Eye of the Zodiac Read online

  "So this is Shajok. I don't think much of it."

  "You haven't seen the best yet, my lady." Larz bustled about as he collected his party. "That is yet to come. A vista of unequaled splendor which will stun the eye and fill the nostrils with almost unbearable delight. You have arrived at the best time. The fields are superb. Is there anyone else to take the tour? No? Then if you will all follow me, I will guide you to your accommodation."

  To the rooms in the hotel of which he was the part owner. Later, they would take rafts and head towards the plains to camp and inspect the crop. Mile upon mile of ulumen, the plants all in full bloom, pods swollen with volatile oils. They would see a blaze of color stretching as far as the eye could reach. They would live, breathe, almost bathe in the perfume which hung over the area like a cloud.

  Kinabalu ignored them, now looking at the ramp leading down from the open port. Zorya was talking to the handler, haggling over something he held in his hands, probably narcotics or a few semi-precious stones. Frend walked past, scowling, barely nodding a greeting. No one, obviously, had ridden Low. His mine would lack the cheap labor he'd hoped to obtain.

  There seemed no reason to wait, and yet the Hausi lingered. Hoping.

  * * * * *

  Dumarest was late in leaving the ship. Shajok was a bad world. He could tell, almost smell it as he descended the ramp. A planet which had little in the way of industry, a backward world on which it would be hard to find work, to earn enough to build a stake. It was too easy to become stranded in such a place, waiting, working for food if work could be found at all.

  A road led from the field towards the town, a cluster of beggars at its side. Crippled men and a few crones, their eyes dull, waiting, hoping for charity which would never come. Winter would kill them off like flies, but more would take their place in the spring.

  The town itself had the grim appearance of having once been a fortress. The houses were fashioned of solid stone, the roofs sharply pitched, the windows narrow and barred. Only the pennons gave a touch of gaiety, long streamers of brilliant color, all pointing towards the distant loom of the mountains. Dumarest studied them, looking for emblems or symbols, seeing nothing but a jumble of hues.

  The square was fringed with open-fronted shops selling a variety of local produce; dried meats on skewers, woven carpets, basket work. There were masses of fruit dried and pounded, then compressed into blocks, things of stone and wood and metal to be used in any household. A smith was busy at a forge, the sound of his hammer strident over the hum and bustle of the crowd. In a corner of the square a woman fashioned pottery.

  She was old, stooped, hair a wispy tangle over small, bright eyes. Her arms were bare to the elbows, hands grimed with a grayish clay. Dumarest paused, picking up a bowl, looking at the material of which it had been made. A gray, stone-like substance which he had seen before.

  As he set the bowl down the woman said, "Anything special you're after, mister?"

  "A few words."

  "For free?"

  "For pay." He dropped a few coins into the bowl. "Do you fire this stuff?"

  "No." She came towards him, wiping her hands. "It's ground levallite mixed with a polymer resin. Leave it stand and it sets as hard as a rock. Why?"

  Dumarest said, "Did you have a boy working for you once?"

  "I've had a lot of people working for me. They come and they go. Why should I remember?"

  More coins made metallic sounds as they joined the rest in the bowl.

  "His name was Leon Harvey. Young, slightly built, probably came from a village somewhere. His face was a little peaked, if you know what I mean. He wanted to move on and see the galaxy."

  "I remember." Wispy hair straggled as she nodded. "He came to me starving and I gave him a bowl of stew. Made him work for it, though. He hung on and I fed him, gave him a little money from time to time. Then he upped and vanished."

  "Just like that?"

  "They come and they go," she said. "I guess he found his way around, then made his move. It happens."

  "Did anyone come looking for him?"

  "No-are you?"

  "He's dead," said Dumarest flatly. "I was hoping to take word to his folks. He left a little something I thought they might like to have. Where can I find them?"

  Her shrug was expressive. "Why ask me?"

  "He worked for you. He must have talked, mentioned his home, his family. No?" Dumarest deliberately scooped the coins from the bowl. "Too bad-I guess we both wasted our time."

