He stood there arrogantly, taller than most
other males, if less robust of body. His quick, dominant mind
blazed through his eyes. At that moment D’Eyree in a flash of
intuition knew what made him a threat to her and all her kind.
D’Fani had part of the power, not as the wearers had it, but
enough so he resented that he had not the right to the Eyes.
Because he lacked them he was her enemy.
D’Fani was no warrior either. He was inept with any weapon
save his tongue and his mind. But those he had sharpened to his use
so that he had gained ascendancy over others with greater strength.
In their world he had carved a place, now he aspired to a greater
one.
In this moment of their eyes’ meeting, D’Eyree knew
this. Now she not only feared for herself, and vaguely for Nornoch;
she feared for a way of life that D’Fani would destroy so
that he might rule.
“You are sworn to defend the Lurla,” he repeated
when she made no answer. “Is that not so, Eye Wearer?”
There was in him that same strain of cruel maliciousness which
D’Atey showed, save that here it was a hundred times the
worse.
“I am sworn so,” D’Eyree answered steadily.
“I am also sworn to the way of D’Gan.” Her future
might be forfeit now. She had feared such a meeting, yet at this
moment she drew upon some inner strength she had not known she
possessed.
“If the Lurla die, then where do the precepts of a man
already long dead lead us?” He had assumed the mask of
someone being reasonable with a child or one of little
understanding. But D’Fani classed all females as such.
To argue with him was folly; she could make no impression, that
she knew. And that he would force a trial on her was probable.
Would any of the other wearers support her? She thought that she
dared not count on that, not after this exchange with D’Huna.
It would seem she had dragged disaster upon herself by this
impulsive visit here. But, that being so, she must waste no time in
regrets but turn her whole mind to the struggle D’Fani would
make her face. As much time as she had—
Time? Something dim, a wisp of memory stirred deep in her
mind—a strange memory she did not understand. Time was
important, not only to her but to someone else— Just as in
that flash D’Fani’s motives had been clear for her to
read, so now did she have an instant of otherness—a sensation
of being another person. It was frightening, and her hands went to
her forehead, to press above the Eyes.
What had she seen, felt, in that moment of disorientation? It
was gone, yet it left behind a residue of feeling, or urgency that
she must accomplish some necessary act. With the techniques of a
wearer she willed that away. Only D’Fani was important
now.
“Do those weigh heavily upon you, Wearer?” he
demanded. “There is a remedy. Put them off. Or would you have
them taken from you for failure, after proof before the people that
the Lurla will no longer answer you?”
“There can be no such proof!” She held her head
high. That teasing memory-which-was-not-true was gone. “Who
are you to presume to judge a wearer’s fitness?”
She was reckless, excited, as if she were forced to challenge
him so that no more time would be wasted. And her words reacted on
him as one of the mind-thrusts did upon a Lurla. He did not visibly
twist under it, but the color of his scaled flesh deepened.
“There is one way to judge a wearer—a trial. And
since D’Huna has relinquished her Eyes, there is already one
arranged. It would seem you will have a part in it also.”
Did he expect her to beg off? If so he would be disappointed.
Half-consciously she had known this would be the end. Her voice was
still even and controlled as she answered:
“So be it, then.”
Whatever mission had brought him to D’Huna’s
quarters seemed forgotten as, with a gloating look at
D’Eyree, he left. When he was gone D’Eyree turned to
the other woman.
“You gave him an open door when you put aside the
Eyes.”
“And you gave him another,” D’Huna replied.
“I was obeying the law when I could no longer control the
Lurla. If you do no better, then the longer you hold the Eyes, the
more you are at fault.”
“And if D’Fani sweeps the council and the people
with him back to the old dark ways? Do you not remember the
Chronicles of the Wearers—who were the first to be subjected
to the Feeding? Are you martyr enough to ask for that? How much
better can D’Fani make plain his power than by such a
spectacle?”
“We vowed when we put on the Eyes to abide by the
law—”
D’Eyree flung out one hang in an impatient gesture.
“Do not quote law to me—not when it means the Feeding!
Not when it serves D’Fani to climb to the rulership of
Nornoch! Though do not fear—if he has his will I
shall furnish the banquet—not you.”
She turned her back on the other; any more words between them
would give D’Fani weapons to use against her. And she was not
what she had accused D’Huna of being, a willing martyr.
Back she went to her own tower, trying to think, to control
those fears D’Fani brought to her mind. But it was when she
looked from the sea-window that she was shocked out of her
preoccupation. There were the signs she had been trained to
read—another storm was on the way.
For one to follow so quickly upon the last was unnatural. And
the Lurla were tired; they should have rest and the nourishment of
their specially grown food. Also—D’Huna’s section
of the wall now had no warden.
