Children of the Gates (18 page)

“Jeremiah.” Nick went to one knee, stroking the cat. “What is it?”

Foggy—like trying to see a picture through a dense mist—outlines that wavered back and forth, on which Nick tried to focus. Even when he concentrated, the pictures were odd, as if he saw through eyes that were not normal, having other qualities than his own. Lung—certainly that bouncing creature was Lung at his most exuberant. And there was the enfield, and behind it other weird, mixed things. The beasts of Avalon. Was Jeremiah promising now their help?

Yes! Thought answered his unasked question.

It would be a plan of many pieces, and much would depend on luck, on attracting a saucer, on timing thereafter. But maybe, just maybe, they could do it. And it was better than just blindly walking into trouble—which is what the Vicar might well do if Nick did not produce an alternate plan.

“Sir,” Nick tried to bring all his power of persuasion to bear. “Do you think a plan such as this might work?” As he continued, he thought of new details, added improvements (he hoped they were improvements).

Thus it came about that hours later found them in the hot sun on the edge of the open. Having set their plan they had rested and then, with the beasts of Avalon guiding, they had reached this point.

Now they were linked, men, women, dog and cat together, with an ingathering of power. Perhaps they were again misusing that as Rita had warned. But it was their only key. They lay in hiding, but out in the open two figures walked very slowly. There was limit to their power of projection and Mrs. Clapp had suggested that instead of trying to reproduce their whole party they create only two illusions, that of the Vicar and herself. She and Hadlett had formed those figures, Nick, Linda, and the animals feeding them the sustaining energy.

Jeremiah and Lung were out there, pacing beside the slow-moving illusions. There were others concealed in the tall grass. Nick had suggested such were visible from above and there had been amusement beamed from Jeremiah. Perhaps the beasts of Avalon had some native protection against such sighting.

Now—all they needed was a saucer to take the bait. How long would that take? They might have to set this scene many times, for they could not hold any illusion long. How—

Not long at all! A saucer burst into view in one of those instantaneous arrivals. It swooped, to center over the staggering figures. Now! Nick gestured. The illusions slumped forward, lay full length. From the belly of the saucer the net broke, descending.

Nick could see twitching grass, the beasts were on the move. Surely the aliens would spot that suspicious movement! But if they did, they did not counter it. It was time for him to make his own move. He was sweating, and not from the heat of the sun. It all depended now on whether they did have any protection against the alien weapons.

He began to run, zigzagging as he went, though that might be no protection against attack. One of the suited crewmen was already sliding down the rope toward the inert bodies, a second swinging out of the hatch to follow him.

Then Nick was hit by a force from the saucer, as if a fist struck him. As planned, he gave way, falling—which was only too easy. They would think him a prisoner—perhaps he was. But he summoned up the strength of will that he had commanded in the woods. He could do this, his body was his own to order. He could move. And he did.

The grass was tall about him, hiding most of the scene around the net. Hadlett, Mrs. Clapp and Linda would hold the illusions on the inert figures as long as they could. If their plan was to succeed, they must hold until he reached the net. He saw now one of the aliens prepare to slip the net around the illusion of Hadlett. Behind the suited figure the grass moved. A small gray shape leaped, hit the shoulders of the alien, clawing at the helmet. It was joined by a flashing creature that could only be the enfield. The other alien, partway down the rope, turned to reclimb.

Out of ambush arose a thing to swing up the rope with the agility of its monkey body. Yet on its shoulders was an owl’s head. With no difficulty at all it caught up with the alien, scrambling over his body, so the suited figure lost hold and fell back and down.

Nick was under the shadow of the saucer. The longer he had fought the force that tied his limbs, the easier it became to move. He reached the net. How many crewmen were still in the saucer? The owl-monkey scuttled over the ground leaving a crumpled body behind. The net was now burdened by a number of the beasts, weighting it down. With any luck at all they should anchor the saucer.

Up! Nick caught at the rope ladder. But the owl-monkey was before him, springing up as if this was a stairway. As it went, its outline blurred, it became one of the suited aliens. Nick began to climb. Was the party in hiding successful also? Was he now in the likeness of a helmeted dwarf? Up and up—he hardly dared believe he had made it this far. Now he was through the hatch, the owl-monkey-alien disappearing through a door beyond. Behind Nick came Jeremiah, able to use his claws on the ropeway.

Nick hurried after the beast. His impetus carried him into the control cabin of the saucer. Flame flashed, outlined the owl-monkey whose illusion had vanished. But the creature was as untouched as the Herald under the raying. Nick leaped—there were only two aliens, and the owl-monkey had beaten down the weapon of one, bearing him down into the seat from which he had half-risen.

