Changeling (Illustrated) (25 page)

You’ve got it! Take it and run!

He looked about, discovered it, seized it, scrambled to his feet.

Too late!
he replied, the rod in his left hand, the blade in his right.
It’s not dead!

An explosive hissing drowned the final rattlings of the stonefall. The orange, red and pink-bonnetted head was swaying as if disoriented, but moving steadily in his direction, too rapidly for him to escape it.

Strike at the jewel between the eyes!

He darted backward, raising the blade, knowing he would have but one chance.

As the serpent struck, so did he.

*  *  *

They burst into the dawn, retching and gasping, ears ringing, pulses pounding. Pol leaned forward and looked down at beaches running back to a line of lush tropical growth.

Down, Moonbird! We can barely hang on!

Moonbird dropped lower, slowing.

On
the beach?

Yes. I want to bathe, to eat, to walk.

“Pol, I can’t—”

“I know. Neither can I. Just another minute.”

Moonbird settled gently. They slid off and lay unmoving on the sand. After a time, Pol reached out and touched Nora’s hair.

“You did well,” he said.

“You hung right in there, too.” She patted Moonbird. “Good show.” Then, “Where are we?” she asked.

How much farther?

We will reach it before the sun stands in the high places.

Good.

“We’ll be there by noon,” he said to Nora.

After a time, they undressed and bathed in the ocean, then cleaned their garments while Moonbird hunted and ate things that squealed a lot back among the trees. Their own breakfast was more silent as they watched the sun-dappled waves and the fire-splashed clouds.

“I would like to sleep for an awfully long time,” she finally said.

“We have been rather busy.”

“When this is over, what are you going to do?”

“If I live,” he said, “I would like to read the rest of the books in my father’s library.”

“And with that knowledge—what?”

“I look upon it as an end, not a means. I don’t know what I’ll do then. Oh, I want to rebuild Rondoval, of course, whether I stay or move on.”

“Move on? To where?”

“I don’t know. But I once traveled a golden road that went by wondrous places. Perhaps one day I’ll walk it further and see more things.”

“And will you be coming back if you do?”

“I think I must. Your land seems more like home to me than any other place I’ve ever lived.”

“It’s nice to have such choices,” she said.

“If I live,” he said.

When Moonbird returned, they stretched, brushed off sand and mounted, holding hands. The sun was higher and the jungle seemed greener now. They rose again, and soon Moonbird was bearing them south.

It was nearly noon when they sighted the stepped pyramid, approached it and began to circle.

You may be too late,
Moonbird stated.

What do you mean?

Among the trees there are ships like the one you broke on the island.

I don’t see . . . 

I see their heat.

How many are there?

I count six.

I wonder how long they have been here? It could be an ambush.

Perhaps.
What should I do?

I have to have that piece
—

An explosion shook the pyramid.

“What—?” Nora began.

Go low and pass it fast. I want a better look.

Moonbird circled, positioned himself and began to fall. Pol studied the jungle, still unable to detect the vessels of which the dragon had spoken. As they descended, he turned his eyes toward the pyramid itself. Clumps of dirt slid down its sides, and a minor cave-in had occurred at one point. A cloud of dust rose like smoke above the structure.

They passed through the dust and swept in tow, regarding the pyramid and the trees beyond it. Nothing stirred. Moonbird commenced climbing once again.

“Gods!” Nora shouted above the wind. “What is it?”

A small man in dark garments had just emerged, running, from an opening in the far side of the pyramid. Moments later, a gigantic feathered head followed him out, to rise, swaying, tongue flashing like fire or blood. It continued to emerge, at great length, with such rapidity that the likelihood seemed strong that it would soon foil upon the man.

Moonbird
! Stop! Go back! The jade strand—That man has the rod!

Moonbird was already braking, turning, growing warmer.

It is the serpent of the well! I have always wanted to meet him . . . You must slide off and run as soon as I strike. Take those things you would preserve.

Strike?
No! You can’t!

