Spectrum of a Forgotten Sun Page 14

  Beside him Navalok lifted the pistol, aimed and fired, the echoes of the report rolling from the slopes to die like muted thunder.

  "Another miss!" He lowered the gun, his voice echoing his disappointment. "I can't understand it. Back in the House at the range I did better than this. Now I can't seem to hit a thing."

  "That's because you're trying too hard," said Dumarest, patiently. "Think of only one thing at a time and make sure you do that thing well. As it is you're trying to draw, aim and fire all in a split second. Forget the speed of the draw. Forget trying to get off a lot of shots quickly. Now reload and try again." Turning to Dephine as she stepped towards him, he said, "Out for a ride?"

  "Out looking for you, Earl. How long are you going to stay away from my side?"

  "Well be back tomorrow."

  "Why not tonight?" The scent of her perfume filled his nostrils as she rested her hand on his arm. "Why waste time with the boy when you could be with me?"

  "Tomorrow." Dumarest frowned as the gun roared and again the boy missed. "I've promised to help him and I keep my word."

  "To a cripple?" She recognised her mistake and quickly altered her tone. "I'm sorry-I shouldn't have said that. The poor fool can't help what he is but the traditions of the House are strong. Only the fit deserve to survive and to breed. A woman's instinct, Earl. Beneath the skin we are all alike. We all want the best father we can get for our children. The strongest man we can find to provide."

  "There's nothing wrong with Navalok."

  "His foot-"

  "Can be healed and you know it. All it takes is money."

  "And the rest?" She shrugged as the boy fired and again missed. "How long would he last even if he did manage to win his trophy? The first challenge and he would be down. The first argument and he would be dead. You're wasting your time, Earl. He isn't worth it."

  "It's my time, Dephine."

  "And I am waiting for you, Earl. How long must I wait? I expected you back with your trophy yesterday. We could have been married today. Tomorrow would have seen us in our new home. Am I so repulsive that you prefer the company of a lame boy to what I offer? Must I tell you again that I love you? Earl, damn you, must you torment me?"

  A woman in love, pleading, forgetting her pride in the face of a greater need. Standing before him she looked radiant, her hair a flaming glory, her body one of feline grace.

  "Tomorrow, Dephine." He needed time in which to search. "Tomorrow."

  "And tonight?"

  "We'll camp here."

  "Not here, Earl. The olcept are on the move and are heading this way. Return to the House and be safe. You promise?" She didn't wait for his answer, confident in his obedience, the power of her attraction. "Tonight, Earl. I'll be waiting."

  As her raft lifted Navalok said, "Shall I keep on shooting, Earl?"

  "Until you hit the target, yes."

  "You didn't want her to see us searching," said the boy shrewdly as he thrust fresh cartridges into the pistol. "That's why you had me shoot, isn't it, Earl? Don't you want her to share our secret?"

  As yet they had nothing to share, but the boy had guessed the answer.

  Dumarest said, "Look at that point of rock. Keep looking at it and raise the gun. Think of it as a finger which you are pointing to the spot your eyes are fixed on. Concentrate. Don't squeeze the butt too hard. Just close your finger, gently, and don't do it until you feel that you, the gun, is pointing at the target." He grunted as stone chipped a few inches from the point. "Better. Try again."

  Fire and keep firing until the sky was clear. In clear air sound traveled a long distance and the woman's ears were sharp. A woman who was determined to get her own way and would do anything to bend him to her will. One who would destroy any clue leading to Earth if she thought it would take him from her side.

  As the tiny mote of the raft finally vanished Navalok said, "Enough, Earl?"

  "Enough. Now let's go and see what we've found."

  The scrub was sturdy, the roots deep, the plants yielding reluctantly as Dumarest tore them free. Loose stone followed, debris rolling down the slope as he cleared the mouth of the narrow vent. It was in the form of a rounded arch, the keystone bearing a worn symbol, a barely discernable disc surrounded with tapering rays. The lower part of the opening was blocked with a mass of gritty soil and shattered stone.

