“But the settlers—”
“Are not natives. They would change Janus, alter it to an off-world pattern, narrow, arid, and stultifying. They are slowly shrinking in numbers as more and more of them come over to us. This world does not welcome them, and those it can welcome speedily find a cache and join our ranks—as you came, and Ashla. What part of the treasure lured you so that you had to handle it, wanted to possess it for yourself?”
“The tube,” Naill replied instantly. “It was the color—those patterns. . . . Something pulled me—I cannot explain.”
“For me it was the figurine.” Torry smiled. “I held it in my hand for hours the night I found it. Those who cannot resist become one with us. And in each, an Ift of old shares and moves. I am Torry but I am also Kelemark of Iftlanser. I was a tender of young growth and one learned in herbs and plant lore.”
“Did none of you ever try to go back to the port—to the settlement?”
“Did you?”
“Yes. But that was a garth; they have a superstitious fear of the forest, of everything coming out of it. And the Green Sick to them is punishment for sin. Naturally they hunted me.”
“But you, yourself, when you went there—did you want to stay? Were those humans your people?”
“No.”
“We believe that this, too, was a part of the plan, that in becoming Iftin we were also implanted with a revulsion against our former kind. Thus, if the purpose of the planners was to rebuild their race, independent and truly Iftin once more, they deemed we must be apart from the species we once were. None of us can now force ourselves to return to the port—to any off-world holding. And the longer we are in the forest, the stronger that repulsion is. We are meant to recruit from them but not mingle with them.”
“And this”—Naill’s hand indicated their present situation—”what has this to do with it?”
“We don’t know—more than we have learned from bits and pieces of memories. Your Ashla seems to know much more than the rest of us. She has taken on the Ift portion of some priestess or seeress of the last days. There is a force here—long hostile to the Iftin. It is stirring again because the Iftin also are reviving through us. As to what It is—or why It keeps us here”—Torry spread his hands—”we are not sure at all.”
“The space suit?”
Torry was silent for a moment. “Your guess is as good as mine. I will say this much. I do not think any normal man wears that thing—though it is off-world and of a type I have worn myself.”
“What are the boundaries of this place?” Naill wanted to know.
“We have a long narrow strip of forest, running for a good space north and south. There’s that wall you came over, and beyond it all crystalline growth. We’ve explored in there at night. But we found nothing save the stairway and those walls and corridors none of which follows any pattern or sense we can determine.”
“And that is all? Then where is this Thing in control?”
“We haven’t been able to locate It. As far as we can discover, the crystal growth simply runs on and on. And we dared not follow it too far for fear of being caught out there in the day. Our night sight is limiting.”
“So you’ve just accepted imprisonment, then?” Naill was once more amazed at what seemed a lack of enterprise on the part of the captives.
Torry smiled, a grim curve of lip. “We appear quite spineless, don’t we, Renfro? But not quite. The way out is not always the most open. As you will see in due course.”
“Ayyar—” Ashla came into the tree house carrying a holder improvised from a leaf. She showed him its contents. “Sa-san berries. Ripe sa-san berries here!” She shook three of the plump, red-black fruit, each as big as his thumb, into his hand. “There was a voice once in the Wind Forest.” Her eyes were dreaming as she remembered. “Ah—how sweet its flowers smelled in New Leaf time!”
“Illylle,” Torry said, “you remember a great deal, do you not?”
“Much, much, but still not enough!” Her dreaminess faded, she looked a little lost. “I thought—believed—that together we could break through, find what we lost. There was Jarvas, who had been Mirrormaster . . .” Her lost expression deepened. “But he was not enough Jarvas, he was too much Pate Sissions—and so we could not do it. And the rest of you—all different—different times, different powers. Perhaps it is the Turning of the Leaves which has made it so.”
“The Turning of the Leaves, Illylle?” Sissions had followed her inside, and had taken one of her hands in his. “What is that?”
There was a small pucker set by impatience on her forehead. “There was the Blue Leaf when the world was young and the Iftin were strong in their might. Then did Kymon come to this place and strive with That Which Abides, and the Oath was taken between Power and Power. None of us here were of that Leaf time—those mighty ones must have gone long, long ago, too far to be recalled. There came after the Green Leaf and of that Leaf were you, Jarvas, though you seem to remember it not. And then there was a lessening and a trial of the Oath. But still the Word held; though it was stretched thinner with time, it was still a tie.
“Third was the Gray Leaf, and that was the time of ending in which Illylle dwelt and he who is here as Derek but was then Lokatath, a Sea Lord, and Ayyar—who was Captain at the First Ring of Iftcan. And that was a dark, dark time, for the people were few and they were tired with many years—and the children of the race were fewer yet. Then the Larsh, who had not said the Oath, gathered and marched. At last the end came, and the Leaves fell. Thus we came together—not of one age or life—and united we cannot raise the Power as I had hoped.”
These men were all older than he, Naill reflected, and, as Illylle’s memories seemed to imply, they had once been of consequence in Iftcan. He was Naill Renfro, a worldless wanderer, lately a slave laborer. But a certain defiance rising in him made him speak now: “There is more than one heritage of power—” He was that far when he paused, a little shaken because they were all staring at him now. “We have a double heritage.” He pushed on quickly. “And there is the space suit, made by our own kind. The suit could only come from a ship—no matter what wears it now—and the ship was also ours.”
Pate Sissions smiled. “All very true. Torry, how is that arm of his? Is he ready for a journey?”
“If he takes reasonable care. Healing was quick, as usual.”
“Then I think it is time we move.” He glanced up at the tree bole around which this hut was fashioned. “Iftscar may be a natural insulation against arousing that.” His hand pointed to the strip of forest outside. “Only tonight there is a stirring—I feel it. That may not know any more about us, but It senses something. It is uneasy—awake—”
“Yes!” Illylle interrupted. “That is the truth! It stirs—and It knows Its power and how to use it!”
Whatever she and Pate Sissions were able to pick out of the air was not discernible to the rest, but their sincerity in believing it existed could not be denied.
“We were very close to breakthrough last time,” Monro observed. “And it is yet early evening—we have the whole night before us.”
They were gathering up the few furnishings of the tree house, filling skin bottles with water, making small packs of dried berries and nuts. It would seem they did not intend to return. Naill accepted one of the packs, slung it across his shoulder, but asked no questions. He judged that they were about to carry out some long-projected plan, as the amount of their food supplies, the extra water containers, meant a journey of some duration.
Sissions led the line of march with Ashla behind him. She was seldom far from the man she had named Jarvas and claimed as “Mirrormaster.” Then came Derek, Torry and Naill, while Monro brought up the rear. Their weapons were three swords and two spears. Something in Naill questioned the assurance with which Sissions pushed ahead.
Shade of trees gave way to a patch of open, and there the wall of the valley was not glassily coated but rose as a stark white rock broken by a fault from which the stream ran. Sissions splashed into the water which rose to his knees, stooped head and shoulders to pass into the cave from which it flowed. And in turn they copied his move.