With a crash Nick met the other alien, carrying the smaller figure back against the wall of the cabin. At the shock of being slammed against it, the alien went limp. Nick held him for a moment, making sure he was harmless. Then Jeremiah landed on the suited form, his snarling face pressed against the surface of the helmet. The eyes of the being inside were closed.

His fellow crewman was still struggling feebly but uselessly with the owl-monkey who proceeded to draw him hack to the door opening into the hatch space. Nick, apprehensive, searched the ship. But the four beings they had already taken were the entire crew. Nick was shaking a little from reaction, unable to believe they had done this thing.

Now he feared that the saucer might as suddenly vanish with him. The two aliens, both still alive, Nick thought, were lowered to the ground. Of the two who had been with the net, one was dead with a cracked helmet, the other a prisoner. Nick could not kill in cold blood, but to maroon them in the open country, prisoners of the beasts, unable to summon help, was the answer. And the sooner he got his own party on board, the better.

Hadlett and Linda could climb. But they activated the net to raise Mrs. Clapp and Lung. Once that was inboard the hatch snapped shut of its own accord, and the saucer quivered to life.

Nick ran for the control cabin, forced his larger body into one of the seats. He could not hope to use any of the levers and buttons before him. Like it or not they were on their way, locked into an enemy craft, their destination unknown. And now that he had time, he began to worry again. Their amazing good fortune with the ambush could not continue to hold forever.

18

“This is our chance!” Linda tried to fit herself into the narrow neighboring seat.

“Our chance to do what?” Nick had prowled the saucer ship twice. He made several finds of what might be weapons, but he dared not experiment with them inside the cabin. The only chance he could see was one so hedged by threats it was nearer to an invitation to disaster.

“To get back to our own world.” She was impatient. “These saucers must go through. People have seen them back there. We have only to learn how, then we’re home!”

“That learning how,” Nick pointed out, “might take some time. Time we don’t have. When this lands—”

“We can use illusions again.” Linda dismissed such details as unimportant, her own goal the real one.

“You mean, we hope we can.” Nick found the flight pattern of the saucer made him queasy, he wanted nothing more than to be free of the alien ship.

“We can. And we can get back, too!” Her optimism remained high.

“You’re forgetting the time factor, aren’t you?”

“What time factor?”

“These others—they thought they had only been here a few years. But it’s been over forty. How long have we been here—days—a week—I’ve not counted. But how long have we been away?”

What had happened back in the world of the Cut-Off? How long before they had been missed and the search begun? What about Dad and Margo? Who had been hunting Linda? She had said no more about her past than he had. Who was missing her?

“Nick—” Her eagerness was gone, he might have struck her in the face. “Do you think—But it couldn’t be! We can’t have been gone months, we can’t!”

He could give her no reassurance. Before, he had not really considered that point as it applied to himself or Linda. But now Nick faced it squarely and found that he really did not greatly care. All that had happened before their arrival in the forest seemed to be the past of another person and have very little meaning for the Nick Shaw that now was.

“Dave—” Linda stared ahead of her. “What will Dave do? What will he think?”

“Who’s Dave?”

“My father, David. He’s with NASA—on the Cape. I was staying with Aunt Peg for a vacation. But there’s just Dave and me—we’re a family!”

Linda hunched down in the seat her body did not adjust to. “Nick, we’ve got to get back. And the saucer people must know how.”

“First things first—” Nick had only gotten that far, not knowing how he could make her see the impossibility of what she wanted, when the saucer began a vertical descent.

They had reached whatever goal had been set. Nick had had no control over the flight. Now it must be tested whether he had any defense over what they might encounter outside.

With a hardly perceptible jar the ship touched down and the vibration of its life ceased. Nick headed back to the area about the hatch. They had made the best plan they could and at least they would have surprise on their side.

Again he was to have the active part. The rest, using their combined concentration, would back him. As the side of the saucer now opened slowly to form a ramp, Nick drew a deep breath and walked forward.

He could not tell if his protecting illusion was in force, if he would indeed appear to anyone outside as a normal alien crewman. What he could see ahead was not too reassuring. There another of the saucer ships rested on stilt-legs, its ramp down. To the right was a section of ground in which huddled a group of drifters. Nick could see no walls, yet none made an effort to escape even though there were no visible guards.