  "Now wait a minute!" Her hand gripped his arm with surprising strength. "We made a deal."

  "Sure, I pay and you talk, but so far you've done no real talking."

  "There's nothing to talk about."

  "No?" Dumarest's voice lowered, became savage. "A youngster, tired, hungry, working for barely nothing. A stranger, and you say he didn't talk? Hell, woman, he'd have to say something. You were the only one he knew."

  "He was on the run," she admitted. "I guessed that, and was sure of it when he ducked under the counter one day. A group was passing, some men from the mountains, I think. He took one look, then ducked."

  "Nerth," said Dumarest. "He told me he came from there. Where is it?"

  "I don't know."

  "A commune." Dumarest jingled the coins. "A village, maybe." He saw the blank look in her eyes. "The Original People then? Damn it, woman, don't you know your own world?"

  For answer she took a mass of clay, slammed it on the counter, gouged it with her thumbs.

  "Shajok," she snapped. "At least a part of it. Here are the plains, here the field, here the town. And here," her fingers mounded the gray substance into a range of peaks, "here are the mountains. And in the mountains-" Her hand slammed down, fingers clawing, digging, leaving deep indentations. "-valleys. Places where God alone knows what is to be found. Maybe people calling themselves by a fancy name. Maybe communes of one kind or another. I don't know. I'm no hunter and I've more sense than to stick my head into a noose. And, mister, if you'll take my advice, neither will you. See those flags? When they fall, get under cover and fast. Get into shelter and stay there until the wind blows again."

  "Why?"

  "Because, mister," she said grimly, "if you don't, you'll stop being human, that's why."

  * * * * *

  The interior of the tavern was dark, a place of brooding shadows in which men sat and talked quietly over their wine. Too quietly, but much about Shajok was less than normal. The flags, the town itself, the odd atmosphere of the field. A place besieged, thought Dumarest. Or, a place which had known siege. No wonder that Leon, after a taste of normal worlds, had sworn that he would never return.

  Leon, whom the old woman had known in more ways than she had admitted. The boy must have turned thief to gain the price of his passage. But the money couldn't have come from her. Somewhere else then, that was certain, but from where? Home, perhaps. It would be logical for him to have stolen before running away, but in that case why work for the woman at all? And who were the men who had frightened him?

  Questions which waited for answers, but at least one problem could be solved now.

  Kinabalu grunted as Dumarest dropped on the bench at his side. "My arm!"

  "Will be released as soon as I know why you have been following me."

  "You noticed? Good. Is that why you came into this place?"

  "It serves." Dumarest tightened his grip. "The answer. Why are you interested in me?"

  "Please!" Sweat shone on the Hausi's face. "The bone-you will break it! All I wanted was to offer you employment."

  "Your name?"

  Kanabalu rubbed his wrist as he gave it. Beneath the fabric of his blouse he knew that welts would be forming bruises which would make his flesh tender.

  "Earl Dumarest," he said. "The handler gave me your name. I took the liberty of following you. That woman-why do you wish to find this place you call Nerth?"

  "If she told you that, she must have told you the rest."

  "And why
not?" Kinabalu shrugged, fully at ease. "She knows me and knows of my discretion. Also, I was able to buy a few things for later delivery. Money, as you must know, has many uses."

  "And?"

  "I offer you the chance to earn some money. More, the chance to find what you are seeking. A fortuitous meeting, my friend. We must celebrate it in wine."

  He ordered, waited as a girl poured, followed the movements of her hips with his eyes. A sensualist-or so a less observant man would have believed. Dumarest knew better. Knew also that a Hausi did not lie. He might not tell all of the truth, but his word was to be trusted.

  "You followed me from the ship," Dumarest said. "Were you waiting for me?"

  "No, not you, not as an individual. I hoped that someone would land who would fill a need. I think you are such a man. Some wine?"

  Dumarest accepted the goblet. He said, dryly, "What's so special about this need of yours?"