The Lurla— D’Eyree used the Eyes to look into their
burrows. They lay flaccid, thick rolls of boneless flesh, upon the
flooring. There was not even a twitching. She tried a thought
probe. One—two—raised their fore-ends a little. The
rest lay supine, inert. And they did not have that bloated look of
afterfeeding.
For the first time D’Eyree did then what it was against
all custom to do. She allowed her thought-sight to invade the Lurla
pens of the other wearers. In each she noted those which seemed
well fed, but there were a far greater number who were not. and
some of those in the other pens were moving restlessly, angrily. If
this were reported—more fuel for D’Fani!
Her weather-wise eyes told her there was perhaps a day before
the storm gathered to full strength. Long enough for D’Fani
to strike. There was nothing she could do—or was there?
The Lurla fed on cultures blended by a time-tested formula
devised by D’Gan. But before that— She used the Eyes
again in a manner she had never tried before, not certain whether
they could so serve her, not to watch, to encourage the
Lurla—but rather to trace through the walls and the rock of
this island certain ancient channels she knew of only by tradition.
And to her relief she found she could do this.
Heartened by her first success, D’Eyree explored farther
and farther, concentrating on those hidden ways so they also formed
pictures in her mind. At last she found the outer gate, and it did
give into the sea, well under the surface waves. Now—
D’Eyree gathered her power. There was plenty of life force
in the water, though she could not distinguish the separate forms
which emitted it, only the impact of the life itself. She began to
use thought even as she used it to send the Lurla to labor. But
this time she strove to entice, to draw it after her as a fisherman
pulls a loaded net.
She played, angled, worked with concentration. In hardly daring
to believe that she was succeeding, D’Eyree retraced those
long forgotten and unused inner tunnels, bringing the life down
them, and so into those pools where the culture for feeding was
kept. Three times she made the awesome journey from the sea to the
pool by which the Lurla sprawled inertly.
How much life she had so snared she could not tell, save that
the vigorous force of it registered. Now D’Eyree turned her
attention to one of the unfed Lurla—that nearest to the pool.
As she would urge it to work during the storm, she used her talent
as a lash to push it toward the pool. It moved weakly, as if so far
spent that the least effort exhausted it, but it did move.
Then—
It had reached the pool side. There was a quiver of interest, of
awakening. A moment or so later she knew that the first part of her
experiment was working. The Lurla was aroused to feed, and it was
absorbing the life force.
Not only that but the radiation of its satisfaction was reaching
its fellows. They were beginning to crawl toward the pool, to share
the feast. Exhausted, she threw herself on the soft carpet,
sundering contact with the Lurla in order to strengthen her
control. If the Lurla fed well and throve on the bounty of the sea,
then D’Fani would be answered and would not dare propose the
Feeding. They need only activate the old food tunnels. Of course,
in time they would face the same problem which D’Gan’s
generation had known before them: the inability to continue to feed
the Lurla with natural food in quantity enough to build up their
strength, especially after great storms had driven the sea dwellers
into the depths. But a breathing space in which to defeat
D’Fani’s immediate plan was all she wanted now.
Time—
Again she was shaken by an uncurling of strange memory.
Something far buried in her clamored for expression. D’Eyree
sat up, drawing her bent knees close to her breast, her arms about
them, huddling in upon herself as she battled with that part of her
mind that seemed to be an invader. There was no time— Why did
that haunt her so? Yet she would not explore behind that thought;
she was afraid to do so with a fear as deadly as her distrust of
D’Fani.
A sound—it echoed, vibrated through the walls of the
tower—through her body.
The Voice! It had never been heard in her lifetime, but there
was no mistaking it for anything else. D’Fani had in so much
backed his boasts—the Voice was speaking.
No words, just the rhythm of its beat. But that entered into
one’s body, one’s mind! D’Eyree cried out. For
the vibration centered in the Eyes, and they caused such a blaze of
pain that she rolled across the floor, now whimpering in gasps of
agony, clawing at the band that held the source of torture against
her skull.
Somehow she got it loose, dragged it off. Then she lay panting,
the relief so great she could only grasp that the pain was gone.
Still the beat of the Voice shook her bone and flesh, and somehow
its meaning was clear in her mind.
As she had drawn that life force in the sea to feed the Lurla,
just so was she being drawn. Yet something within her, some hard
core which was herself, D’Eyree, was still firm against that
pull. And random thoughts drew together.
In all the tales of the Voice she had never heard of this
effect. This was something different—wrong. The Voice was a
warning, a defense for the people. It did not beat down the mind,
control one. What had D’Fani done to unleash this?
Wrong, all wrong! The realization of that was strong inside her.
