Through the Ice (2 page)

No! Seth realized with horror that the punker he had just downed was no male. It was the girl at the party—the one whose beer he had knocked over. She was in a heavy jacket now, and had a cap on; in the dusk he had not recognized her. No wonder her pass with the knife had been clumsy!

Still, she
had
attacked, and
had
kicked Rian. But not quite accurately; Rian was now fighting back with the two who had held his arms, and was making an increasingly good account of himself.

So at the moment two punkers were down: one from Rian's bat, the other from Seth's kick. Two were battling Rian. The remaining six were circling Seth, having recognized him as the more dangerous opponent. All of these were male; apparently the girl had come along because she liked this kind of action, or wanted to prove herself in some way. Seth still wished he hadn't kicked her.

The first of the six charged him. Seth brought his foot up in an arc and delivered a crescent kick to the side of the punker's face. Then he spun in air and scored on a second with a flying reverse kick. The punkers had made the mistake of depending on numbers and weapons; they were relatively clumsy, and almost helpless against truly fast, trained strikes. Still, this was a long way from over!

"Aaaaah!"

Seth spun around and saw one of the attackers thrust a knife into Rian's hip. Blood welled out, and Rian staggered.

Seth stood in shock. Somehow he had still had the notion that it was possible to get through this without serious injury, though all the indications had been against it. It was that spark of faith he nurtured, the faith that no man was truly evil and that there was always a way to come through a problem. He kept wanting to see some redeeming thing about the punkers, even as he fought them. As if at some point they would stop and say "Hey, it's been a good fight, you scored some points, let's quit now and go back to the party." Sportsmanship. Now the obvious had registered: that there was no sportsmanship here, only blind malevolence. The punkers had been primed for a fight, and had grabbed at the first pretext that offered. The beer had hardly mattered.

There was a high-pitched noise. Suddenly he felt the whip of a cold steel chain slashing across his face. He could hardly see, for the blood was flowing into his eyes. Yet again, he had hesitated, he had paused, letting his mind play with concepts. That had let them take the initiative, and thrown away whatever remaining chance he had had.

Blindly, Seth ran, not caring where he went. He heard their shouts and laughter.

Laughter? How could they laugh? They thought this horror was funny? No, of course not. There was no humor here, only derision. They liked scoring, however brutally or unfairly, and they liked seeing their prey hurting, fleeing. It made them feel like big men.

Seth was not a coward, yet he continued to run, not knowing what else to do. Had he been a real fighting machine he would have struck out at the punkers the moment they were distracted by Rian's scream, and reduced the odds. But his heart just wasn't in combat, no matter how good at it he was, and that had made him the victim instead of the victor. Attitude—that was his great weakness. His sensei, the instructor, had told him that, and it was true. "You could be a champ, but you think too much!" All too accurate.

He thought of Rian, surrounded, wounded, left there to face the punkers alone. Still he kept running. What was the matter with him? This wasn't like him! It was as if someone else had taken over his body.

He slowed, stumbling in the darkness. He had to help his friend! He couldn't let himself be panicked, no matter how bad it was. He turned.

A burning blast of heat stung his entire body. What had happened? Had they fired a gun at him? It felt like a flamethrower!

No, it was cold snow! He had brushed by a tree and gotten a load of snow on him, and the cold had seemed hot. He staggered to the side, shaking it off. Now he had stumbled onto ice. He tried to get off it, but somehow got turned around and only got onto more of it.

He used some snow to wipe the blood from his eyes, though it was still flowing. He looked about.

It was now dark, but he saw by the moonlight that there were no trees around him. He had staggered quite a way beyond the one that had dumped snow on him. Where was Rian? Where were the punkers? The silence bothered him more than the commotion had.

He was standing on a lake. Normally that would not matter, in December, for it would be frozen solid. However, it had been a warm winter, thus far, and the lakes had only recently begun to freeze. Maybe the ice was sound, but more likely it wasn't.

Were the punkers watching to see how far out he would stagger before catching on? That would be another fine cruel joke!