  Dumarest tore at it with hands and knife, coughed in a cloud of rising dust, then squinted through the opening. A child could have passed through it with ease. An adult, years ago, with a little wriggling. Fresh falls had piled on old, the roots of the scrub splitting stone to add to the detritus.

  "I could get inside, Earl." Navalok thrust himself forward.

  "No." Who could tell what might be lurking within. "Help me clear this opening."

  Thirty minutes later a path had been cleared for the two of them.

  "This is it, Earl," said Navalok as he stared into the thick gloom. "The sun must have been just right when I entered it last. It caught something which gleamed. It was that which attracted me, I remember it now."

  "You said the light was bad."

  "It was, aside from that one bright place. But I could see what was inside. My father too, Earl, he had no doubt as to the importance of what we'd found. If we wait perhaps the sun will shine inside."

  "There's no need to wait," said Dumarest. "I've brought lights."

  They were powerful flashlights which threw cones of brilliance into the opening to be reflected back in a dazzling brilliance. Moving the beam Dumarest saw a rounded roof carved with vine-like decorations and set with scraps of crystal in various shapes. The walls too, what he could see of them, were also carved and decorated with strips of red and yellow, amber and green, orange and umber material which held and diffused the light to cast a roseate glow.

  Holding back his hand Dumarest said, "Give me the gun."

  Reluctantly Navalok parted with it. The weapon at his waist had given him the assurance of a man, without it he felt a child again. He watched as Dumarest checked the load.

  "Earl?"

  "Wait here. Follow when I call. Stay well back until then. If anything is living in there it may try to break out past me. If it does I don't want you to get hurt."

  Navalok said, wonderingly, "Earl, you talk like, like father."

  "Maybe I feel like him. Stand back now."

  Dirt showered from beneath his knees as Dumarest edged himself up and into the opening. He thrust forward the light in his left hand, the gun ready to fire in his right. It swept up and level as something seemed to move and glare at him, his finger easing its pressure just in time. The light, not the thing had moved and the glare came from a mask not a living face.

  Quickly Dumarest scanned the area, sending the beam back into the furthest corner of the cave before focusing it on the mask again. It was an idiot's face, the mouth down-turned, the empty eye-holes adding to the vacuity of the general expression. An object which radiated a sadness and an empty despair. Turning towards the opening he saw another, almost its twin aside from the fact that this was a depiction of humor, the mouth upturned, the eyes blank though they were, seeming to hold a secret merriment.

  "Earl?" Navalok called from outside. His voice betrayed his anxiety. "Are you all right?"

  "Yes. Come and join me:" Dumarest handed him the gun as he slid down the heap of debris to stand at his side. "Holster this, I want my hands free. Where is the bright thing you saw before?"

  It was set high on the rear wall facing the opening; a large disc set with the familiar rays, the whole a dully gleaming golden color. If the opening were cleared the sun, at certain times, would shine on it and be reflected as if from a mirror.

  "The Guardians of the Sun," whispered Navalok. "It's the same symbol they wore on their clothing, Earl. You saw it in the Hall of Dreams. But what does it mean?"

  A church, a shrine, a place of worship. A cave in which people gathered to pay homage, to remember. Dumarest swept up his torch and saw the gleamin
g reflections from the crystal in the ceiling, down and saw the glow of warm and lambent colors from the material set all around. The stars? The dawn and sunset? A place in which to recapture the past, to be at one with something held sacred.

  The sun.

  Which sun?

  He looked at the rayed disc its blank face telling him nothing. At the items set all around; the fragments of machinery, small objects which could have been the personal possessions of those now long dead, the scrolls and books and oddly shaped pieces of metal, plastic and crystal. Above the opening the empty, smiling mask told him nothing. A thing set to mock those who would know more than they should? Another symbol depicting-what? The torch flashed as he moved the beam to study the other mask, the one of inane idiocy, the downturned mouth, tragedy as distinct from comedy. The two faces of a universal coin, laughter backed by tears, happiness by misery, joy by sadness life by death.

  "Earl!" whispered Navalok. "Earl, look at the ceiling!"

