The Iron Breed (24 page)

An arch of stone arose before them, and, when they moved just under that, the whole scene ahead changed. The matted growth drew sway. Though it still formed a wall of its own, there was a far greater open space here.

In the middle of that open area was a large pool which possessed an edging of vigorous plant life. Yet over its murky waters coasted none of the winged things one would naturally find at such a spot. This scene was silent, devoid of any life save that which was ground-rooted.

Spaced around the turgid and unpleasant looking stretch of water were the Red Heads. In terms of general growth, this collection was stunted, rising hardly higher than Jony's shoulder at their tallest. Their red, bulbous tips were faded-looking, more of a sickly, yellowish shade. And many of them had lower leaves which were only rotting stubs.

Also, the blossomheads were canted at crooked angles, as if the creatures were too weakened to hold them straight. Yet a stir ran through their company as Otik and Jony drew nearer, such movement as a wind might raise when furrowing the grass on the open plain. This growth might be sickly, even dying, but the things still knew when prey approached.

Jony sprang forward. Aroused by his very loathing of the creatures, he swung his staff so the sharp fang could bite into the nearest stem. There was a dull thunk of sound as the metal sheared in. A liquid of such putrid smell as to make him gasp sprayed forth as the head of the thing fell to one side, attached now to the plant only by a thin strip of outer bark.

The plant-beasts moved so sluggishly that Jony was encouraged, leaping to attack the next in line. Had Geogee used the stunner on them? Or had some illness of their own species half-crippled the plants so that they could be so easily dealt with? He did not know; he was only thankful that these were not the virile species he had seen elsewhere.

Perhaps Otik had been fired by his example and the results Jony was getting. For the clansman stumped out in turn. His wooden staff could not sever stems as Jony's more efficient tool was doing, but he beat down upon red blossoms, which burst under his attack, stripped away leaves with the vigor of his swings.

The two crossed the plot where the plant-beasts festered, to reach the opposite side beyond the pool. Here was another stretch of stone-paved open, cutting through it a runnel of dark water which either fed or drained the pool. The smell rising from that was noxious in the extreme. Then Jony, fired by his easy victory over the enemy the People feared so, was nearly caught in a trap set by his over-confidence.

The last Red Head had been crouching in the stream, its rooted feet sucking up the moisture. If the fate of its fellows had alerted it, it had not chosen to move, either in defense or flight—then. Now, directly in Jony's path, the plant-beast straightened with a snap to full height. And this one was truly a giant among the poor wizened dwarfs of the company. Taller than Jony, its ball head displayed a deeper, glowing red, visible even through the growing dark. The boy could see that expanding bag beneath the blossom, ready to empty its cloud of blinding, stupefying pollen in his direction. Its two long upper leaves, lined with fang thorns, were already reaching confidently in his direction.

With a cry Jony leaped back as one of the leaves lashed viciously, nearly sweeping him from his feet. He crouched low, metal staff in both hands, sharp cutting edge up. If the creature released that pollen, he might have only an instant, perhaps two, before he collapsed. Then Otik would have little defense in turn.

Those leaves were reaching again; while the under, more slender growths gathered around the mouth of the pollen bag, ready to fan the discharge toward Jony. The boy would have no time, no chance to get close enough to slash at the ball head as he had when meeting the weaker growths.

His hand slid along the shaft of the staff; he raised it shoulder high, hurled it, the point of its fang aimed at the red blossom. A leaf whirred out to slap that weapon down, moving with such speed Jony's eye could hardly follow. So it deflected the staff.

But, as the weapon fell, the point ripped across the bag of pollen, cutting those areas of tension which worked to expel tire deadly burden. The lower leaves waved wildly. Some of them clutched, pulled at the opening of the bag. But that had shrunk back and was closed so that the beating of the growth about it brought no responsive scattering of lethal pollen.

Jony retreated step by step, still facing the thing. One of the spiked leaves had closed loosely about the staff. The plant-beast might be trying to raise the metal length, thrust it back upon its owner with a deadly purpose. Only the fibers and leaf surface could not contract tightly enough, so that the staff slipped out of its hold, clanged on the stone, and then rolled.