He faced the near shore. Cautiously he took a step forward.

Crack!

I don't like this!
he thought. If he hadn't panicked, hadn't been blinded by pain and blood, he never would have blundered out here! Still, if he trod softly—

He took another step. There was another crack. No, he didn't like this at all! Ice was treacherous stuff; it could support a person until he changed his mind, then give way. He had to get off this quickly, but didn't dare make a heavy-footed move.

He took a third step—and the ice gave way completely. Seth screamed as the freezing water shocked his body. His head went under, choking him off, suffocating him. He tried to swim up, but already the cold was numbing his limbs and the water made his clothing awkward; he couldn't move freely or efficiently.

Then his head struck the ice—and he realized that he had drifted under the unbroken section. That ice, too weak to support the weight of his body from above, was too strong to let him break through from below. He was in worse trouble yet!

He struggled, but knew he was getting nowhere. The horrible cold and darkness closed in, and his lungs felt as if they were about to burst. Air! Air! There was none.

He knew he had only seconds remaining before it was all over. He had gone through the ice, and if he didn't get back immediately, he would drown. All for half a can of spilled beer!

Yet somehow, now, he lost the urge to struggle. He let the air bubble slowly out of his mouth, and felt himself sinking. An odd tingling feeling intruded on his awareness, and his vision blurred. It was actually becoming comfortable, even pleasant.

Then he thought of his mother, and his ten-year-old sister Ferne with her long brown hair tinged with red and gold natural highlights, and how hurt they would be if he didn't come home.
NO!
he screamed in his mind.

But something was causing his body to spin down, deeper into the water. He made one last effort to fight back, to stroke to the open surface, but to no avail. His body simply would not respond. His family had lost his father; now it was losing him too.

Then, with one last choke, he lost consciousness. He knew he was drowning. He wondered whether Death would appear with a long scythe.

Seth was acutely aware of the hot sun beating down on him. No wonder—he was in his heavy winter clothes! But it didn't feel like winter here!

Lifting a hand to his face, he felt a long stinging gash. He did not remember being hit. This wasn't from the chain. The ice must have cut him when he fell through, he thought. Through the ice.

Ice? Lying on his side, he opened his eyes. A pearly white beach stretched out under him, as far as he could see. The sand led up to a brilliantly blue ocean, with small rippling waves. This certainly wasn't home!

He sat up and looked the other way. About fifteen feet behind him was a tremendously thick jungle. Although Seth was no botanist, nothing looked remotely like a Michigan landscape. It was, if anything, more like a tropical rain forest.

He looked more closely at the trees. Their bark was not brown. A good number of the trunks were blue, green or white. There was also a peculiar yellow tree which appeared to have no bark at all, and was somewhat disturbing to look at. Most of the leaves were larger than what he was accustomed to seeing. Not quite green, they were almost emerald, with veins of incandescent pink and violet. The overall effect was dazzling.

Where was he? He had just died, so maybe—

"Heaven?" he asked aloud.

"No."

Startled, Seth jumped to his feet. That was not a good idea. Not only was his head hurting, his legs were asleep, and he fell down onto his side, feeling ridiculous. He stretched his legs and flexed them, getting the circulation restored. Then, slowly, he stood up again.

He saw nothing. Had he suffered an auditory hallucination? An imagined voice? That would be no less likely than his presence on this warm beach, after sinking into a freezing cold lake.

"Who is that?" he asked, nervous not so much about his surroundings, as about the state of his sanity.

"Me."

That had definitely been a voice! Seth looked around, and decided that it had come from behind the yellow tree. He walked up and put his hand on the trunk.

What had appeared to be yellow bark felt more like leathery yellow skin. "Hands off!"

Startled, Seth jumped back. The voice was not from behind the tree, it was from the tree itself! He tripped over his feet, almost fainting with the astonishing realization. A talking tree?

"You're going to hurt yourself!" laughed the patronizing voice.

Well, the laughter wasn't cruel. It was better than chains and knives! "What are you?"

"I am a tree, you twit!"