This was a tampering, an assault— Still, even as she thought
that she was crawling against her will on hands and knees toward
the door in answer to the summons of that unending sound.
No, she would not answer the Voice—this Voice that was
D’Fani’s weapon. D’Eyree fought against the
compulsion until she lay writhing on the floor. The band of the
Eyes was about one arm like a giant’s bracelet that did not
fit, now she brought it to her. The Eyes were braziers filled with
blue-green fire, as she had never seen them before. To loose the
compulsion—could she touch them, then focus her power on
breaking the call of the Voice?
The pain—could she stand it? With courage she did not know
she had, D’Eyree laid her hands across the Eyes. Pain, yes,
but not so intense, not so concentrated as when she wore them.
She could stand this, and the very hurt helped to break the drag
of the Voice. If she went, and she believed she must see what was
happening, then she would be armed by having her own will back.
She took the way from the tower inward to the heart of Nornoch.
People moved along it with her. But none spoke to the others;
rather they stared straight ahead in such concentration as she
herself knew when she worked with the Lurla.
So they came to the heart of Nornoch, that tallest spur of rock
which had never been leveled, on which was hung the Voice in its
cage. And on the ledge beneath it was D’Fani. His entire head
was encased in a transparent arg shell of vast size. And below him
were D’Atey and others, similarly shielded against the sound
of the Voice.
But the people stood swaying in time to the beat of that sound
from above. And their faces were blank, without expression. Closer
and closer they moved to the foot of that spur, packed tightly now,
yet those on the fringe still pushed as if it were imperative that
they reach the Voice itself.
D’Eyree halted where she saw, keeping her hold on reality
with her grip on the Eyes. But she saw faces she knew in that
throng. Not only D’Huna, who had divested herself of her
eyes, but the other wearers, and none wore their bands of
office.
She looked from them to D’Fani above. There was a vast
exultation on his face as his head turned slowly from side to side.
He might be numbering those gathered below, taking pleasure in
their subordination to the device.
D’Eyree moved back, but she was too late. He saw her and
at the same instant was aware that the spell of the Voice did not
hold her in thrall. Leaning forward, he caught at the shoulder of
one of the helmeted guards below him, pointing with his other hand
to D’Eyree.
As the guard raised a distance harpoon, D’Eyree turned and
ran. Where could she go? Back to her tower? But they could easily
corner her there. She found one of the sharply set stairs and
scrambled up it, knowing she fled from death.
That the Voice controlled Nornoch there was no doubt. What did
it matter now that she had learned how easily the Lurla could be
fed? She would never have any chance to tell what she had learned,
save to ears rendered already deaf to any words of hers.
Gasping, she reached the roof of the wall, ran along it. Now the
sky was dark; she saw lightning split the clouds over the
island’s crown. It was as if the booming of the Voice had
drawn the storm faster.
The Lurla—they must be alerted, sent to their posts! But
if she were hunted, if the other wearers had laid aside their
Eyes—
If she could find a hiding place then she could try to do her
duty. The tower ahead was D’Huna’s—her own was a
turn of the wall away. She looked back once and saw the first guard
come into the open.
Around the tower, on the outer edge—resolutely she kept
her eyes from the rocks so far below. She had pushed the Eye band
to her shoulder for safekeeping so she could use her two hands to
steady her. Step, step, do not think of the pursuers, keep her mind
on making this perilous advance.
Again a flatter surface, which looked as wide and open as a road
after that narrow detour. She flashed along it as the winds from
the sea grew stronger. If the gale became worse she dared not try
that outer passage at the other towers too often. The gusts could
pluck her forth and dash her to her death below.
Even through the murk of the storm she could see her goal,
though whether she had the courage and strength to reach it she did
not know. A lesser spur of the rock, like that which supported the
Voice, yet not so tall, was within leaping distance from the top of
the wall at that point. As she well knew, that had a crevice
halfway down its surface on the sea side wherein she could
hide.
She reached the take-off point, measured the distance. If she
faltered now she could never again summon up the needed spurt to
make it. Recklessly she leaped for the spur, landing hard with a
force that bruised her badly. But enough need for self preservation
was left to make her crawl down into the break, wedging her body in
as soon as she could force entrance.
The smell of the sea arose from below, but she was perched in a
cramped space. The winds and waves were beginning their assault.
She put on the Eye band, concentrated on the Lurla.
They—they were already at work! And at such a pace as her
own prodding could never have won from them. Then this must be the
effect of the Voice! No wonder D’Fani had felt safe, had
allowed the wearers to be without their Eyes.