  "The need? Nothing. A job which any of a hundred men could do. To act as a guard and protector, to take care of a camp, to be able to survive in a hostile environment and, above all, not to be afraid. But the man who offers the employment is another matter. A man almost impossible to satisfy. On the face of it the commission was simple, to equip a small expedition into the mountains. To provide a raft, supplies, a guide, and a man. All is ready and waiting, only the man needs to be found. It could be that I have found him. You are open to a proposition?"

  "I could be."

  "That depends."

  "On the pay, certainly, that is understood. But Jalch Moore will be generous."

  "Moore," said Dumarest. "From where?"

  "Does it matter?" Kinabalu sipped at his wine. "His money is good even if his temper is short. But, if you are interested, he once mentioned Usterlan. I have never been to that world. Have you?"

  "No."

  "He is, I think, a little mad. The mountains are best left alone. You see, I am honest with you. I will add to my honesty-there is even a chance that you may be killed."

  "By whom?"

  "The wind, my friend, a fall in temperature, a vagary of heat. The mountains are dangerous for any raft. Thermals are unpredictable. A drop in the wind can create vortexes, a rise the same. And the local conditions are much of a mystery. Few venture deeply into the hills; some hunters, a scattering of prospectors, some seekers of gems. They leave, sometimes they return, sometimes they do not."

  "And yet there must be caravans," said Dumarest flatly. "Traders who venture far to sell and buy."

  "True."

  "Are they proof against dangers?"

  "No man is proof against death when it comes," said Kinabalu. "And it can ride on the wind."

  "The wind," said Dumarest. "The pennons?"

  "Signals, as the woman told you. While the wind blows all in the city are safe. If it should fall, there is nothing to worry about providing the calm does not stay too long. If it does-but why worry about such things? The wind never fails."

  "But if it did?"

  "Probably nothing." Kinabalu drank more wine. "A superstition, my friend, a sop to the credulous. A rumor circulated by tavern owners, for where can a man be sure of shelter and welcome if not in a tavern? But, seriously, the danger is exaggerated. Nothing could possibly come down from the mountains against the updraft from the foothills. But we digress. Are you interested in taking the position?"

  A journey into the mountains, to look for-what? Nothing of interest, perhaps, but the expedition offered transportation and a chance to learn of what lay in the valleys the old woman had mentioned. They only way, perhaps. One he would have to take if ever he hoped to find Leon's home.

  Dumarest said, slowly, "I'm interested, but I need to know more."

  "The pay for example. The cost of a High passage, that I can promise. As for the rest-" Kinabalu finished his wine. "-that Jalch Moore will explain."

  Chapter Eight

  There was something odd about the man. He moved with the restless pacing of a hungry feline, his head jerking, hands twitching, eyes never at rest. His room at the hotel was littered with papers, maps, scrolls, moldering books, items of equipment. A dagger with an ornate hilt and engraved blade lay beside a small statuette of a weeping woman. In a crystal jar an amorphous something turned slowly, as if imbued with sluggish life. An illusion, the thing was dead, preserved, the motion the result of transmitted vibration.

  "Dumarest," he said. "Earl Dumarest. From?"

  "Vonstate."

  "And before that?" The thin, angry tones sharpened a little. "The planet of origin, man. Where were you born?"

  "Earth."

  Dumarest waited for the expected reaction, the incredulity, the conviction of a lie. None came and he looked at Moore's hand, the small instrument it contained. A tonal lie detector, he guessed. The recorded vibrations of his voice tested by electronic magic to reveal the truth. An unusual tool for an explorer to carry.

  He said, flatly, "And you? Usterlan?"

  "Yes."

  A lie. Dumarest knew the world despite what he had told the Hausi. The people of Usterlan were dark, their hair a kinked ebon, a protection against the fury of a sun radiating high in ultra-violet. His eyes slid to the woman sitting quietly beside the window. She wore masculine garb, her russet hair cropped short, her face devoid of cosmetics. A strong face, the bones prominent, the lips firm, the bottom pouting a little. Her eyes were uptilted, a pale gray, the lids thickly lashed. Her hands were broad, the fingers long, the nails neatly rounded.

  Iduna, Jalch Moore's younger sister.