Ask a silly question! Seth tried again. "Who are you?"

"I am Sen-Tree, a direct descendant of the once-powerful Guard-Trees."

Was this a joke? Then who was playing it, and how? Joke or not, this was better than drowning!

"Where am I?" Seth asked. He was almost unable to formulate complete thoughts, much less compound sentences.

"You are on Earth Plane 4, twenty kilometers from the border of the Teuton Empire," replied Sen-Tree.

Seth mulled this over and decided that he must indeed have gone crazy. "How long have I been lying on the shore?"

"A very short time. Two or three days, perhaps."

"Two days! You consider that a short time?"

"I am a tree," the tree said. "I have lived for 379 years, 6 months, and 22 days. It is possible for me to live another 400 years. Thus two or three days is a short period of time. It is all a matter of perspective. You have a problem with that?"

The tree sounded offended. Some of its branches were trembling, and there was no wind. Seth realized that it was time to stop being so concerned about his own situation, and to start tuning into what he was finding here.

"I apologize if I offended you," he said quietly. "It is simply that I am a stranger here, and do not know your ways."

"If you are here, then you are here for a reason," the tree said. "However, if you wish to leave, then you might talk to the Emperor."

He might be crazy to talk to a tree, Seth thought; but crazy or not, he thought it imperative to talk to another human being. If this tree helped him find a man, it was worth it. "Would you be so kind as to tell me how to find him?"

"If you step behind my trunk," the tree said, "you will notice a path which leads to Teutonia. That is where the Emperor resides."

Seth did as he was told. Indeed, there was a path. "Thank you!" he exclaimed.

The tree did not answer him. It was already busy yelling at an amused bird who had landed provocatively on a branch.

Seth set off down the path. A tune was running through his head, and in a moment he identified it: "We're off to see the Wizard, the Wonderful Wizard of Oz!" But this wasn't Oz, or Kansas, or Michigan. This was Earth Plane 4, whatever that was. If he could believe the talking tree. If he could believe in his sanity.

Then he became uncomfortably aware of the sharp pang of hunger deep in his belly. If the tree was correct, he had not eaten in two or three days. His amazement at his situation, and the talking tree, had distracted him from his internal condition, but now it was not to be denied. This was no joking matter!

He looked at the trees beside the path. He spotted what appeared to be a fruit tree with a green trunk and blue leaves. He approached it with caution. The fruit looked good, if he tuned out the color, but it was unfamiliar. How could he know whether it was safe to eat?

Well, maybe this was another talking tree, and maybe it would tell him. It was certainly worth a try.

"Mr. Tree," Seth called, feeling foolish, but not as foolish as he knew he would be to pass up edible fruit while so hungry. "Mr. Tree, is your fruit good? May I take some to eat?"

There was no reply. Seth was relieved. If the tree had talked, it would probably have been as irate as the other one. How could he have been sure whether it would tell the truth about its fruit? It might say it was poisonous when it wasn't, or, worse, say it was good, in an effort to destroy the intruder. It was better to use his own judgment.

He picked a fruit about the size of an apple. Its color, however, was white. It seemed to be ripe, and it smelled like a peach. But, being experienced in outdoor living, Seth did not take a large bite. Mushrooms weren't the only things that could be deceptive! He sucked on a small piece, resting beside the trunk. It tasted much like strawberry, and he found it very satisfying when he closed his eyes so as not to see how clearly it was something else.

After waiting a while and suffering no ill effects, he ate a larger portion. He waited again. This was tedious, but better than taking an unnecessary risk. Again, he suffered no ill effects. Unless this was something like red squill, the stuff used to poison rats without making them sick immediately, this pseudo-apple-peach-strawberry would do.

He ate with greater abandon, but did not stuff himself. Even non-poisonous food could be troublesome, if too much was eaten on a long-empty stomach. Then he made a knapsack out of his un-needed winter jacket, and packed more of the fruit. This should solve his food problem for the next day or so, and by then he hoped to have found something else to eat. This really did not seem to be an inhospitable region, just strange. Quite strange!