But—her mental picture steadied. The Lurla were working,
yes, but without proper direction. They spun their congealing
exudation along the walls, but also on the floors. And they were
spinning too fast. Even as she contacted them, one went utterly
limp and fell to the floor where another crawled unheedingly over
it, encasing it with the hardening substance.
Frantically D’Eyree tried to slow them, give them
direction as she had always done. To no avail. Whatever influence
the Eyes had once had was gone, wiped out by the Voice.
D’Fani was killing the Lurla, and there was nothing she could
do—
D’Eyree was startled out of her concentration as something
clanged against the rock near her head clattered down past her
perch. A harpoon— She looked up, caught a glimpse of a guard
taking fresh aim with another weapon. Cringing, she tried to make
herself smaller.
But before the shot came, she heard a hoarse cry from above.
Then, past the outer edge of the cleft in which she sheltered, a
body plunged out and down. The force of the wind, or some misstep,
had torn the guard from his post.
Before a second gained the same advantage she must be on the
move, though she had to force herself to leave that illusion of
safety to descend farther. So going she passed another hole, but it
was too small to hold her. Three quarters of the way down she found
what she sought, pulling herself into a deeper opening. She was
certain now that she could not be sighted from overhead. That she
could retreat any farther was impossible, as the sea was there,
washing with vicious slaps among the rocks.
Once more she sought the Lurla. And her visual impression was so
frightening that she was shocked. The expenditure of the sealing
exudation was unbelievable. It ran in streams on the floor,
dripping, before it could solidify, from the walls. In fact it now
appeared to have some quality that kept it from that instant
hardening which had been their aid.
Through the spur of rock that sheltered her she could still feel
the beat of the Voice, though most of the sound was now deadened by
the sea. Was it that which worked upon the Lurla? And did
D’Fani know—or care?
Duty urged her to climb again, to cry out to the people what was
happening. But it would be to deaf ears, and she would doubtless be
killed long before she reached any point from which they could hear
her. She sat with the Eye band between her hands and tried to
think.
The Eyes—the wearers were sensitive to the Eyes. If she
could reach the mind of one of them, or more than one, with her
warning—even though they had taken off their bands. She could
only try. Earlier she had traced the old ways of communication with
the sea, an exploit she had never thought to try before. Why not
attempt this other thing? If she put all her strength to
it—
She slipped the band from her arm, and as she did so it rapped
sharply against the rock. To her horror one of the Eyes loosened,
dropped. Before she could grab it, it rolled into a crevice and was
gone. Only one left. But she could try, even though any power she
might call upon was now halved.
D’Eyree concentrated as she never had before in her whole
life, closing her eyes to better summon to mind the faces of the
wearers. But she could not hold more than three at a time. Very
well then—three— And to them, as if she stood before
them, she cried aloud her warning, over and over, with no way of
knowing either success or failure. At last she tired, tired so that
she could not hold those faces in mind. Wearily she opened her
eyes—upon darkness!
The storm— The sound of the sea was only a faint murmur.
But she was in the dark! She put forth her hand and felt a wet,
slimy surface.
Frantic, D’Eyree beat upon that surface. At first it
seemed to her that it gave a little, but that was only illusion. As
she ran her fingers across it, she realized the truth; she was
walled in. And the smell of the stuff was fetid. It was Lurla
slime. That hole past which she had descended must have direct
connection with the wall burrows, and some of that overflow had
cascaded through it to cover her refuge’s entrance. She was
eternally trapped!
The horror of it made her sick. With the band at her breast she
rocked back and forth, crying aloud. Entombed—alive—no
escape— This was death—death—
Not death—not death—that stranger in her mind was
awakening, taking over. Out—get out—not death—get
out! But it was not D’Eyree who thought so—it
was—
The clamor of the sea—she could breathe—she was out!
And in her hands—
Ziantha sat up dazedly looking down at what she held. In one
hand was the focus-stone, in the other a circle of shining metal
with two settings in it—one held the twin to the stone, the
other was empty! D’Eyree’s Eyes!
But how—she looked along her body, half expecting to see
the scaled skin, the alien form. No, she was in Vintra’s
body. And she—somehow she had not only found the twin stone,
but had apported it from the past. But how long had she been in
Nornoch? Turan—was he dead?
Lurching to her feet, she started back to the flyer. The sun was
no longer high—instead it was nearly setting, sending a
brilliant path across the waves. And the island was a dark and
awesome blot. Ziantha shuddered away from the memory of those last
moments before she had been able to tear away from D’Eyree.
Never could she face that again. She must have won her freedom the
very moment that the other had died. And if she had not—
Turan!
She tore open the cabin door to look within. He lay in his seat,
his eyes closed. He looked dead.
“Turan!” She caught him by the shoulders, exerted
her strength to draw him up, to make him open his eyes and see
her.