It still lay too close to those raking leaves for him to hope to retrieve it, Jony decided. He dared not risk such a try. So he began to move left. The plant-beast turned to match him as it struggled out of the water runnel. If its roots got a good purchase on the ground, Jony would have no chance at all. However, those fibers slid over the smoothness of the stone as if unable to find any stable grip. The whole creature rocked unsteadily from side to side like a storm-struck tree, as it strove to rush him. Awkward or not, the Red Head lost none of its threat that Jony knew. He was forced to slip and dodge, in evasion, never relaxing his watch upon its deceptively clumsy movements. The smaller lower leaves worked vigorously at the limp pollen bag, squeezing around that appendage. Manifestly the thing was still trying to release its deadly cloud by such pressure. The fanged upper leaves darted and lashed, until it required all of Jony's strength and speed to keep beyond its reach.

He retreated while the plant-beast followed, unable to spare a single instant of inattention to locate Otik who might now have a chance to reach the metal staff lying on the pavement. Jony had only one hope, that the clansman could take up that weapon and use it in place of his less efficient one.

Back! That time an edge of leaf raked Jony's arm, slashing the material of the ship suit as clean as if cut by a blade, leaving a smarting, shallow, blood-drawn line on his skin. Two of the roots writhed, began to uncoil from their normal tangle. Both crept out toward him; he could be tripped . . . Once down, he would be a helpless victim. Even if Otik moved in then, Jony would be already dead, caught between the fanged leaves, his body impaled on their armor to feed the hunger of this night-walking horror.

He dodged, skidded, caught his balance again just in time. As Jony gasped for breath, his whole body chill with fear, he saw a flash, brilliant in what light remained. Otik had the metal staff at last; the clansman swung it with all the force of his huge, strongly muscled arms.

Its sharp edge bit home just under the ball head, slashed on—not as easily as it had severed the stalk of the smaller creature, but with force enough to cut clean across. The blossom ball tumbled free, to be caught by a wildly flailing toothed leaf, which closed instantly, crushing it completely. Still the creature continued to totter on ahead; but Jony, keeping out of its path, no longer drew it after him. Rather it smashed straight on until its writhing roots tangled with each other and it fell forward.

There prone, it rolled back and forth on the ground. A paw-hand closed on Jony's arm tearing the ripped sleeve yet farther, jerking him back with a mighty heave as a puff of thick, dusty-looking vapor rose from the struggling creature. At last the pollen was loosed. Only there was no concentrated effort to wave it toward the prey, so the dust settled back quickly over the still heaving body.

They made a wide detour around the thing, allowing all the room they could to the lashing upper leaves, the snapping curl and uncurl of the roots. Otik shambled along at the fastest pace one of the People could achieve. Jony wanted to sprint ahead, but he could not desert the other.

Once across the paved space they came to another opening which gave onto a smaller, stone-laid walk place lined with structures on either side. Otik paused there, once more sniffing. He was again fully intent on their search with the single-minded stolidity of his kind.

Once away from the dying plant-beast, he had handed the metal staff back to Jony, who took opportunity, offered during their pause, to tear loose the rest of the sleeve of his garment, with that wiping all he could of the evil smelling stains from the fang edge. Hurling the rag as far as he could from him, he was ready to go on. He felt almost weak with sheer relief.

It was then that the quiet of the early evening was broken by a cry which brought him out of his concern with the battle.

“Maba!” Though Jony had not tried mind-search since they had encountered the Red Heads he recognized that voice with his inner sense as well as his ear.

“Maba!” He called once, then knew the folly of that. He must not alert any danger which faced the girl, give knowledge that help was on the way. But he did know she was along this way, within one of the side dens. Jony began to run, not waiting to see if Otik would follow.

Before he reached the right opening Maba cried out again. There was such terror in that scream Jony picked up a stab of her fear. Something—someone—threatened her. But where was Geogee with the stunner? Surely . . .

Here was the hole which led to Maba. Jony slowed his pace sharply, trying to creep in without noise. The alien coverings on his feet prevented such a soundless advance. He wished he had had time to shed this hated garment.