  "My lord," Bhol Kinabalu bowed a little, his hands extended, palms upward. "This is the man for whom you have been waiting. He will suit your requirements-if not, I must cancel the commission and answer to my guild."

  An ultimatum, despite the appeal of the hands, the deferential bow. Moore grunted, dropping the instrument he carried, his hand moving towards the dagger, to snatch it up, to hurl it with a sudden gesture. A bad throw. Left to itself it would hit the wall close to where Dumarest stood, denting the plaster with its hilt.

  He caught it, spun it to grip the point, threw it all in one fast motion. Metal tore as the blade ripped into the lie-detector, inner components ruined, its discharged energy flaring in momentary sparkles.

  "Fast." The woman's voice was deep, musical. "A test, Jalch? If so, the man has passed. At least his reactions leave nothing to be desired."

  "The instrument-"

  "Is ruined, but he could have buried the steel in your throat had he wished." She rose, tall, a little imperious, the curves of her body betraying her femininity. "Have you been told what it is we want you to do?"

  "No."

  "No?" She frowned, glancing at the Hausi. Again Kinabalu spread his hands.

  "I have explained the basic duties, my lady, but the details must come from you. To guard, to protect, these things are vague. Only a rogue would promise to deliver what he cannot supply." Pausing he added, "The guide?"

  "Has been accepted."

  "And this man?"

  "We shall see. You may go." As the door closed behind the Hausi she said to Dumarest, "Have you been engaged in such employment before?"

  "Yes."

  "And yet you are not satisfied with what has been told you?"

  "No." Dumarest met her eyes. "If I am to be efficient I need to know what dangers to anticipate. This enterprise you propose, what is it's purpose? To hunt? To map a region? To trade? To search for minerals?" The pale gray orbs did not flicker. "What?"

  "Does it make a difference?"

  "It could." Dumarest looked at the scattered maps, the scrolls, the moldering books. "How many will be on this expedition?"

  "We two, the guide and yourself if you agree to join us."

  "A small party."

  "But large enough," snapped Jalch harshly. "Sister, let me explain." His hand touched a scroll, moved to a book, lingered on the statuette. "We are chasing a legend," he said abruptly. "Shajok is an old world and must have been settled many tim
es. In the mountains are valleys which could hold the remnants of previous cultures. One of them could be the life that was native to this planet in ages past. From what I have been able to discover they were unique. You have seen the pennons?"

  Dumarest nodded.

  "You know their purpose?"

  "A warning."

  "The product of imagination-or so most insist. And yet, should they signal the ceasing of the wind there would be panic." Jalch moved restlessly about the room. "Why should that be if there is no danger? Superstition? I think not. The product, perhaps, of myths enlarged by active fears. Yet, each myth holds within itself the core of truth. Once there was a real danger. Once men were strangers here and had to fight in order to survive. The original people could still exist. If they do I hope to find them."

  "The Original People?"

  "The natives of this world." Pages rustled as Jalch opened a book. "Look at this, a report made by Captain Bramh centuries ago. He made an emergency landing close to the mountains and lost two-thirds of his crew to something he failed to describe. A local phenomenon he called it, which caused them to desert. And here, an item culled from the secret archives of Langousta. A ship which was forced to land on Shajok. A distress signal was picked up and a rescue operation mounted. They discovered the wreck, but found no trace of the crew and passengers it had carried. A mystery. Even the log was incomplete, food on the tables, everything as it should be, but of the people-nothing."

  A book fell, a scroll rolled to the floor, a paper traced with lines of faded color was unrolled.

  "And here, more proof if more were needed. A priest of the Hyarch sect was summoned to the bedside of a dying man. Under the seal of secrecy he was told of Shajok and the thing the man had found there. A form of life which-tell me, have you ever heard of the Kheld?"

  Dumarest shook his head.

  "A supposed creature of legend, the ancient writings mention them often. Things of strange powers and peculiar abilities. They have many names and have been recorded many times. Intangible life-forms which can grant powers beyond imagination to their owners. A name, and names change, but the basics remain. Here, on Shajok, we could find the Kheld."