He stood there arrogantly, taller than most
other males, if less robust of body. His quick, dominant mind
blazed through his eyes. At that moment D’Eyree in a flash of
intuition knew what made him a threat to her and all her kind.
D’Fani had part of the power, not as the wearers had it, but
enough so he resented that he had not the right to the Eyes.
Because he lacked them he was her enemy.
D’Fani was no warrior either. He was inept with any weapon
save his tongue and his mind. But those he had sharpened to his use
so that he had gained ascendancy over others with greater strength.
In their world he had carved a place, now he aspired to a greater
one.
In this moment of their eyes’ meeting, D’Eyree knew
this. Now she not only feared for herself, and vaguely for Nornoch;
she feared for a way of life that D’Fani would destroy so
that he might rule.
“You are sworn to defend the Lurla,” he repeated
when she made no answer. “Is that not so, Eye Wearer?”
There was in him that same strain of cruel maliciousness which
D’Atey showed, save that here it was a hundred times the
worse.
“I am sworn so,” D’Eyree answered steadily.
“I am also sworn to the way of D’Gan.” Her future
might be forfeit now. She had feared such a meeting, yet at this
moment she drew upon some inner strength she had not known she
possessed.
“If the Lurla die, then where do the precepts of a man
already long dead lead us?” He had assumed the mask of
someone being reasonable with a child or one of little
understanding. But D’Fani classed all females as such.
To argue with him was folly; she could make no impression, that
she knew. And that he would force a trial on her was probable.
Would any of the other wearers support her? She thought that she
dared not count on that, not after this exchange with D’Huna.
It would seem she had dragged disaster upon herself by this
impulsive visit here. But, that being so, she must waste no time in
regrets but turn her whole mind to the struggle D’Fani would
make her face. As much time as she had—
Time? Something dim, a wisp of memory stirred deep in her
mind—a strange memory she did not understand. Time was
important, not only to her but to someone else— Just as in
that flash D’Fani’s motives had been clear for her to
read, so now did she have an instant of otherness—a sensation
of being another person. It was frightening, and her hands went to
her forehead, to press above the Eyes.
What had she seen, felt, in that moment of disorientation? It
was gone, yet it left behind a residue of feeling, or urgency that
she must accomplish some necessary act. With the techniques of a
wearer she willed that away. Only D’Fani was important
now.
“Do those weigh heavily upon you, Wearer?” he
demanded. “There is a remedy. Put them off. Or would you have
them taken from you for failure, after proof before the people that
the Lurla will no longer answer you?”
“There can be no such proof!” She held her head
high. That teasing memory-which-was-not-true was gone. “Who
are you to presume to judge a wearer’s fitness?”
She was reckless, excited, as if she were forced to challenge
him so that no more time would be wasted. And her words reacted on
him as one of the mind-thrusts did upon a Lurla. He did not visibly
twist under it, but the color of his scaled flesh deepened.
“There is one way to judge a wearer—a trial. And
since D’Huna has relinquished her Eyes, there is already one
arranged. It would seem you will have a part in it also.”
Did he expect her to beg off? If so he would be disappointed.
Half-consciously she had known this would be the end. Her voice was
still even and controlled as she answered:
“So be it, then.”
Whatever mission had brought him to D’Huna’s
quarters seemed forgotten as, with a gloating look at
D’Eyree, he left. When he was gone D’Eyree turned to
the other woman.
“You gave him an open door when you put aside the
Eyes.”
“And you gave him another,” D’Huna replied.
“I was obeying the law when I could no longer control the
Lurla. If you do no better, then the longer you hold the Eyes, the
more you are at fault.”
“And if D’Fani sweeps the council and the people
with him back to the old dark ways? Do you not remember the
Chronicles of the Wearers—who were the first to be subjected
to the Feeding? Are you martyr enough to ask for that? How much
better can D’Fani make plain his power than by such a
spectacle?”
“We vowed when we put on the Eyes to abide by the
law—”
D’Eyree flung out one hang in an impatient gesture.
“Do not quote law to me—not when it means the Feeding!
Not when it serves D’Fani to climb to the rulership of
Nornoch! Though do not fear—if he has his will I
shall furnish the banquet—not you.”
She turned her back on the other; any more words between them
would give D’Fani weapons to use against her. And she was not
what she had accused D’Huna of being, a willing martyr.
Back she went to her own tower, trying to think, to control
those fears D’Fani brought to her mind. But it was when she
looked from the sea-window that she was shocked out of her
preoccupation. There were the signs she had been trained to
read—another storm was on the way.
For one to follow so quickly upon the last was unnatural. And
the Lurla were tired; they should have rest and the nourishment of
their specially grown food. Also—D’Huna’s section
of the wall now had no warden.
