homing beacon.
Taking the prepared case, San got up and went in search of Twang.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
"You must come with me now," Twang said. He took hold of Angelica's arm, and
drew her towards the cave entrance.
Without him being aware of any movement, the blade of a Green Valley spear
was at his throat; and Twang found himself looking down the shaft into two
golden eyes full of menace. Involuntarily, he released Angelica, and backed
up a step; but the blade followed him, the point pricking his skin.
Angelica was alarmed at Sheeba's sudden show of violence. She made to speak
up for Twang, but before she could, Shamba placed a hand on Sheeba's arm,
easing the spear down.
Sheeba shot her Chief a hot glance. Shamba said, "it is for Angelica to
choose. The Tribe of Bok will abide by the Keeper of Histories' decision in
this matter. So speaks your chief."
It was clear from the heat of Sheeba's glare, and the way she showed her
fangs, that the High Dale girl did not like it; but Angelica's frivolous
proclamation of Shamba as Chief in the pine forest at the lip of Skar Dale
had already been accepted by them all as fact. Sheeba would acquiesce,
albeit reluctantly. She lowered the spear.
Shamba asked, "how speaks our Keeper of Histories? Will you go with the
young hunter?"
Angelica looked into Twang's face. Her insides were doing little flip-flops
as she gazed adoringly into his brown eyes. As before, blinded by her
growing feelings, Angelica saw not what was there for all to see, the
nervousness and veiled purpose, but what she wished to see. "We shall go and
witness this marvel," she declared, without taking her gaze from Twang's
eyes.
"Then I will come with you," Sheeba stated.
A look of panic flitted across Twang's face. "No!" he almost shouted; "you
can't!"
"Why not?" Sheeba demanded.
In growing alarm, Twang noted that even the more trusting Shamba was
regarding him with suspicion. "Because... Because..." he stuttered, casting
around for some believable reason. There was a certain loosening in his
bowels. He really needed to retreat, and re-think his plan, but did not
dare. "Because," he began again, this time with a passable conviction in his
tone, "because it is a secret for only the initiates of the Library Tribe to
witness... It is not a thing for everyone in our community to know."
The Green Valley spear materialised at Twang's throat once more. "You will
return our Keeper of Histories... Unharmed," Sheeba stated. "Or you will
die by the hand of this High Daler... Very slowly... Very, very slowly.Do
you hear me, Twang of the Library Tribe."
When the pair had gone, Sheeba looked a question at Shamba. A silence
lengthened in the tunnel, while Shamba thought on the matter. The tension
was broken at last by Sheeba.
"Well?" she asked.
Shamba showed her fangs. "Go, hunter, and keep our Keeper of Histories from
all harm," she commanded.
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Shamba rested her hands on the stone parapet guarding the five hundred foot
plunge to the Shining Lake. At her back, men and women were sunning
themselves on the terrace before the inconspicuous door to Sanctuary. She
was gazing down the length of Skar Dale at the Netherland. The lush green
country spread out, hazy with distance, under the wide blue immensity of the
clear winter sky. Her thoughts were troubled. She was wondering whether she
was doing the right thing by agreein to take San's message.
The previous evening, barely had Sheeba's footsteps faded, when San had
loomed in the entrance to the tunnel. Shamba had greeted him formally, but
without warmth, the sight of him bringing to mind Sheeba's words of betrayal.
San had come with a message tube, a Truce Totem for safe passage through the
fiercely defended Tribal Hunting Grounds, and a request for her to carry an
urgent message to the small facility which Sanctuary maintained in the
Netherlands. None of the messengers he usually used to carry such messages
were available... And it was a very important matter... A vital service to
the community..."
Couched in those terms, what else could shamba do but put aside her growing
concerns about the other members of the Tribe of Bok, and agree to carry the
important message to the Netherland Shrine; but she would not start until
dawn to give her two companions time to return.
However, by the time Shamba's internal clock told her it was dawn outside,
neither Sheeba nor Angelica had put in an appearance. So Shamba clambered
from her nest, got her gear together, put the Truce Totem about her neck, and
went out to do her duty.
She made her way via the library tunnels, in hopes of seeing either Sheeba or
Angelica. Shamba wanted to tell them about her short journey, and to make a
proper farewell to her Tribe. She did not encounter either girl. Those few
people she met grew suddenly nervous on meeting her. Their eyes would light
upon the message tube. Instantly, their gaze would slide away, excuses to be
elsewhere on their lips. Shamba hung about in the tunnels near the library
for several minutes, undecided on what to do, before she determined to get on
with the duty San had forced upon her. Reluctantly, she bent her steps
towards the entrance.
It was then, as she was turning away, that she noticed something gleaming in
a dark corner. Moving to retrieve the object, she smelt blood of the people,
faint, but fresh. She picked up the West River Totem. At the same moment
that Shamba realised the dark stains spotting the piece of twisted bronze
were the blood she could smell, she'd realised that they bore Sheeba's
personal scent markers.
She'd almost broken her solemn word right there and then, to go in search of
San; but where the High Dalers had their pride, the Long Pine had their sense
of honour. Although Shamba was very much afraid that some grim fate had
overtaken the Tribe of Bok, she could not see what might be don about it just
then, without incurring a loss of honour.
She took up the spear, settled the pack more comfortably, and turned to the
south road. She would seek them out again when she returned from the
journey; and if they had come to any harm, then there would be an accounting
in the Long Pine fashion.
She got a half mile down the South Road before indecision halted her steps.
She turned to face back up the road. Taking out the West River Totem, she
clutched it fiercely. It occurred to her forcefully, that Sheeba would not
have willingly been parted from this while she lived. She lingered a long
time, trying to think what was best to do; but no honorable course of action
suggested itself. The heat of the sun made her aware that the day was
wasting.
At last she sighed, tucked the West River Totem into her cloak, and turned
with resolution back to the way.
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Onwards to part 3.