To cross the space between the ship and the captives was an ordeal. Nick expected any moment to be challenged, or else simply rayed down. He studied the prisoners, tried to understand what kept them there.

Some distance beyond the captives a tall pole arose into the sky from a broad earth base. At its tip sprouted two fan shapes fashioned of glittering wires stretched over frames. Even as Nick sighted them they moved, the fans waving slowly upward until they joined above the tip of the supporting pole. Along the wires glowed light, deepening to a fiery red.

The air about Nick tingled with energy. It was like and yet unlike the broadcast of the ankh. Nick knew, without understanding why or how, some vast power was at work.

Now he saw those who controlled it. There were six of the suited aliens clustered about the base of the pole. What they might be doing there did not matter, the fact that they were so engrossed by it did, giving Nick a slender chance.

“Those we seek—there—” An impression from Jeremiah on his right side. Lung was to his left.

“Can’t go through—a wall ahead—” For the first time he also caught the Peke’s thought.

Nick walked forward with caution. Jeremiah moved before him, stopped, as if his nose touched an unseen barrier. A force field? One of the aliens need only look up—see him investigating it—

Though Nick put out his hand to touch what the animals said was there, he felt nothing—save that a bolt of energy nearly rocked him from his feet. With that how could the captives hope to escape? And how could he and his party hope in turn to reach them? If he knew how to control the ship perhaps they could lift it and drop it on the other side of the barrier. But that was beyond his skill.

The prisoners noticed him. He saw faces turn in his direction. Two of the disheveled figures got to their feet—Crocker and Jean. Did they see him as himself, or did the alien illusion hold?

Illusion—some wisp of thought he could not pin down exactly. What had Hadlett earlier said—that the illusions a man could produce were born out of his own particular thoughts and fears, that those from the medieval period who had taken him prisoner had seen the demons and devils of their own time. Demons and devils—what would be the demons and devils of the aliens? If he only knew more! Nick felt bound and helpless, with weapons just out of his reach, as he had been in the camp when he had first used the freedom of mind. He had no guide, no way of knowing what would serve as the proper demons and devils to evoke here.

Into his mind flashed a memory—that of the Herald riding unconcernedly along under the attack of the saucer. But he was no Herald, nor could he, Nick was sure, take on the seeming of one himself, even though he could create the image of one for a short space. He sensed that the Herald was too much of Avalon to be used here in human counterfeit. Also if this place was of Avalon, what had it to hold for these who were not subject to the People or their powers? What other fear or threat could he summon? Wait—there had been that time when another flyer of a different shape had attacked the saucer—

The cigar ship! Demons and devils! But could they produce that as an illusion?

In the prison compound Jean and Crocker were aiding Stroud to his feet with the help of Lady Diana. If Nick was right in his surmise he would have to drop his own cover, give all power to the illusion.

“Join!” Nick sent the message to Jeremiah in the linkage he could not hold direct with his own kind. The big cat crouched, his tail tip quivering as if he stalked prey. He did not glance at Nick but the man felt his message was received.

Lung bolted, skimmering back to the ramp of the saucer. How long did they have? Nick fastened his attention on the sky above that pole, tried to draw there the demon of the aliens—one of the cigar-shaped ships.

He—his message had gone through! Jeremiah—Lung—those in the ship behind him understood. There was the enemy that the aliens knew, hovering over their source of energy. He heard no sounds from the crew working below, but saw them freeze for a moment and then scatter, heading toward positions in the grass. They were about to defend their post desperately, as if it were paramount to their existence.

In his hand Nick held one of the weapons from the ship. It was a rod about the length of his forearm, with two buttons at one end. Being hollow in part he equated it with some type of gun. What it might do he had no idea, nor even if he could fire it. But the action of the aliens was a clue. If the fan-pole was so important, for they were firing rays into the hovering illusion to protect it, then if he could destroy it. . . .

Nick began to run. There was shouting from the prisoner pen, but he paid no attention. The pole was the important thing now. He came to a halt, raised the rod and took a chance, pushing the nearest button with his forefinger, aiming at the fans overhead.

He thought he had failed. There was no trace that the weapon had fired. Then—

The red glow of the wires above flashed an eye-searing white!

Nick flung his arm over his eyes. Was he blinded? And that roaring—enough to deafen one. The ground shook under him, rolled as if solid earth had vanished. He staggered around blindly, trying to head away from that holocaust, back to the ship. But where was the ship?