The Lurla— D’Eyree used the Eyes to look into their
burrows. They lay flaccid, thick rolls of boneless flesh, upon the
flooring. There was not even a twitching. She tried a thought
probe. One—two—raised their fore-ends a little. The
rest lay supine, inert. And they did not have that bloated look of
afterfeeding.
For the first time D’Eyree did then what it was against
all custom to do. She allowed her thought-sight to invade the Lurla
pens of the other wearers. In each she noted those which seemed
well fed, but there were a far greater number who were not. and
some of those in the other pens were moving restlessly, angrily. If
this were reported—more fuel for D’Fani!
Her weather-wise eyes told her there was perhaps a day before
the storm gathered to full strength. Long enough for D’Fani
to strike. There was nothing she could do—or was there?
The Lurla fed on cultures blended by a time-tested formula
devised by D’Gan. But before that— She used the Eyes
again in a manner she had never tried before, not certain whether
they could so serve her, not to watch, to encourage the
Lurla—but rather to trace through the walls and the rock of
this island certain ancient channels she knew of only by tradition.
And to her relief she found she could do this.
Heartened by her first success, D’Eyree explored farther
and farther, concentrating on those hidden ways so they also formed
pictures in her mind. At last she found the outer gate, and it did
give into the sea, well under the surface waves. Now—
D’Eyree gathered her power. There was plenty of life force
in the water, though she could not distinguish the separate forms
which emitted it, only the impact of the life itself. She began to
use thought even as she used it to send the Lurla to labor. But
this time she strove to entice, to draw it after her as a fisherman
pulls a loaded net.
She played, angled, worked with concentration. In hardly daring
to believe that she was succeeding, D’Eyree retraced those
long forgotten and unused inner tunnels, bringing the life down
them, and so into those pools where the culture for feeding was
kept. Three times she made the awesome journey from the sea to the
pool by which the Lurla sprawled inertly.
How much life she had so snared she could not tell, save that
the vigorous force of it registered. Now D’Eyree turned her
attention to one of the unfed Lurla—that nearest to the pool.
As she would urge it to work during the storm, she used her talent
as a lash to push it toward the pool. It moved weakly, as if so far
spent that the least effort exhausted it, but it did move.
Then—
It had reached the pool side. There was a quiver of interest, of
awakening. A moment or so later she knew that the first part of her
experiment was working. The Lurla was aroused to feed, and it was
absorbing the life force.
Not only that but the radiation of its satisfaction was reaching
its fellows. They were beginning to crawl toward the pool, to share
the feast. Exhausted, she threw herself on the soft carpet,
sundering contact with the Lurla in order to strengthen her
control. If the Lurla fed well and throve on the bounty of the sea,
then D’Fani would be answered and would not dare propose the
Feeding. They need only activate the old food tunnels. Of course,
in time they would face the same problem which D’Gan’s
generation had known before them: the inability to continue to feed
the Lurla with natural food in quantity enough to build up their
strength, especially after great storms had driven the sea dwellers
into the depths. But a breathing space in which to defeat
D’Fani’s immediate plan was all she wanted now.
Time—
Again she was shaken by an uncurling of strange memory.
Something far buried in her clamored for expression. D’Eyree
sat up, drawing her bent knees close to her breast, her arms about
them, huddling in upon herself as she battled with that part of her
mind that seemed to be an invader. There was no time— Why did
that haunt her so? Yet she would not explore behind that thought;
she was afraid to do so with a fear as deadly as her distrust of
D’Fani.
A sound—it echoed, vibrated through the walls of the
tower—through her body.
The Voice! It had never been heard in her lifetime, but there
was no mistaking it for anything else. D’Fani had in so much
backed his boasts—the Voice was speaking.
No words, just the rhythm of its beat. But that entered into
one’s body, one’s mind! D’Eyree cried out. For
the vibration centered in the Eyes, and they caused such a blaze of
pain that she rolled across the floor, now whimpering in gasps of
agony, clawing at the band that held the source of torture against
her skull.
Somehow she got it loose, dragged it off. Then she lay panting,
the relief so great she could only grasp that the pain was gone.
Still the beat of the Voice shook her bone and flesh, and somehow
its meaning was clear in her mind.
As she had drawn that life force in the sea to feed the Lurla,
just so was she being drawn. Yet something within her, some hard
core which was herself, D’Eyree, was still firm against that
pull. And random thoughts drew together.
In all the tales of the Voice she had never heard of this
effect. This was something different—wrong. The Voice was a
warning, a defense for the people. It did not beat down the mind,
control one. What had D’Fani done to unleash this?
Wrong, all wrong! The realization of that was strong inside her.