  Dumarest shifted his eyes and froze, stunned by what he saw.

  The winking points of brilliance shining by the reflected light of the torch, points which vanished even as he studied them. Impatiently he moved a little, the points shining clear again as the beam of the flashlight hit and was reflected from the rayed disc.

  "Patterns," said Navalok wonderingly. "They make patterns. Earl. But of what?"

  Of stars. Of the Zodiac. Of the constellations seen from Earth.

  Here, in this place, could lie the clue which would guide him home!

  Chapter Fourteen

  From where he stood at the far end of the room Navalok said, "Nothing, Earl. I've checked every inch. The walls are solid."

  "The floor?"

  "The same." The boy sounded tired. "No trapdoors, no loose flags, nothing but solid stone as far as I can tell. There could be something under the debris, but I doubt it." He added, curiously, "What are we looking for, anyway?"

  A secret vault or hiding place in which important and valuable data could have been stored. A chance and one Dumarest had to investigate; even a negative result held an answer. The clue, if it existed, must be in the chamber itself and not hidden secretly away.

  But where?

  He swept the light around the place again. Beyond the opening the sky was growing dark with the onset of dusk and soon it would be night. For hours he had checked each item of the store the place contained, finding nothing which told him more than he already knew. The scraps and pieces, each valuable as a relic or as a fragment of the past, were no more than they appeared.

  Votive offerings, perhaps. Things placed in this shrine for safekeeping or as a donation to generations yet to come. Who could fathom the intent of those long dead? Yet some things were plain. The cave for one, a natural structure which had been enlarged and lined with blocks of stone each fused to the other by laser-heat. A place intended to resist the ravages of time. One set in a special fashion so as to catch the rays of the sun which, reflected from the rayed disc, illuminated the ceiling and revealed the pattern of stars.

  A pattern he had memorized and one he had seen before. The Ram, the Bull, the Heavenly Twins, And next the Crab, the Lion shines, The Virgin and the Scales, The Scorpion, Archer, and Sea Goat, The Man that holds the watering pot, The Fish with shining scales.

  The mnemonic which contained the twelve signs of the Zodiac; the constellations as seen from Earth. A clue he had garnered on Technos, seen again on Shajok, and now it was repeated here. Alone it told him nothing new, but it was proof that, whoever had built this place, had come from or knew of Earth.

  "Earl, it's getting dark outside." Navalok shivered. "This place is funny. It gives me the creeps."

  The influence of those who once had assembled here sending their emanations across time. Trying, to relay a message, perhaps, an answer.

  Dumarest shone his torch again on the disc and looked at the glitter of the artificial stars. They were a secondary aspect as were the warm glow of depicted sunsets and dawns as the beam glowed from the strips of material lower down. Something to augment the main purpose of the chamber? It had been built by the Guardians of the Sun and the rayed disc occupied a position of natural prominence.

  And, if the depicted constellations were those as seen from Earth, then the sun could only be the planet's primary.

  Earth's sun!

  Dumarest looked down at his hands and saw their fault trembling. Never before during his long search had he felt so close to success, so certain that it was to be found. If he was correct, and logic said he must be, then the people who had settled Emijar had come from his home world.

  "Earl?" Navalok hitched at the gun bolstered at his waist. "Are you going to stay here much longer?"

  For as long as it took to find the answer.

  "Why? Are you getting hungry?"

  "Aren't you, Earl?"

  "No, but if you want to fix a meal go ahead." The boy had helped all he could and his presence was a distraction. As he headed towards the opening, now a deep purple, Dumarest said, "Be careful, Navalok."

  "Of what, Earl?" The boy smiled and touched the gun at his waist. "Anyway, I'm armed."

  Alone Dumarest swept the torch around in another examination. Reflected light glowed from the masks, the rayed disc, shone from the ceiling, the walls, warm swathes of color blending with crystalline twinklings. The sun, it had to be the sun, every instinct drove him towards it. Why else should this place have been built in the position it occupied? Why the reflection from the orb transmitted to the depicted stars? Why the name?

