“No!” Her answer was as determined as before. “East!”
“Back to Iftcan?” began Monro.
Naill had been studying Ashla. She was gripped by that half-fey mood he had seen her display so many times during their flight together. Just as he had pulled on his human heritage to dare the ship, so was she now pulling herself into her Iftin personality.
“Not Iftcan.” Her head moved slowly from side to side. “The day of Iftcan is done. That forest was withered and will leaf no more. We must go to the Mirror. This is laid upon us,” she cried out fiercely, directly at Sissions. “We must go to Thanth!”
“I say get out of here and head west!” Derek protested.
“She’s right about one thing,” Torry cut in. “They—whoever or whatever controls this place—would expect us to do just that—west with no long way around. It might just be smarter to circle around by starting east, then south to the river.”
“We go to Thanth!” Illylle repeated. And now Sissions added his will to hers. But not too completely: “East . . . for now.”
They pointed eastward from the forgotten ship, hastening to make the most of the remaining hours of darkness. The valley wherein the old spacecraft had set down ended in a cliff up which they climbed, coming out on a waste of crushed crystal sand, facing, some yards away, the White Forest where moonlight flickered and sparked.
“No trail through that,” Monro pointed out. “How will we know we’re going straight and keeping east?”
“Those branches”—Sissions indicated the nearest “tree”—”are all right-angled and they grow in an established pattern. See this one and that? We keep our eye on the third branch up on every second tree. Let’s get through this before sunup if we can.”
It was a strange way to trace a path through the crystalline wilderness, but the Survey Scout, trained to note just such oddities, was right. The third branch on every second tree pointed in the same direction—a long glittering finger to the east. And they took turns watching for it, the rest shielding their eyes against too much of the reflection and glitter.
Naill was in the lead on his turn as pathfinder when he saw mirrored on a trunk of a neighboring tree a dark patch which came into better perspective and stopped him short. In spite of the distortions of that reflected image, there could be no mistaking the space suit.
The fugitives clustered together, to stare at the broken vision on the surface of the pillar. How far away it might be they had no idea.
Illylle spoke first. “It is not moving.”
“No. Could be that it is waiting for us to walk right up and get caught again,” Monro commented.
“I think not.” Sissions’ head had turned from right to left and back again. He had glanced from the image on the tree to the other growths about them. “It is behind us and perhaps to the right. And it is not moving at all.”
Torry gave a grunt. “Close to dawn now, I judge. That thing may believe there’s no need for hurry, that it can round us up quickly enough when the sun rises. I’d say we’d best make tracks and fast.”
Torry’s suggestion was accepted. They did hurry their pace as best they could. And when they left the reflection of that space suit behind, it did not show again, though they kept watch for it. So the medico’s guess could be right—the guardian of the White Forest saw no reason to hurry in pursuit.
When the fugitives paused again, it was to make their final preparations against the sun. Torry argued that because of his training and ability to judge properly the efficiency of the goggles, he must have first chance as guide. The rest tore strips from their clothing and adjusted blindfolds which were as light-reducing as they could make them, after linking themselves together with the fiber rope.
Their advance slowed to hardly more than a crawl with Torry supplying a running description of the ground ahead, warning of missteps and obstructions. In spite of that there were falls, bumps, painful meetings with crystal growths. It was a desperate try, and only the heartening assurances from Torry that they were making progress kept them to it.
“Sun’s hit the trees,” he reported laconically some time later.
They were all aware now of the heat of those rays on their bodies, of a measure of light working through their blindfolds.
“What results with the goggles?” Sissions asked hoarsely.
“No worse than moonlight—yet,” Torry reported.
So they were working this far. But suppose that the wyte pack waited ahead? They could not fight those blindfolded. And that suit—was it tramping stolidly along behind them, ready to gather them in as easily as it had netted Ashla and Naill back on the borders of the waste?
“Ah . . .” Torry broke off his stream of directions with a small cry. Naill tensed and then relaxed as the other added, “End of the wood . . . open beyond. And—I’m ready for relief.”
They had drawn lots before they had started and were linked on the rope in the order of those lots. Naill’s hands went out readily, felt the goggles fall into them as Torry pulled his waiting blindfold down over his own eyes. Adjusting the lenses and pushing up his blinder was an awkward process, but a few moments later Naill blinked out into a bright morning which the treated goggles turned into a bearable blaze.
He hurried to help Torry and the others on the rope and then faced into the open country. It was barren rock and sand—the sand running in sweeps as if it were the water of dry rivers. And one of those sandy streams, while thick to plod through, ran east to give them smoother footing. Naill plowed toward that, towing his line of followers.
How far were they now from the valley of the ship? Naill had no idea of how much ground they had covered. He glanced back at intervals, each time expecting to see the suited sentry emerge from the blinding glitter of the White Forest, just as he listened for the snarling cry of the wyte pack.
The river of sand, which had seemed a good road away from the Forest, did not serve them long, for it took a sharp turn to the north, and Naill was faced with the fact that they must somehow make their way up along a ridge. They rested, drinking sparingly of their water, eating nuts and dried berries.
“No reason to think it was going to be easy,” Monro commented. “My turn to take over now. Maybe—if we went up one at a time—me helping—”
Naill’s hands were fumbling with the goggles when he saw Ashla move.
“Wait!” Her word was an order. She was facing toward the Forest, which was now but a glittering spot behind them.
“It—stirs! It knows! Now It wonders . . . soon It will move!” Her hands were fists. Naill could see only her lips, tight and compressed below the edge of her blindfold.
Sissions was on his feet, too. “Illylle is right. Pursuit will come.”
“We can’t run and we can’t fly. Looks as if we’ve had it,” Monro commented.
“No!” The protest came from the girl. “Now!” She whirled about to Naill as if she could see him through her blindfold. “This is my time to lead!”
“Not your turn—”
“This is not a matter of turns—or of anything but the knowing. And I have the knowing, I tell you! This is the time.”
Sissions spoke. “Give her the goggles.” The tone of that order overruled Naill’s rise of protest.
His own blindfold was in place again when she spoke. “I am ready. Now we link hands—we do not hold the rope.”
Her own fingers tightened about his. He reached out his left arm with caution, groped for Monro’s hand. Then . . .
Naill had no words to actually describe what was happening, and Ayyar recognized it only dimly as a flow of the Power. But it was as if he could see—not physically but mentally—that through him flowed an awareness of his surroundings which was coming not by the way of his own senses, but from the girl, to pass along that line of men hand-clasped together.
So linked, they began a scramble up and out of the sand river and across the ridge beyond. Naill could sense, too, the strain and drive that worked in Ashla. Yet she kept going and they followed, at a better pace than they had held since sunup.
“It has learned.” Her voice was low and hoarse. “Now It will truly move! Its servants gather.”
And Naill heard—as if from very far off—the soulless wail of a wyte.
“Will with me!” That came as a plea from her. “Iftin warriors, Mirrormaster, Sea Lord—once you all stood blade and power against That Which Abides. Now will with my will, fight with those wills as you did with your blades in a leaf time now gone!”