This was a tampering, an assault— Still, even as she thought
that she was crawling against her will on hands and knees toward
the door in answer to the summons of that unending sound.
No, she would not answer the Voice—this Voice that was
D’Fani’s weapon. D’Eyree fought against the
compulsion until she lay writhing on the floor. The band of the
Eyes was about one arm like a giant’s bracelet that did not
fit, now she brought it to her. The Eyes were braziers filled with
blue-green fire, as she had never seen them before. To loose the
compulsion—could she touch them, then focus her power on
breaking the call of the Voice?
The pain—could she stand it? With courage she did not know
she had, D’Eyree laid her hands across the Eyes. Pain, yes,
but not so intense, not so concentrated as when she wore them.
She could stand this, and the very hurt helped to break the drag
of the Voice. If she went, and she believed she must see what was
happening, then she would be armed by having her own will back.
She took the way from the tower inward to the heart of Nornoch.
People moved along it with her. But none spoke to the others;
rather they stared straight ahead in such concentration as she
herself knew when she worked with the Lurla.
So they came to the heart of Nornoch, that tallest spur of rock
which had never been leveled, on which was hung the Voice in its
cage. And on the ledge beneath it was D’Fani. His entire head
was encased in a transparent arg shell of vast size. And below him
were D’Atey and others, similarly shielded against the sound
of the Voice.
But the people stood swaying in time to the beat of that sound
from above. And their faces were blank, without expression. Closer
and closer they moved to the foot of that spur, packed tightly now,
yet those on the fringe still pushed as if it were imperative that
they reach the Voice itself.
D’Eyree halted where she saw, keeping her hold on reality
with her grip on the Eyes. But she saw faces she knew in that
throng. Not only D’Huna, who had divested herself of her
eyes, but the other wearers, and none wore their bands of
office.
She looked from them to D’Fani above. There was a vast
exultation on his face as his head turned slowly from side to side.
He might be numbering those gathered below, taking pleasure in
their subordination to the device.
D’Eyree moved back, but she was too late. He saw her and
at the same instant was aware that the spell of the Voice did not
hold her in thrall. Leaning forward, he caught at the shoulder of
one of the helmeted guards below him, pointing with his other hand
to D’Eyree.
As the guard raised a distance harpoon, D’Eyree turned and
ran. Where could she go? Back to her tower? But they could easily
corner her there. She found one of the sharply set stairs and
scrambled up it, knowing she fled from death.
That the Voice controlled Nornoch there was no doubt. What did
it matter now that she had learned how easily the Lurla could be
fed? She would never have any chance to tell what she had learned,
save to ears rendered already deaf to any words of hers.
Gasping, she reached the roof of the wall, ran along it. Now the
sky was dark; she saw lightning split the clouds over the
island’s crown. It was as if the booming of the Voice had
drawn the storm faster.
The Lurla—they must be alerted, sent to their posts! But
if she were hunted, if the other wearers had laid aside their
Eyes—
If she could find a hiding place then she could try to do her
duty. The tower ahead was D’Huna’s—her own was a
turn of the wall away. She looked back once and saw the first guard
come into the open.
Around the tower, on the outer edge—resolutely she kept
her eyes from the rocks so far below. She had pushed the Eye band
to her shoulder for safekeeping so she could use her two hands to
steady her. Step, step, do not think of the pursuers, keep her mind
on making this perilous advance.
Again a flatter surface, which looked as wide and open as a road
after that narrow detour. She flashed along it as the winds from
the sea grew stronger. If the gale became worse she dared not try
that outer passage at the other towers too often. The gusts could
pluck her forth and dash her to her death below.
Even through the murk of the storm she could see her goal,
though whether she had the courage and strength to reach it she did
not know. A lesser spur of the rock, like that which supported the
Voice, yet not so tall, was within leaping distance from the top of
the wall at that point. As she well knew, that had a crevice
halfway down its surface on the sea side wherein she could
hide.
She reached the take-off point, measured the distance. If she
faltered now she could never again summon up the needed spurt to
make it. Recklessly she leaped for the spur, landing hard with a
force that bruised her badly. But enough need for self preservation
was left to make her crawl down into the break, wedging her body in
as soon as she could force entrance.
The smell of the sea arose from below, but she was perched in a
cramped space. The winds and waves were beginning their assault.
She put on the Eye band, concentrated on the Lurla.
They—they were already at work! And at such a pace as her
own prodding could never have won from them. Then this must be the
effect of the Voice! No wonder D’Fani had felt safe, had
allowed the wearers to be without their Eyes.