I must! I have waited ages for this! It is also the only way to save the man with your thing of power.

Pol struck him with his fists, but it seemed unlikely that Moonbird even felt the blows.

“Get ready to jump down and run!” he cried to Nora, slinging his guitar case, grabbing at the basket of water bottles.

The serpent heard the shout and turned its head upward. Moonbird landed upon its back a moment later. Pol slipped off to the right and began running. A great roaring and a loud hissing rose up behind him. He felt a wave of heat. He saw the giant serpent body twisting toward him. He dodged it, looking about for Nora as he moved. She was nowhere in sight. But the small man with the rod had stumbled and picked himself up again. They sighted one another at the same time, and Pol realized that it was Mouseglove.

“Nora!” he shouted. “Can you see her?”

Mouseglove gestured toward the trees on the other side of the scaly turmoil. Nora had apparently jumped or been thrown in the opposite direction from Pol. He began circling, running toward Mouseglove, well past the place where Moonbird, caught in a colorful coil, had begun to spew smoldering liquids upon his twisting adversary. Ignition followed, and he smelled burning feathers as he ran. At about the same moment, he caught sight of Nora, surrounded by a large body of short, stocky men resembling those he had seen upon Anvil Mountain. Several of them lay unmoving among the grasses and Nora’s left shoulder was bloodied. He saw there were dark cords wrapped around her, and that she was being pushed off among the trees.

At that moment, the reptilian combatants rolled toward them and they fled.

They came together among the high growth to the east, gasping, leaning upon vine and fungus-decked trees.

“Hurry!” Pol said, extending his hand. “The rod! I need it!”

Mouseglove passed it to him, a thin, long section, sculpted with clouds, the moon, stars and a celestial palace set above them, angelic spirits passing through the high places. Pol dropped it twice before he succeeded in fitting it into place at the end of the other sections. The feeling of power that washed over him as he did so was immense. It steadied his hands as it made his head swirl. He straightened.

“We have to go after her,” he said, facing back toward the sounds of crashing and roaring. He pointed to the left of that place. “We can move faster if we return to the clearing, stay away from the fight, skirt the jungle.”

Mouseglove nodded and put up his hand.

“I don’t think we’ll succeed, but I believe that she is safe for now, anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

“I know those dwarves fairly well. She’d be dead by now if they didn’t have orders not to kill her. They came here in flying ships and they’ll doubtless take her back in one. They must be to them by now.”

“I thought it was me they were after—or the last piece of this rod.”

“Yes, but they’ll avoid you rather than confront you now that you’ve got it. She was probably second choice—as hostage, possibly.”

“What do you mean ‘possibly?’ ”

“Mark likes her himself, you know.”

“Yes, I know,” Pol said, “Fill me in later. Let’s move.”

He raised the rod, and a blinding flash of white light leaped from it, cutting a path through the jungle. Without pausing, he headed forward along it.

When they came into the clearing once again, they saw that Moonbird and the feathered serpent were locked together, unmoving, pressed up against the side of the pyramid. The dragon was still caught within a coil, and his teeth were now locked upon the great snake’s side. The serpent had his fangs fixed in Moonbird’s left shoulder. A portion of the pyramid had collapsed about them.

As they turned and began to pass to their left, a sudden resumption of activity shook the ground. The singed serpent was thrown flat as Moonbird, wings freed, rose into the air, his shoulder still in the grip of his dangling adversary. Pol swung about and raised the rod.

No!
The word vibrated along a green strand which suddenly sprang up between Moonbird and himself.
This is between us! Stay away!

Without pausing to acknowledge the message, Pol continued on his way toward the place where Nora had been borne into the jungle, Mouseglove close behind him. There came another roar. Shortly, he smelled the stench of burning flesh. He did not look back.

They reached the spot where the bodies lay among the reddened grasses, Nora’s blade protruding from one of them. Now that they were away from the scuffling beasts, other noises came to their ears—mechanical humming sounds from beyond the trees.

A dark shape rose into the air some distance to the south of them. Almost immediately, two more followed it.