He was finding it hard to breathe, as if the air was being drained away. Then he was crawling through a world afire. This might be the ancient Hell of humankind—

Nick lay on the still trembling ground, pressed against it by a force like a massive fist weighing upon his back. He was being crushed and he thought he cried out feebly. Then came darkness in which the fires of Hell were quenched.

The ankh stood tall, glowing. From it streamed light, reaching out and out, and under that light was peace. The fan-pole stood and glowed balefully, it drew upon the life-force of Avalon, and the peace was broken. Things crept out of ancient places of the Dark to walk the land again.

Peace fled before the power of the pole, before the Dark, withdrawing into the city, into those places wherein Avalon nursed full strength. To and fro were harried those who were neither of the light nor the Dark—but were prey—

Little things, fleeing without purpose, pursued and attacked by their own fears made manifest and given foul life. They were blind to all but what they unknowingly summoned to their own torment.

The balance was disturbed. In the cities gathered the People. Rita, those others who had accepted Avalon. There stood the Herald who bore the name of this land, and behind him his four pursuivants, Oak and Apple, Thorn and Elder, each wearing the badge of his naming. To the fore of them all was Logos King-of-Arms. He was might, clad not in the brilliant tabard of a Herald, but in a robe of dark blue over which ran runes in silver that twisted, turned, formed words of deep wisdom, and then dissolved to form again. In his hands was a great sword, point down into the soil of Avalon from whose metals it had long ago been wrought. Up the blade of that sword were also runes. But these were fixed for all time, set in the metal by a forging of power in ways now long forgotten, even in a world where time meant little.

Two hands held the sword erect: wide shoulders held proud and straight, and above them a head—The face of one who could summon storms, bind wind and water to his will, yet who disdained to take power for his own desires. Silver hair, bright as the crawling runes. There was a name for this King, a very old name that Avalon knew, which was legend also in another world—

Merlin.

Now the Logos King-of-Arms faced outward from the city. His hands moved, uprooted the sword, raised its mighty weight with ease, pointing it out at heart level. His lips moved, but whatever words he spoke did not issue forth as sound—they were not for the hearing of lesser men or spirits.

The aliens’ fan-pole lashed out with scarlet fire, which brought black smoke that settled to stain the land. Where those stains grew so did the Dark Ones spread, creeping toward the cities. And the drawing of the alien power weakened that of Avalon, so that life under it withered and lessened.

But—

There was a flare of force, so great that all that could be seen was swallowed up. All was red and then white. The world was gone, sight was gone. There was nothing.

“Nothing—nothing—” Nick heard that. Understanding returned sluggishly. “Nothing—nothing—” His own voice was repeating that.

He—he was Nick Shaw—and he was alive. But he did not want to open his eyes and see again the awful nothingness that had been the end of Avalon. How could he still live when all else, even a world, was dead?

“All dead—” He put this thought into words.

“No!”

He had not said that. Who was here? Who had escaped the end of Avalon?

“Who—?” he asked.

“Nick! Nick, please, look at me!” Someone—who?

“Who?” he repeated. He was not sure he cared, he was so tired—so very tired. Avalon was gone. In him there welled a vast sorrow. He could feel tears in his eyes, squeezing out under the lids he would not raise. He had not cried for a long, long time—Men did not cry, men could not cry. They could hurt as he was hurting, but they must not cry.

“Nick! Please, can’t you help him. Do something—?”

“There is only what he can do for himself.”

He had heard that voice before, long ago. In Avalon. But Avalon was gone. He had seen it die. No—worse, it had been his act that had finished it. Nick began to fit together painfully this scrap of memory and that, to form an ugly picture. He had fired upon the fan-pole with the alien weapon. There had been a vast explosion of power. And there had been the Logos King—Merlin—with the sword. But the blasting of the fan-pole must have overbalanced the energies on which Avalon existed. Avalon was gone and where he might be now Nick neither knew nor cared.

“Nick!” Hands were lain on him, their shaking hurt, but the pain of his body was less than of his spirit, the knowledge of what he had unwittingly done.

“Open your eyes, see, Nick, see!”

He opened them. As he thought, there was nothing, nothing at all.

“There is nothing. Avalon is gone,” he said into that emptiness.

“What is he talking about? Is he—is he blind?” There was dread in that voice from nothingness.

“He is blind in his own way.” Again that other voice from the past.

The Herald! Avalon! But the land was gone, erased into nothingness: How did the Herald still exist?

“Avalon, Tara, Brocéliande, Carnac—” Nick said over those names that had once had great meaning and that he had rendered meaningless. “Oak and Apple, Elder, Thorn, and the Logos King—gone.”