But—her mental picture steadied. The Lurla were working,
yes, but without proper direction. They spun their congealing
exudation along the walls, but also on the floors. And they were
spinning too fast. Even as she contacted them, one went utterly
limp and fell to the floor where another crawled unheedingly over
it, encasing it with the hardening substance.
Frantically D’Eyree tried to slow them, give them
direction as she had always done. To no avail. Whatever influence
the Eyes had once had was gone, wiped out by the Voice.
D’Fani was killing the Lurla, and there was nothing she could
do—
D’Eyree was startled out of her concentration as something
clanged against the rock near her head clattered down past her
perch. A harpoon— She looked up, caught a glimpse of a guard
taking fresh aim with another weapon. Cringing, she tried to make
herself smaller.
But before the shot came, she heard a hoarse cry from above.
Then, past the outer edge of the cleft in which she sheltered, a
body plunged out and down. The force of the wind, or some misstep,
had torn the guard from his post.
Before a second gained the same advantage she must be on the
move, though she had to force herself to leave that illusion of
safety to descend farther. So going she passed another hole, but it
was too small to hold her. Three quarters of the way down she found
what she sought, pulling herself into a deeper opening. She was
certain now that she could not be sighted from overhead. That she
could retreat any farther was impossible, as the sea was there,
washing with vicious slaps among the rocks.
Once more she sought the Lurla. And her visual impression was so
frightening that she was shocked. The expenditure of the sealing
exudation was unbelievable. It ran in streams on the floor,
dripping, before it could solidify, from the walls. In fact it now
appeared to have some quality that kept it from that instant
hardening which had been their aid.
Through the spur of rock that sheltered her she could still feel
the beat of the Voice, though most of the sound was now deadened by
the sea. Was it that which worked upon the Lurla? And did
D’Fani know—or care?
Duty urged her to climb again, to cry out to the people what was
happening. But it would be to deaf ears, and she would doubtless be
killed long before she reached any point from which they could hear
her. She sat with the Eye band between her hands and tried to
think.
The Eyes—the wearers were sensitive to the Eyes. If she
could reach the mind of one of them, or more than one, with her
warning—even though they had taken off their bands. She could
only try. Earlier she had traced the old ways of communication with
the sea, an exploit she had never thought to try before. Why not
attempt this other thing? If she put all her strength to
it—
She slipped the band from her arm, and as she did so it rapped
sharply against the rock. To her horror one of the Eyes loosened,
dropped. Before she could grab it, it rolled into a crevice and was
gone. Only one left. But she could try, even though any power she
might call upon was now halved.
D’Eyree concentrated as she never had before in her whole
life, closing her eyes to better summon to mind the faces of the
wearers. But she could not hold more than three at a time. Very
well then—three— And to them, as if she stood before
them, she cried aloud her warning, over and over, with no way of
knowing either success or failure. At last she tired, tired so that
she could not hold those faces in mind. Wearily she opened her
eyes—upon darkness!
The storm— The sound of the sea was only a faint murmur.
But she was in the dark! She put forth her hand and felt a wet,
slimy surface.
Frantic, D’Eyree beat upon that surface. At first it
seemed to her that it gave a little, but that was only illusion. As
she ran her fingers across it, she realized the truth; she was
walled in. And the smell of the stuff was fetid. It was Lurla
slime. That hole past which she had descended must have direct
connection with the wall burrows, and some of that overflow had
cascaded through it to cover her refuge’s entrance. She was
eternally trapped!
The horror of it made her sick. With the band at her breast she
rocked back and forth, crying aloud. Entombed—alive—no
escape— This was death—death—
Not death—not death—that stranger in her mind was
awakening, taking over. Out—get out—not death—get
out! But it was not D’Eyree who thought so—it
was—
The clamor of the sea—she could breathe—she was out!
And in her hands—
Ziantha sat up dazedly looking down at what she held. In one
hand was the focus-stone, in the other a circle of shining metal
with two settings in it—one held the twin to the stone, the
other was empty! D’Eyree’s Eyes!
But how—she looked along her body, half expecting to see
the scaled skin, the alien form. No, she was in Vintra’s
body. And she—somehow she had not only found the twin stone,
but had apported it from the past. But how long had she been in
Nornoch? Turan—was he dead?
Lurching to her feet, she started back to the flyer. The sun was
no longer high—instead it was nearly setting, sending a
brilliant path across the waves. And the island was a dark and
awesome blot. Ziantha shuddered away from the memory of those last
moments before she had been able to tear away from D’Eyree.
Never could she face that again. She must have won her freedom the
very moment that the other had died. And if she had not—
Turan!
She tore open the cabin door to look within. He lay in his seat,
his eyes closed. He looked dead.
“Turan!” She caught him by the shoulders, exerted
her strength to draw him up, to make him open his eyes and see
her.