“
No!
” Pol cried, and he raised the rod.

Mouseglove caught at his arm, dragging it down.

“You’ll kill her if you shoot it down!” he shouted. “Besides, you’ve no way of knowing which one she’s in. You can’t afford to hit any of them!”

Pol’s shoulders sagged. Two more vessels climbed into the air.

“Of course,” he said, his arm falling. “Of course . . . ”

He turned and looked at Mouseglove.

“Thanks,” he said. Then, “I’ve got to go after her. I have to do what Mark wants—take things to a full conflict. He doesn’t know what I’ve got to bring up against him, but he has to find out before he can embark on his campaign. Now he is about to learn. I’m going back there and take Anvil Mountain apart, if Moonbird can still fly . . . ”

“I’ve got a ship,” Mouseglove said. “I stole Mark’s. I can fly it. I’ll show you.”

He took Pol’s arm.

As they passed the pyramid again, the struggle was still in progress with neither combatant showing any sign of weakening. Great furrows and pits had been torn in the charred ground; thick, sweet-smelling blood was smeared everywhere, and both dragon and serpent were soaked in it. At the moment, they were so intertwined that it was impossible for Pol to assess their damages, let alone to use the rod on Moonbird’s behalf.

He summoned the strand by which Moonbird had addressed him earlier.

I must return to Rondoval now and prepare for battle,
he said.
Mark has Nora. Mouseglove can take me there in his flier. I cannot await the outcome of your struggle.

Go. When it is finished, I will return.

Immediately, the two began to thrash about again. The serpent, half of its feathers missing, began to hiss violently. Flames blossomed about it, upon it, as Pol and Mouseglove hurried by. It succeeded just then in throwing a coil about Moonbird’s neck, but the dragon’s claws were now raking its midsection.

“Tell him to go for the green jewel in the thing’s head,” Mouseglove said. “I stunned it for a moment when I hit it there.”

Strike at the jewel in its head,
Pol immediately relayed to Moonbird, but there was no reply.

They hurried past, coming shortly to the trail Mouseglove had hacked through the brush.

“This way,” said the smaller man. “I’ve concealed it in a place not too far ahead. But—Pol, I’m too tired to make the flight all the way back. I’d fall asleep and kill us both.”

“Just get us airborne,” Pol replied. “I’ll watch and ask questions. We can take turns flying if necessary.”

“You look fairly tired yourself.”

“I am. But it is not going to be as long a haul as you might think.”

They entered a cleared area. Mouseglove paused and gestured, crossed to a green mound, began removing fronds.

“What do you mean?” he asked. “I just made the trip.”

Pol moved to assist him.

“You’re not going to like it,” he said, “but I know a shortcut . . . ”

XIX
.

 . . . He strode past the glassed-in banks of flat-faced machines, their huge metal eyes rotating, stopping, reversing, rotating again, ceaselessly, silently, to his left. To his right, a line of men and women, seated before glowing screens, traced designs with electric pencils upon them. The rug was soft and resilient, making the floor seem almost nonexistent. A gentle light emanated from glowing tubes overhead. The abstract design upon the wall to the right changed as he passed. A soft, characterless music filled the air . . . 

 . . . He halted when he came to the large window looking out upon the city. Far below, numerous vehicles passed on the streets. Boats moved upon the distant river, and an airplane was passing overhead. Towering buildings dominated the prospect, and everything was clean and shining and smooth, like a piece of well-tended machinery. A certain warmth grew in his breast as he regarded the power and magnificence of the scene. His fingers tapped at a latch, and he drew the window upward, leaning forward to drink in the full range of sensations which emanated from the city . . . 

 . . . A heavy hand fell upon his shoulder, and he turned toward the tall, heavyset man who stood smiling beside him, drink in hand, face as ruddy as brick, red hair mingled with white, red scalp showing through . . . 

“ . . . Yes, Mark, admire it,” he was saying, gesturing with his glass. “One day, all of that will be yours . . . ”