The space within was very dark, with only lighter spots to show the wall openings. Jony must use his eyes as well as he could, but he could employ the talent too.

As he had shared Rutee's pain in the long ago, now he knew the full force of Maba's terror. And he could not get any idea of what menaced her from the disjointed thoughts marred by her strong emotion.

He listened. Though there was no sound in the outer part of this den, from beyond came a broken whimpering. Maba! Only—he could pick up no other life trace, not even that blocked-out deadness which marked Geogee while wearing the helmet. Maba—alone . . . ?

Jony did not take the straight path from the outer opening to the other large one he could see ahead. Instead he chose to slip along the wall. He dared not give full concentration to touch with Maba, only keep an outer alert to prevent sudden attack.

Now! His hand was on the side of that other opening. The dark inside seemed to whirl about oddly, as if the air therein was full of black particles in constant motion. Jony lifted the staff, thrusting it tentatively through the opening. He waited a long moment, his imagination painting for him an only half-visible lurker, something which could close upon any who entered even as the fanged leaves of the plant-beast had tried to do.

But in his slow sweep the cutting part of the staff moved freely enough. Jony slipped through quickly, got his back to a solid wall, held his weapon at ready. A scream sent him into a half-crouch, so sure of some attacker that he could almost see one existing as part of the dark itself.

“No!” Maba cried out from the other corner of the room.

“Please, Geogee, don't leave me. Geogee . . . ?” There was a broken pleading in her voice which tore at Jony.

“Maba . . .” he called softly. Her mind was such a whirlpool of frantic panic he could not get through to her. “Maba!” He dared only try to reach her by voice alone.

She did not call again, but he could hear a harsh breathing which was more like half-strangled sobs.

Jony moved away from the wall. He was sure now that only fear itself filled this darkness. Slowly he approached the corner in which he could very faintly see a huddled body.

She cried out again. “No—go away!”

“Maba,” he tried to make a soothing call of her own name. “This is Jony.”

Her ragged breathing continued. Then—

“Jony?”

That he had gotten that much of an intelligent response from her was promising. He went to his knees, felt out in the dark, his hand finding and moving along her shuddering body. There was something abnormal about the way she lay. Had she been injured, maybe by one of the plant-beasts? But where was Geogee?

Moving slowly, gently, mainly by touch, Jony gathered her up into his arms. Her skin felt chill and her shivering did not ease. He must get her out of here into some kind of light so he could see her hurts, whatever those might be.

She did not move of her own accord, but her breathing seemed less labored.

“I hoped, Jony. I did hope so you would come,” she said brokenly. “I knew that maybe you couldn't. Because Geogee did that to you. But I just kept on hoping that somehow you would.”

He cradled her close against him and strode for the door.

“Where is Geogee?” he asked.

Her shivering was worse. And her voice was very low when she answered: “He—he just went away.”

SEVENTEEN

Out in the open, even though they were still surrounded by the stone dens, Jony drew a deep breath of relief. Maba's head rested heavily against his shoulder, as if she had no control over her muscles. In his arms her weight was flaccid. Geogee must have used the stunner on her!

But, as he went, Jony could feel the fear draining from her. That was the poison which had tormented her as she lay in the strange darkness. As he reached the open Otik was waiting, his large eyes surveying the girl. The clansman signed: “She was struck by the evil . . .”

Jony nodded assent.

Nostrils widened as Otik turned toward the den in which Jony had found her. “There is none else here.”

Again Jony agreed. Even in this dim light he could see Maba's eyes were open. She watched him. Now tears gathered to brim over, run down her cheeks.

“Jony,” her voice was hardly above a whisper, she might have exhausted all its power during her own ordeal by terror, her screams through the night, “Geogee—he used the stunner, on
me.
Then he went off . . .”

“Why?” Jony made his question blunt, hoping thus to get a sensible answer out of her quickly.

“He said I was helping the People. He—Jony, he's all changed in his head somehow.” Her words were choked now with the same sobs which made her body quiver in his hold. “He—he hates the People because he thinks they have done something to Volney. Volney means more to him than I do . . . and you . . . and Yaa, and Voak, and all of us! Why, Jony?”