Quest For The Well Of Souls Part 6

Huge clouds of smoke billowed from the Trader Trader's stacks before the sails were even down, and it turned with astonishing speed and bore in on the small cutter.

"Fire!" screamed the Parmiter, but at that moment a blinding beam of greenish-white light struck them full force. The grenade rose a half-meter, then exploded. The laser beam swept down, slicing off a part of the cutter's bow.

The small ship exploded.

There was a blinding flash and roar as the balance of the rocket grenades ignited, and a great plume of water shot up, then fell, leaving only fragments where the ship had been.

A collective sigh of relief traveled the length of the Toorine Trader Toorine Trader.

The captain surveyed the scene, its odd, transparent head c.o.c.ked a little to one side. "Maybe they're right," it murmured to itself. "Maybe those grenades are are too d.a.m.ned explosive to carry." too d.a.m.ned explosive to carry."

Damage-control personnel started cleaning up, patching, and repairing, taking advantage of the high-tech hex to use their best equipment.

The Trader Trader approached the now-visible coast of Ecundo, which looked wild and forbidding this far south. Shortly she'd head north, back up that coast, almost all the way under sail. approached the now-visible coast of Ecundo, which looked wild and forbidding this far south. Shortly she'd head north, back up that coast, almost all the way under sail.

As the ship headed toward the land, it moved away from a single, tiny figure drifting south in the current. It was too small, and soon much too far away, to be heard or noticed except by a few curious seabirds.

"Help me! Oh, please, G.o.d! Somebody help me!" came the anguished voice of the Parmiter. "Doc! Grune! Somebody! Anybody! Help me!"

But there was no one to help the Parmiter this time.

Nocha

The Torrine Trader Torrine Trader had been patched well; only the fresh wood on parts of the bow, midsection, and superstructure hinted that something had been amiss. had been patched well; only the fresh wood on parts of the bow, midsection, and superstructure hinted that something had been amiss.

A week later, the Trader Trader was several hundred kilometers out, steaming across the Sea of Turagin to the northwest, on its way to deliver to Wygon huge crates of things whose function they couldn't fathom and couldn't have cared less about. was several hundred kilometers out, steaming across the Sea of Turagin to the northwest, on its way to deliver to Wygon huge crates of things whose function they couldn't fathom and couldn't have cared less about.

It was cold in Nocha, slightly above freezing. The crew stayed belowdecks as much as possible; the sea was extremely rough, and one could easily fall overboard into the chilly waters. n.o.body wanted that-not in Nocha, where, only a few meters below the raging surface, thousand-toothed insects waited for just such a bonanza.

They were definitely not company customers, anyway, and no crewman wanted to give them anything for free.

The storm and cold had driven a tiny airborne figure farther west. She was almost exhausted, and had begun to doubt her ability to continue. No land had been in sight since she'd flown out over the sea to intercept the Trader Trader before its landfall in Wygon three days hence-according to the schedule obtained from the company office in Domien. before its landfall in Wygon three days hence-according to the schedule obtained from the company office in Domien.

She had no broad, great wings to maintain herself on comfortable updrafts above the storm. Her powers of flight were tremendous and included the ability to zig and zag almost at right angles with no effort as well as to stand still. But doing so meant that her wings had to work constantly to keep her aloft.

And right now all four pairs were sore as h.e.l.l.

In desperation, she climbed as high as she dared, letting the gusts carry her tiny, frail body along like a leaf in the wind, allowing her some rest and forcing her to use her own powers only when she lost alt.i.tude. The system was working, yes, but it was a stopgap measure and not one that could be maintained for long periods. It was also taking her westward, although southwest, northwest, or due west she had no way of knowing.

The westward drift almost did her in. Hardly able to see, desperately fighting the elements, she was not prepared when the storm suddenly ceased and a wave of warmth washed over her. The atmosphere was also quite calm and at very low pressure, and she began dropping like a rock before she knew it.

Straining painfully to pull out of the fall, she realized she'd been blown across a sea-hex border. She pulled out just before hitting the waves and managed to maintain a low alt.i.tude. That was not enough; a gleaming silver fish that looked to be half teeth leaped from the water to grab at her. In panic, she managed to gain a little more.

Too exhausted to think straight she began to allow sensations of impending doom to penetrate her consciousness. She realized that, if she didn't find some place to land soon, she would drop into the suddenly placid sea. And wet wings would incapacitate her, leaving her easy and tempting prey for those silvery appet.i.tes below.

