Power of Three (14 page)

“Of course you mustn't, darling! Orban—!” quacked Kasta.

Orban took no notice. He nodded to Adara, and Adara brought out Ondo's hunting-bag, ready packed, his blanket, his weapons and his belt. Ondo protested that he felt
ghastly
. Kasta, finding Orban and Adara had gone behind her back, shot them venomous looks, and pursued Orban as he dragged the miserable Ondo over to the gate, quacking like a whole flight of ducks. Fandi pursued Kasta, rather put out to find that even the Otmounders were trying not to laugh.

“Serve them both right!” said Miri, and hastened to see that Med was properly equipped.

“Let's go and say good-by,” Adara said to Ayna, Ceri and Gair.

Gair would much rather not have gone. He knew it would look stupid and sulky not to say good-by, but the feeling was now so strong that he could only resist it by bracing his legs and clenching his teeth and standing where he was.

They went over to the gate. The feeling tried to push Gair there ahead of the others. He had to lean against it to stay beside them. And once they were among the hunters, it was worse than ever. Through a sort of haze of horror, Gair saw Miri embarrassing Med by repacking his socks; Banot joking with Tille as they did a last-minute repair on Brad's spear-lashing; Dari's little sisters presenting her with a lucky flint; Gest smiling cheerfully at Adara; and Orban firmly buckling equipment onto the sullen Ondo. The feeling beat at Gair and shook him, and he dared not open his mouth.

Gest kissed Ayna and turned to Gair. “I'm relying on you to help your mother,” he said. Gair dared not say anything. He dared not even nod, for fear the feeling took control. He could only stare at Gest. “Answer me, can't you!” Gest said irritably.

“Yes, I'll help,” Gair said. And, as soon as he opened his mouth, the feeling had him at its mercy. “Don't go,” he said. “Please don't go.”

Gest was annoyed enough already at the delay Orban had caused. He glared at Gair. Adara, remembering the odd questions Gair had asked her, began to think he was ill. She shook her head warningly at Gest. Gest ground his teeth and said, with terrible patience, “We have to go. We're short of food.”

Gair could tell by the patience in his father's voice that Gest had no intention of attending to a word he said. He could not see why Gest
should
attend. But the feeling made him frantic. “Don't go. Something's wrong!”

All the hunters turned and looked at Gair uneasily. Gest was exasperated, for he knew that much more of this would seriously interfere with their luck.

“Poor child!” Kasta said artificially, from the background.

That made Gest really angry. “I'm not going to stand here all night listening to nonsense!” he said. “Open the gate, someone.”

Banot said the words. The big opening rumbled and parted, showing blue and white, mist and Moonlight. Orban, calling good-by, pulled Ondo through it, where they at once became vague, bleached figures. The others followed.

The feeling twisted at Gair and jerked him. “Don't go!” he said desperately. And, when Gest simply turned away to the door, Gair was forced to follow him, the feeling scoured through him so. “If you must go,” he called out, “you must make sure no living thing comes through here until you come back!” For the life of him, he could not see why he should say that.

“Ban!” Gest said savagely. “Adara, take him away before he spoils the luck completely!”

Adara took hold of Gair's arm, and Gest went out through the gate, calling good-by to Ceri as he went, and bleaching away into the Moonlight like the others. The big opening thumped shut again. Gair stood looking at it. The feeling was dying, now that he had said what it made him say. He was left with the unpleasant knowledge that he had made a fool of himself—as badly as Kasta, he thought miserably.

“Gair,” said Adara, “I don't think you're well. You're going to bed, with something to make you sleep. Come along.”

“All right,” said Gair. He felt very tired. But the feeling had not quite gone. It gave a last twist. “You did hear what I said, didn't you? No living thing,” he said anxiously.

“Yes, yes,” said Adara. “Come along.”

The drink was strong and worked quickly. Gair was asleep when Ayna, driven by her own worries, shook his shoulder fiercely. “Gair! Wake up! They asked me the wrong questions, didn't they? Gair, wake up and tell me what they should have asked!” Gair tried to wake up, but he could not manage it. He mumbled. “Bother you!” Ayna crossly shoved his shoulder and went away.

Chapter

8

WHAT WITH THE DRINK AND HAVING HIS OWN
bed again, Gair slept very well indeed. He woke up feeling calm, rested and happy. It was soon after dawn. He could tell that, because the windows had been unfastened and a damp breeze was blowing into the house, smelling of early morning. He could hear people moving about, and the double flock of sheep bleating by the gate to be milked. Then came the slap and hiss of a nutcake going on the griddle. Miri, at the fire outside, was getting breakfast. Gair lay wondering why he felt so happy—as if he had thrown off a weight. No Ondo, that must be it.

The smell of hot nutcake swept toward his nose. Gair found he was ravenous. He sprang up, dressed and dragged a comb through his hair. When he came out of the house, Ceri, blinking with sleep, was already sitting wistfully beside the pile of nutcakes on the eating-square, waiting for Miri to turn her back. But Miri, squatting over the cooking-fire, her gold bracelets flashing as she turned the browned cakes, was wise to Ceri. She watched him like a hawk.

“Nutcakes!” Gair said ravenously.

Miri laughed. “I see you slept well. All in good time. Nutcakes after the milking.”

“Milking?” Gair said. His empty stomach seemed to turn over. “Are they doing it outside?” he said anxiously.

“No,” said Miri. “Why should they?”

