“Ayyar!”
The calling would not let him be, pursued him, herded him up, out once more into the world. Very reluctantly he opened his eyes to look into a green-skinned face, into slanting eyes that held concern. Malani? No, Illylle! Slowly, painfully his mind matched a name to that face.
That was Illylle and he was Ayyar—Ayyar of the Iftin. And they were in a shelter between the rocks of the Enemy’s Waste while about them the storm raged and from above—
He struggled to sit up though the girl’s hands on his shoulders pinned him back with all the strength she could muster.
“It is all right. I am Ayyar—”
She must have read the truth in his eyes for she released him so that he could move, look to where the robot had rested. It was gone and he was not surprised. Had it been spying upon them? What was its function in the Enemy’s service, for that it belonged in the ranks of That he did not doubt.
“It went—that way.” Illylle pointed west. “Do you know now—what it is?”
“Very little. I saw its like once—long ago and on another planet—in the computer cabin of a liner. It is some form of service robot, though its real function I do not know.”
“But what does it here?”
“Be sure, nothing to our advantage.”
As Naill he had thought to use the thing as a guide. As Ayyar he must also do that, and the prospect of such a journey was not easy to think about.
“Come!” At least the storm was slackening, and he felt they dared not lose track of the robot.
They scrambled out of the crevice, winding their cloaks about their heads and shoulders. Rivers ran down the gullies, but the robot kept to the heights, moving as if it were programmed for some independent activity.
Perhaps more than one spacecraft had in the past landed in the Waste to be used by That. They had found one on their first escape, an older type of trader like those Naill had known. But what if there had been more complex vessels, even a liner?
There was a crackle in the air, a blinding burst of light. Illylle cried out, stumbled against her companion. Ayyar rubbed his eyes, striving to wipe away blindness, unable to go on in a black world. Through his body ran again a hot tingling such as he had felt when the tongue from the Mirror had touched him.
Half blind, Ayyar supported the girl, peering about him. There was continued brightness from behind; he dared not turn to face it. Some instinct for preservation sent him staggering to a rock outcrop, dragging Illylle with him.
“What was it? I am blind! Blind!” Her assurance was gone; she clung to him with both hands, her shivering body pressed close to his for comfort.
“That may be temporary,” he told her. “Close your eyes, wait. I do not know what it was, but there is now a bright light behind us. If we go forward we must keep to cover.”
“Blind I cannot go,” Illylle said. “If you can see you must leave me—you must!”
“I, too, cannot see—very much,” which was not altogether a lie. This weakness of their Iftin bodies might defeat them yet. “We must wait, hope it will pass.”
During that waiting, Illylle’s hold on his arm was tight and painful. She said nothing after her outburst, and he did not dare to ask if she had any glimmer of returning sight. His own was clearing, but very slowly. And over such broken ground they dared not venture, not when they must go with two kinds of caution, against a misstep, and in fear of being sighted by some guard of the Enemy.
The storm cleared. Whether it was still night or day Ayyar could not have told. But around the rock against which they crouched still streamed the light from the east, making a fan that was shadowed by break of gully, rise of rock. Seeing that Ayyar knew that his sight had cleared. He spoke softly to Illylle:
“What can you see now?”
Her eyes had been closed. Now she opened them, blinked, and her fingers dug into his flesh. “Some—a little—but all is blurred. Ayyar, what if—?”
“If you can see some, then it is clearing,” he hastened to assure her, hoping he spoke the truth. “Do you see enough for us to go on?”
If Illylle’s sight cleared no more, then he must find a better hiding place for them both and soon. Who knew what might roam this land? A cave, a place in some gully where one man with a sword could bar the entrance—that was what they needed. Yet he dared not go to seek it. They must stay together.
“Guide me.” She spoke with determination, her will plainly in control. “Guide me and let us go.”
So began the worst of their journey, taken with many pauses as from the shadow of each bit of cover Ayyar studied the way ahead for the quickest and easiest route to another. Long since, he had surrendered his hope of tracing the robot. Their only direction was west, and they took it in a weaving pattern, zigzag.
“Any better?” he asked at what might be their tenth halt.
“Only a little, a very little.”
He hoped she spoke the truth, was not saying that for his encouragement. So far, he had found them no place for a refuge. They rounded a wall of rock and Ayyar saw glitter ahead. It was not as brilliant as the beam at their back, but it warned them of danger. He put on his leaf goggles, helped Illylle to don hers. That reduced the glitter, but Illylle stumbled even more.
“What can it be?” she asked.
“There is one thing—the White Forest.”
The crystal trees, certainly those would pick up light from the east, produce just such points of glitter. And the White Forest, if it did not guard the heart of That’s domain, must lie very close to it. Could they penetrate the Forest without a guide? They had come out of it once because the alignment of the branches, always straight-angled from the prism trunks, had given them a check upon their direction. But into it they had gone as prisoners guided by the walking space suit.
“There is the wood—” Illylle said longingly.
Yes, the wood, that spot of green life that lay in the Enemy’s own country, that had kept alive the Iftin captives. But that lay at the bottom of a chasm and down the stairway which led to it— Ayyar knew that they could never descend that steep way now.
“Come—”
He led her on. The glitter became more intense, but still there was something odd about it. The trees Ayyar remembered had stood tall and straight. This light lay close to ground level. And when their painful crawl brought them still closer, he saw what did face them—a truly insurmountable barrier. For those tall trees were now broken shards, splintered and riven, covering the ground in heaps to cut to rags anything venturing in among their ruins. So must the fury of the Mirror have wrought when it had unleashed that storm months ago. And That had either not been able to, or had not wished to—repair the wreckage.
“All broken—” Illylle looked at what lay before them. “We—there is no way through that!”
“None.” So much they had lost when the robot outdistanced them. There was nothing left for them to do but cast along the edge of the shattered Forest seeking some refuge. Let the sun rise, strike those pieces—they could not face such reflected light, even if their lives depended upon it. Which well they might.
North or south? North lay the Mirror and the way they had once fled this place. South was unknown land. And was That watching? South Ayyar turned now, guiding Illylle, searching for any hint of refuge. They could not hope for clouds and storm a second day.
“Ayyar!” The girl’s head was up; she was sniffing.
But what scented the air was not the stench of false Iftin, nor of any of the creatures of That. It was cool and clean, and it spoke of real growth and life. But here—in this desert—?
“That way!” She swung her head to the left. “Oh, hurry! Hurry!”
But before them lay the murderous shards of crystal, and Ayyar held her back. He was not sure he could pick a free path through without knowing how far they must travel, nor what lay beyond.
“This way is dangerous—” he began.
“That it is not!” she returned emphatically. “We must find—”
To take that way demanded such an agony of concentration from Ayyar that he held to his strength of purpose only by great effort. Illylle came behind him, heeding his words as to where to set her feet. Time and time again he had to set aside, with infinite care against slitting his hands, a jagged splinter too large to avoid. Yet to encourage them always was that scent of free earth and growing things.