She had no idea where she was, or how far it might be from one place to another. Hookl, probably, since it was so warm-certainly not Jol, where icebergs abounded.

She'd settle for an iceberg right now, she thought longingly.

She drifted as best she could, certain that any moment now her wings would fall off from sheer overuse, berating herself for being such a fool. There'd be islands, she'd told herself, or other boats to use-but Jol was in no condition for shipping right now, and Nocha had been cold and rough and barren of land and traffic.

And then she saw it. Yes, there it was-a speck near the horizon. In hopeful desperation, she flew toward it with her last available energy.

It was was an island, she saw. Not much of one-a crooked, twisted spire of rock jutting from the water, its gla.s.sy sheen partially obscured by low vegetation. an island, she saw. Not much of one-a crooked, twisted spire of rock jutting from the water, its gla.s.sy sheen partially obscured by low vegetation.

For a moment those growths worried her; she had no idea what sort of creature might live there, nor what it ate-those hungry fish weren't its prey, that was certain; but anything that could coexist with them had to be a little nastier than they. It didn't matter, though, she told herself. Her alternative to landing was to become a sure snack for the toothy beasties in the waters.

The island was a bit larger than it had seemed at first, and she could see bird nests tucked among the mossy growths, so she decided to take a chance on it. Not much larger than some of the seabirds herself, she chose a big nest on the cliffside that definitely looked deserted, and settled down into it thankfully.

It was hard and brittle and had a lot of sharp places, but she felt none of them. Within seconds, she was asleep.

It had been a dreamless sleep, hard and overly long. She stirred with difficulty; her head pounded, and her eyes felt as if they had weights on them. She sat up and groaned and opened her eyes that burned like fire, and gave a gasp.

She was not alone on the island.

A creature three times her size stood watching her. The thing clung to the sheer and slippery face of the rock effortlessly, as if it were level.

She uttered a short cry of panic, then rose immediately to her feet.

She had never seen a Yaxa close up before.

The giant creature's shiny death's head turned toward her. "Don't try flying out," it advised. "I took the precaution of temporarily disabling your wings."

Immediately she tried to flex them, and they felt like lead. She looked over her shoulder, and saw that small clips had been placed on them, linking them together at their tips. The wings were too fragile to try and work the clips off, and the clips were out of reach of her hands.

The Yaxa was satisfied with her demonstration, and for good reason. Lata were tiny, delicate-looking creatures, but they were also very dangerous to most warm-blooded life forms.

The prisoner looked like a small girl of ten or eleven; it was impossible to judge a Lata's age, for they looked almost the same from a few years after hatching until they died. Aging was an exclusively internal affair.

But the little-girl image was enhanced by the fact that Lata were less than a meter tall and incredibly slender. Externally humanoid, internally they were more like insects, able to eat and digest literally anything organic. Even their soft, creamy skin was illusion, for it covered a flexible chitinous inner skin. Lata were almost impervious to temperature changes because their metabolism was flexible enough to keep them comfortable under all conditions except extreme cold and extreme heat.

They had tiny pointed ears, and tough, black hair which grew in a rough pageboy cut. Their four pairs of transparent wings kept their light bodies aloft much in the manner of a bee and gave them their exceptional maneuverability.

This particular Lata was a pastel pink. Her stinger-a wicked point of striped red and black descending from the spine down to the floor of the nest, was set on a hinged joint-it could be stiff and straight, its normal position, or bend back, allowing the Lata to sit. Her venom could paralyze or kill organisms many times her size. It was the poison that the Yaxa feared and respected.

"How are you called, Lata?" the Yaxa asked.

"I am Vistaru of the Deer Grove," she replied, trying not to show her nervousness. Never had she felt so helpless in the face of an enemy.

Yaxa never displayed emotion; they had no way to, and their voices translated hard and icy-brittle. And yet, there seemed to be a note of genuine surprise in the creature's voice when it responded. "Vistaru? The one who aided Mavra Chang in the wars long past?"

She nodded slowly, amazed that her name would even be known after all this time.

The Yaxa seemed hesitant, somehow, as if trying to decide what to do. It was uncharacteristic of the great insects. Its enigmatic eyes studied her closely.

"I should have thought you'd be in the male mode by now," the Yaxa said.

"I would have," she told the Yaxa, "but I've kept putting that off. To be a male is to have the responsibility for raising a child, and I have not yet been in a position to do that properly."