“
Ban!
” said Gair. “They
mustn't
!” As he said it, he heard the rumble of the main gate opening. He turned to see the big archway filled with wreathing mist, colored orange by the rising Sun, and he knew it was too late. He was too sleepy still to wonder how he knew. His only thought was to stop it. He pelted to where Adara stood by the milking pens, holding a bucket.

“Hallo, Gair. Slept well?” she said.

From outside in the mist came the “Hi, hi, hi!” of Ayna and the other girls, driving the sheep in to be milked.

“I told you not to let in any living thing!” Gair said. “I
told
you! Close the gate.”

Adara looked at him anxiously. “Gair! I hoped you'd be better.”

“There's nothing
wrong
with me!” said Gair. “Can I close the gate, then?”

“Don't be silly,” said Adara. “Not till the milking's done.”

As she said it, the first of the ewes came scampering into the mound, bundling and bleating, with their Ondo-like ears cocked and their silly yellow eyes staring. Bleating filled the mist behind them. Out there was a mass of gray backs, sheep ears and yellow eyes, with here and there the curling horns of a ram, or the flitting shape of one of the girls. The cold of the mist struck in with the noise.

“Shut it!” said Gair. “There's still time.”

Ayna, as she always did, came through the gate after the first huddle of ewes, and stationed herself to turn them into the pens.

“
Shut the gate!
” Gair screamed at her. But Ayna could not hear him above the frantic bleating of the herd. Sheep poured into Garholt in a solid stream, like a river in flood, more and more and more. Nothing could be heard but their little feet drumming and their loud, ceaseless bleating. Ayna was swept aside. The hurdles of the pens were trampled down. And still the sheep came. Gair could see them, dimly, out in the mist, seemingly going on forever. He felt sick. There were far, far too many.

“Why are there so many?” Adara said, quite bewildered. “Even with two flocks—”

The girls in the gateway screamed. “Dorig! Help!”

The sheep running toward Adara wavered. They became misty blots, which climbed into misty columns. “Gair, I beg your pardon,” said Adara. The columns hardened and set into silver-plated tall bodies with pointed heads. They were all long, thin Dorig now, carrying round shields and bent swords. To Gair, the most horrifying thing was that their grim white faces still had yellow sheep's eyes.

Adara threw her pail at the nearest, but it clanged harmlessly on the silver scales. “Gair, get all the children out!” she screamed as the Dorig closed round her.

That was the last Gair saw of her. He turned and ran, his skin up in prickles at the cold of the shape-shifting. There was utter confusion. Gray Dorig flitted everywhere with light, gliding steps. Real sheep with Garholt and Otmound markings blundered about, mad with fear. There were screams, clangs, a queer gluey smell mixed with the smell of burning. A house was on fire. Kasta's voice was quacking, babies were crying. Gair tried to run toward the houses and find some children. If he could find just a few, he might slip out of a side gate and take them after the hunt.

But it was like a nightmare. Gair never could reach the houses. A sheep blundered across his path and melted into a pale Dorig. Gair swerved and raced away. He tried to avoid even real sheep after that. But they were everywhere, and so were Dorig. He found himself running this way, then that. He slipped in something and saw it was blood. While he was down, a Dorig came for him with great strides. Gair scrambled up, slithering, dodging as he slithered, and tried to run for hiding in the half-built houses. As he ran, he saw Fandi lying on the ground and Miri standing astride her, dealing great swipes at Dorig with a broom. There was a hard, hopeless look on Miri's face which Gair well understood. More Dorig came for him as he reached the new buildings and he was forced to swerve away. There were no children anywhere. He seemed entirely alone, running and running.

Then he was in the space by the looms, almost under his window.

“Gair! Help!”

Ceri was pattering frantically up from one side. There were three Dorig on his heels. Gair put Ceri behind him and turned to face the Dorig. He found there was a whole line of tall silvery warriors moving slowly toward them, between himself and the battle among the houses. This end of the mound was comparatively quiet. Gair heard Ayna's feet thudding as she dashed toward them in front of three more Dorig. She was so frightened that her eyes looked mad.

“Gair, I don't want to be killed!”

The Dorig stopped. “That's three with gold collars,” one said matter-of-factly. “Haven't they found the fourth yet?”

“I'll go and see,” said another. They both had an odd hissing lilt to their voices, but it was easy enough to understand what they said. Gair watched the second Dorig set off toward the houses with long gliding steps and saw that, confusing though it had seemed, he and Ayna and Ceri had been deliberately herded to this end. He did not care to think why.

“What shall we
do
?” whispered Ayna. “Oh, why didn't they ask me the right
question
?”

“My window,” said Gair. “Quick.”

They turned and ran among the looms. None of the Dorig moved.

“Come back. You can't get away,” one called after them.

“Oh can't we!” said Ayna, boosting Ceri fiercely upward.

Oddly enough, it was not until Ceri slung himself onto the sill and jumped out into the misty daylight, that the Dorig realized they were escaping. They shouted, pointed and flitted hastily after. Gair was still on the ground, waiting for Ayna's feet to climb out of the way.

“Hurry!” he said desperately.

Ayna's feet took wings. Gair grabbed a handhold and climbed as he had never climbed before, with Ayna's heels in his face the whole way. Behind him, the Dorig crashed and clattered among the looms. They seemed to understand looms as little as they understood windows. As he climbed, Gair heard more than one bad word, some strange, but most surprisingly familiar. Ayna reached the sill and jumped away into the low-lying mist. Gair swung himself up on her heels. The bees were out in some numbers, questioning, worried, feeling disaster but not sure what to do. Gair shouted to them what to do as he jumped. He rolled, staggered up and ran.