Jarvas vanished up river in search of a proper place to set out the bait and the rest worked with care, using one of their cloaks to keep off the rain which was now a drizzle, as they shredded each tiny piece of precious bark into one pile. When they had done, Illylle ran her hands back and forth through it, crooning in a whisper. Ayyar did not strive to distinguish her words, for this he knew was a growing chant. Not the chant, of course; that was too sacred for any such use, but still one to send virtue into their small pile of sal.
Rizak shared out supplies, mainly the flat nut-meat bread from the Iftsiga stores. The refreshing sap which had awakened them had sustained them for long, but now they must turn to real food.
“With the night our chance passes for now.” Kelemark leaned back against a rock.
“There is always another sunset.” Illylle shook bits of bark from her fingers.
Yes, thought Ayyar, there was always another sunset. Yet time did not linger for the good of any man—or for Ift—or for That which moved back there in the Waste, the thing they had gone into winter sleep believing muzzled, defeated— Defeated? It would seem that they had witnessed only a small opening skirmish in that spectacular meeting of powers when the Mirror had overflowed its basin, not a final battle. And That had resources beyond any they had dreamed.
The knowledge that had gone into the making of the false Ift—that was not born of the half mystical, other-worldly influence Ayyar thought pertained to the realm of That Which Abides. It was far closer akin to off-world technology.
What had Illylle said—other ships planeting mayhap, out in the Waste, their cargoes open for That’s use? The woman robot, yes, that could have come from such a ship. Not the Iftin, however. Those were of Janus. Someone or something had fashioned those to be used for this purpose—to set all Iftin apart as outlaws and the hunted. Was this off-world—not part of That at all? No—they knew the stench of old, and it clung to the false ones.
They must learn what their half memories continued to deny them—the nature of That Which Abides. If It was not a power beyond description, like unto that which arose from the Mirror, then It must be force of another kind. But they must know!
Ayyar turned his head, looking westward to the Waste. They had seen, other than the false Iftin attack, no sign of any movement out of there. The flying thing which had once spied upon him and Illylle, the walking space suit—none of those had appeared. This strip along the river was normal healthy ground. But—there was the White Forest, and the chasm, and somewhere the true lurking place of That.
Jarvas slid between two rocks, joining them after a whistle announced his coming.
“There is a good place not too far away. Also, the flitter continues to patrol. But we must wait until mid-morn—”
“Morning!” Rizak grunted. “Very well, we wait.”
It was difficult to reverse the natural order of things, to sleep through the cool of early morn until dawn and wait for the deadening sun and the light of full day. But they had to adapt to man’s time again if they would accomplish their purpose.
Ayyar took the last turn at guard, watching westward. Nothing stirred there. In the Forest there would have been life which he could understand, with which he felt kinship, which would bolster the spirit. There, there was nothing—save the feeling that storm gathered. Not a gale of wind and rain and massed cloud, but another kind. And they must be prepared to face it as best they could. From it there would be no shelter, no hiding place.
IV
Gullies of sand, hardened by winter frost, ran between rocks as might rivers of water. And the water—Ayyar looked at it with little favor. There was ice in it. At least the rain had stopped and the clearing sky gave promise of a bright day—far too bright for Iftin tastes. In the dawn, still comforting to their eyes, they were setting their trap.
The robot body was placed to sprawl convincingly half across a rock. Its protective camouflage cloak was ripped away, the form could be plainly seen. Around it were winter-dried brush and reeds, and into this they wove their sal, putting the larger amount to the north from which the wind blew.
Jarvas made a last adjustment to the bait and stepped back. They had drawn lots for the one who must lie in the water to spring the trap, and Ayyar did not know whether to be glad or sorry that the banded stone had been his portion.
Now, stripped of cloak, pack, everything save his clothing and his sword, he lay at the water’s edge, ready to take to the stream when and if they heard the coming of a scout flitter. So loosely woven a trap, yet it was the best they could devise.
Ayyar put out a hand the let the chill of the river flow across it as he cupped his palm and brought it up, spilling drops. Illylle was not the only one to remember old invocations. Once Ayyar of Ky-Kyc had held a curiously marked cup and poured its contents thus upon the earth and spoken such words as Naill-Ayyar whispered now:
“As thus I pour this water by my strength and will, so may my enemy be poured, to lie helpless and spent upon the earth!”
That prayer had not influenced the Larsh, nor would it probably be any more effective against off-worlder, garthman, or That. But man—or Ift—needs must cling to some belief or hope in something greater than himself at such an hour.
He clipped the leaf goggles down over his eyes. They had been right in their fears; the day would be bright. And there was some taste of spring in the air, as if the heavy beat of rain had unlatched the prison door for another season.
Spring in Iftcan! Ayyar caught at scraps of memory dim and faded, yet his blood ran quicker, like the sap rising joyfully through the Great Crowns and all that grew in the Forest, as he remembered this small picture and that. Spring was for seeding, not for death. Yet death had been forced upon Ayyar once before and now faced him again. He had his hand and a sword in it—that was the way for Ift to ever front the Enemy!
There was a buzz—davez, his mind identified—very early for that insect to seek the river. He lay very still. If one did not move, the stinging blood-sucker would not attack.
Then came a sound greater than any insect buzz—the flitter! He did not need Jarvas’ warning whistle to send him into the water between a storm-battered tree and rocks. The hum grew louder. Now—surely they would sight the robot! And if the woman thing found earlier had aroused interest—
Yes! Ayyar sank beneath the water as the hiss of a flame beam lashed across the water-logged tree, swept the rocks, onto the brush screen now between him and the robot. The wind and the height of the riverbank should keep the sal fumes away from him, but it was a chancy thing.
With a whisper of displaced air, they were landing. Now he must angle around a rock and crouch again. Ayyar jerked and almost cried out—he had forgotten the davez, and the pain of the sting was sharp. He struck at his shoulder, flattening the insect feeding greedily, and then was ashamed at his lack of control. What if that movement had betrayed him to those in the flitter?
“Over there—cover me!”
The words in Basic sounded odd, as if in a foreign tongue once well known but just slightly remembered. Ayyar pulled himself between two rocks. Above, the smoke swirled. Would enough of it reach the men—one climbing out, the other still in the small cabin? Ayyar watched the off-worlder stride confidently to the robot and put out a hand to settle on its hunched shoulder. Then he coughed, shook his head vigorously, and fanned smoke away from his face. He tugged one-handedly at the false Ift before, with a mutter of exasperation, he holstered his blaster and used a double grip to work loose the leg Jarvas and Kelemark had spent so much time wedging tight.
“Another robot,” he called back over his shoulder. “It seems to be caught fast—” He staggered against the rock. Then he turned and took a step or two toward the flyer before he slumped to the ground.
“Rashon!” The hail from the flitter brought his head up, but he could only crawl, and before he reached the cabin door, he lay face down and still.
“Rashon!”
A hand holding a blaster swung into Ayyar’s line of vision. Sal smoke had knocked out one of them, but his fellow had been in the cabin. Had enough of the fumes entered there? The off-worlder emerged crouching, his eyes darting from side to side, surveying the smoking brush wall. Hooking one hand in the fabric of his fellow’s tunic, he tried to drag Rashon back to the cabin. But the fact that his comrade was a larger and heavier man made that difficult. However, he made a valiant try, refusing to put up his weapon.