The Yaxa remained motionless, impa.s.sive, still thinking unknown thoughts. Finally, it said, "Ortega sent you here to help find Mavra Chang." It was not a question, it was a statement.

Vistaru nodded, but volunteered no additional information: their races were old enemies. As odd as this Yaxa was acting, she still did not expect to survive the encounter.

"Then I was right," the huge b.u.t.terfly murmured aloud to itself. "She is missing, not dead."'

"What is that to you?" Vistaru challenged. "If you didn't have anything to do with her disappearance, it was only because Trelig or someone beat you to it."

"Brave talk," the Yaxa noted coldly, but almost approvingly. "Still, I'll strike a bargain with you. Answer truthfully my questions, which will only make us equal in knowledge, and I shall make certain that you have the opportunity to experience the male mode."

Vistaru stared hard at the creature in wonder, but could not fathom what she was talking about. Although they were biochemically closer to each other than either was to the humans, mentally the Lata were much closer to humans.

"We'll see," Vistaru said cautiously. "Ask your questions."

"Do you know who smashed the Chang compound?" the Yaxa asked.

That was an easy one. "No. But we think it was a gang hired by Antor Trelig."

That answer seemed to satisfy the Yaxa. "I can a.s.sume that the Ambreza have activated all their antiescape plans and followed every conceivable procedure?" the Yaxa asked.

Vistaru nodded. "She is almost certainly not in Glathriel or Ambreza, nor does she seem to have crossed the border into Ginzin."

"Then she went by ship, as I suspected," the Yaxa said. "The question is, willingly or unwillingly."

"Trelig would have no use for her male companion, Joshi," Vistaru pointed out. "With hypnos available, one doesn't need any other pressure on a source of information. But he's gone, too. We a.s.sume that they got away." The Lata stopped, suddenly not sure that she hadn't given away too much.

"You needn't concern yourself,"' the Yaxa told her, as if reading her mind. "I had already come to similar conclusions. I a.s.sume that you are out here, in the middle of nowhere, for the same reason I am-you are hoping to intersect the Toorine Trader Toorine Trader."

The Lata didn't reply, but her expression told it all.

The Yaxa continued to think hard to itself, its overall intent still a mystery. But its next statement stunned Vistaru.

"Lata, I could kill you, but I will not. Yet if I release you, you might try to sting me, or we will continue to parallel each other's movements in hunting the Trader Trader, which should not be far off to the north now-and eventually we will come into conflict some other way. I could just leave you here with your wings tethered, but while you could eat the moss, eventually you would die. This bleak rock is off the shipping lanes, and only the Trader Trader brought us together here by chance. So I propose an honorable truce. You will agree not to sting me, and I will agree to do nothing to you and remove the clips. We shall seek out the brought us together here by chance. So I propose an honorable truce. You will agree not to sting me, and I will agree to do nothing to you and remove the clips. We shall seek out the Trader Trader together, and remain together until we ascertain the whereabouts of Mavra Chang. Do you agree?" together, and remain together until we ascertain the whereabouts of Mavra Chang. Do you agree?"

She considered it. She had no hope of removing the clips on her own, and without her wings she was trapped. On the other hand, could she trust the Yaxa? What was its motive? Why was it here?

Still, she had no choice.

"All right, I agree. A truce. At least until we find out what is happening here. You have my word I will not harm you."

"Your word is good enough." A long sticky tongue emerged from the Yaxa's curved proboscis and gently lifted the clip from one pair of wings and "handed" it to a front tentacle, which replaced it in a small pack glued to the creature's underside. The same procedure was followed three more times, freeing Vistaru. She flexed her wings gratefully, and stretched.

The Yaxa remained frozen, motionless on the cliff wall, watching her. Vistaru knew that, if she suddenly took off or tried to sting the creature, it was ready for her.

She wouldn't. Her word was good, at least until they found where Mavra Chang was. After that-well, there was venom, and it would keep.

"You know where the ship is?" she asked the Yaxa.

"Follow me," it replied, and took off from the cliff, great orange-and-brown wings spread wide to catch the breeze. Vistaru followed, having to work hard just to keep up with the great creature.

"Slow a bit!" she pleaded, and the Yaxa complied. She moved up, just a little under and to the right of that black, shiny death's head. "What are you called?" she asked it.

"My name is Wooley," the other replied.

Ecundo

Their basic problem was that they couldn't do the logical and safe thing-stick to the beach. Obviously, anyone looking for them would eventually come upon the Toorine Trader Toorine Trader and put everything together. and put everything together.