  Guardians of the Sun.

  Guarding what? A memory? A heritage?

  The knowledge of how to return?

  In the light of the torch the rayed disc seemed to shimmer, little strands of color playing over the surface as if it had been coated with oil. Dumarest stepped closer, tilted his head to stare through narrowed eyes, seeing in the glare a mesh of shallow lines close-set as if part of a refraction grating used to determine a spectrum.

  Lowering the torch he stepped back and looked around for something on which to stand.

  Then froze as, from outside, came the sound of a young voice shouting, the sudden roar of a gun.

  * * * * *

  The raft was on the flat promontory, the spark of a fire beside it; small flames which shone bright in the purple dusk. As Dumarest thrust himself through the opening he saw the flash of a gun, heard the rolling echoes of the report.

  "Earl!"

  Navalok was crouched beside the vehicle, face turned towards the slope, the gun in his hand firing as he shouted. In the flash Dumarest could see a bulk beside a heap of stone, a shape which seemed to flicker, to move. He swung the beam of his flash towards it and saw a dull ocher hide, the gleam of exposed teeth. An olcept, perhaps drawn by the sound of the previous gunfire, now moving in for the kill.

  Dumarest shouted, hurled himself down the slope, dirt showering from beneath his boots. The beam of the flash wavered, danced over the raft, the crouching boy, the fire, the ground, the beast which had scented prey.

  "The gun, boy! Keep firing!"

  The blast alone would shock the sensitive hearing, the flash dazzle the eyes, the whine of bullets perhaps force the thing into caution. An old teaching of those who trained young soldiers, the art of covering fire and a distractive barrage based on the principle that, while a man was protecting himself, he couldn't fire back.

  An effective means of keeping a human at bay, but the olcept was far from human and obeyed a more primitive law. Dumarest saw it move as he reached the level ground, a flash of teeth, the scrabble of claws and the whine of air as the knobbed tail lashed towards the boy. He fired as it hit close beside him, the side of the raft bending to the impact, the graze of the natural club sending him spinning to lie sprawled on the ground, blood at his temple.

  Stunned or dead-in either case he was out of the fight. Dumarest had to face the beast alone and he had nothing but his hands, the flash, and the knife in his boot. No n
atural advantage but his brain.

  As the olcept rushed towards him he sprang to one side, raced to the edge of the promontory and turned, the flashlight in his left hand, the naked blade of the knife poised in his right. The creature had halted at the fire, the long snout questing, the eyes like rubies from the reflected glow. A thing about nine feet long and three high, not a large specimen of its kind but its weight would be at least three times that of a man.

  A machine designed to kill, the claws capable of disemboweling at a stroke, the tail able to crush a skull or snap a bone, the teeth set in powerful jaws which could bite a man in half. An animal, armed and armored and, to itself, invincible. One which would be a stranger to the concept of fear. A predator which lived to eat and killed so as to eat to live.

  Sparks flew as it lunged over the fire, snout extended, claws ripping at the gritty soil. Dumarest waited poised, Aiming the beam of the light into the deep-set eyes. An artificial sun which dazzled the thing and caused it to halt, tail lashing, head turning as it scented the air. A momentary pause but before it could move again Dumarest had sprung forward and to one side, leaping over the compact body and racing towards the raft.

  In it were the spears he had bought, the weapons with which the boy would gain his trophy. Long-shafted, with edged and pointed blades, the shaft protected by outcurved crescents of steel, they had been designed to penetrate a tough hide and to block the rush of a stabbed beast. A good weapon if used with skill-useless unless he could get his hands on one before the olcept attacked.

  Instinct saved him. Dumarest dropped, rolled, felt the brush of air across his scalp as the tail lashed the spot where he had stood. Turning the beast snapped, teeth gouging the soil where he had lain, the snout moving as, still rolling, he slashed out with the knife and dragged the razor-sharp edge across the flared nostrils. A superficial injury which caused no real damage but which sent a flood of blood dripping from the injured organ. Blood which would blunt the sense of smell.