"But didn't we blast those things that were after us?" Joshi complained as they headed through low brush, which caused a lot of discomfort despite their toughened skin. "Why are we running away?"

Mavra considered the question. How could she explain the situation to him in a way he could understand? That they were running from captivity toward freedom, the right to determine their own destiny? The concept was too abstract for him. Glathriel was the only home he had ever known. Except for an occasional visit to Ambreza, which was for him adventure, the compound and village were his world.

And yet, she reminded herself, she had almost been lulled into that complacency herself. She, the bride of the stars and free spirit of many worlds, had been enmeshed in a trap that had almost made her content with what amounted to routine domesticity, almost forgetting her commission and her goal.

She had been hired to do away with the threat of New Pompeii, and still it was there in the night sky, a dagger directed at the very heart of existence. That commission, given so long ago, was still unfulfilled. And too, what of her ultimate goal, which she could see from the beach on those clear nights. The stars!

Why are we running, Joshi, she thought to herself. From what and to what? From stagnancy and eventual death to adventure on our own terms, that's what!

Aloud she answered, "We don't know know that they were the ones who attacked the compound, and even if they were, they were just hired hands, not the people who really wanted us. Those behind that attack will try again and again to get us until one day they do. We can sit and be a target until they bull's-eye us, or we can try and change the rules of the game. We're going to change some rules." that they were the ones who attacked the compound, and even if they were, they were just hired hands, not the people who really wanted us. Those behind that attack will try again and again to get us until one day they do. We can sit and be a target until they bull's-eye us, or we can try and change the rules of the game. We're going to change some rules."

He considered what she said, even accepted it, but he didn't quite understand. The compound had always represented peace and security; to have those boundaries permanently shattered would take a little time to accept.

They wore garments provided by the sailmaker. Pockets contained some food, some vitamins for the rough times, and a few supplies they might need. Anything they could carry without undue weight or imbalance they had packed, and the jackets were covered in a dark fur that might be mistaken for hair at any distance.

Days were warm in Ecundo, but nightfall inland from the coastal ranges brought an uncomfortable chill to the air. They slept covered in brush, and often awoke cold and wet from dew.

Ecundo had five major cities, four along the coast and one in the center of the hex near the Zone Gate, but they were avoiding those completely. The Ecundans were long, tubular creatures with rubbery claws and nasty stingers on their rear ends. Their cities were great artificial mounds where thousands lived in burrows.

To feed the population, most of the country was given over to ranching; they were carnivores, who fed primarily on the bundas, creatures that bred like rabbits and roamed in large wild herds.

Two days in, they saw their first. They felt a rumbling in the ground, and they pressed back against some rocks and watched and waited. Soon the herd came by-hundreds of them, it seemed, some coming close enough to kick dirt into their hideaway, but the bundas showed no particular curiosity if, indeed, they noticed the two travelers at all.

Mavra counted on the bundas to help them through the hex. They ran in herds except when mating; then pairs went off alone to mate, breed, and supervise the first few weeks of their numerous young. As a result, the Ecundans always went for the herds and generally ignored pairs, which, after all, were what kept the food supply going.

Part of her instructions to the sailmaker used this information. They were to look as much like bundas as possible from a distance. Ideally they could stay far enough away from curious stalked eyes to avoid being recognized as alien intruders.

Seeing the bundas now, Joshi finally understood her plans.

The creatures were actually slightly larger than he, and moved, like the two of them, on four hooved feet. The hooves were black instead of off-white, true, and of equal length, but they made similar tracks. In other ways the creatures rather resembled giant guinea pigs. Short black hair covered all but their faces and outlined ears that, though not as long as the Changs', were plenty long enough. Their faces resembled that of the pig, with large brown eyes and a rounded snout below which a short hinged jaw drooped. They were primarily herbivores, eating gra.s.s and bushes along the plain, but they also ate insects that looked like a cross between ants and c.o.c.kroaches and lived in small mounds all over the plain. The bundas never worked finding the insects or bothered the mounds. Instead, at night, after a day of foraging for fresh gra.s.s and leaves, they'd simply lie down and go to sleep, sticking out incredibly long sticky tongues that appeared to be coated with white hairs. The insects would then obligingly crawl out of their mounds and onto the waiting tongues, and get caught. Without waking up, the bunda would reel the tongue in, gulp, and then out it would come again.