Warlock by Andre Norton

It seemed that Harath had to be coaxed. For he caught at the fluttering ends of Yasa’s fringed skirt, turning his head away, only clicking his beak in a staccato of protest when Ogan ordered him to touch the lump.

Yasa folded her slender legs, gracefully joining Ziantha on the floor. She ran her fingers gently over the head of the small alien, purring soothingly, making no mind-send the girl could detect, but in some manner of her own, communicating, coaxing, bringing Harath to a better temper.

At last, with a final ruffle of beak drum, he loosed his hold on her skirt and crossed the cushions with extreme wariness, as if he fully expected an explosion to follow any touch, even through the mind alone. Squatting down, he advanced from his down-covered pocket a single tentacle, brought it over so that the tip alone just touched the artifact.

Eagerly Ziantha opened her own channel of communication, ready to pick up whatever the alien would report.

“Not early”—that was Ogan’s caution. “Give us the latest reading.”

Ziantha picked up a sensation of distress.

“All ways at once—much—much—” Harath’s answer was a protest.

“Give us the latest,” Ogan insisted.

“Hidden—deep hidden—oheee—dark—death—” Harath’s thought was as sharp as a scream. He snatched away his tentacle as if the figure were searing hot.

“How did Jucundus get it?” It was Yasa this time who asked. “Little one, little brave one, you can see that for us. What is this precious thing?”

“A place, an old place—where death lies. Hidden, old—strange. It is cold from the long time since it was in sun and light. Death and cold. Many things around it once—a great—great lord there. No—not to see!”

He whipped the tentacle away again, into complete hiding. But he did not turn away, rather stood regarding the artifact.

Then: “It is of those you call Forerunners. The very ancient ones. And it is—was—once one of two—”

Ziantha heard a hiss which formed no word. Yasa’s lips were a little apart, there was an avid glow in her large eyes.

“Well done, little one.” She put out her hand as if to fondle Harath. But he turned, made his way unsteadily across the pillows to stand beside Ziantha.

“I do not know how,” he reported on the open mind-send they all now shared, “but this one, she is a part of it. It is Ziantha who can find, if finding comes at all, where this once lay. Dark and cold and death.” His round eyes held unblinkingly on Ziantha. She shivered as she had when she had come out of the trance of the apport. But she knew that what he said was the truth. By some curse of temperament or fortune she was linked to this ugly thing beyond all hope of freedom.

“Forerunner tomb!” Yasa held one of her girdle scent bags to her nose, sniffing in refreshment the strong odor of the powdered lily petals. “Ogan, we must discover whence Jucundus had this—”

“If he bought it, Lady, or if he brought it with him—” It was plain that Ogan was equally excited.

“What matter? Whatever a man has discovered can be found. Do we not have more eyes and ears almost than the number of stars over us?”

“If bought, it could well be loot from a tomb already discovered,” Ziantha ventured.

Yasa looked at her. “You believe that? That it is some unknown curiosity picked up perhaps at the port mart with no backtracing for its origin? It has no beauty to the eye—age alone and a link with the Forerunners would make it worthy to be displayed and cherished. Also Jucundus has pretensions to hist-test learning. He backed three survey groups on Fennis, striving to place the mound builders there. But old as those were, they were not true Forerunners, nor were there tombs. No, Jucundus kept this with him because of its history, which we must learn. Now we shall put it in safekeeping until—”

She would have taken it up. But, though her fingers scrabbled in the air, she could not touch its surface.

“Ogan! What is the matter?”

He came swiftly around the mound of cushions. After a slow study of the artifact he caught Yasa’s wrist.

“Psychokinetic energy. It is charged past a point I have never seen before. Lady, this—this thing must once have been a focus for some parapsychological use. That which gathered in it during the time it was used has now been brought to life by the power bent on it when apported. It is like mind-power itself. Unless it is discharged in some fashion, it is highly dangerous to the touch. Unless—” He turned on Ziantha. “Pick it up! At once, do you hear!”

The snap of his order made her move before she thought. Her hand closed about the lump with no difficulty. It appeared to be warm—or was that only her imagination, primed by what Ogan had just said? But if Yasa had been unable to touch it, that barrier did not hold for her.

“Psychic tie,” Ogan pronounced. “Until it is fully discharged, if it ever will be, Lady, this girl is the only one who can handle it.”

“Surely you can neutralize it in some manner! You have all your devices—of what good are those?” Yasa was plainly not prepared to accept his decision.

“Of this condition we have theoretical knowledge, Lady. But in a hundred planet years or more no worship object of an alien race has ever been found to be so studied. An artifact which has been the object of worship of a nation or species acquires, with every ceremony of worship, a certain residue of power. So charged, it literally becomes, as the ancient men said, god-like. There were god-kings and -queens of old who were the objects of worship by those who served them, and who were fed by the psychic energies of those who adored them. Thus they achieved the power which made them perform miracles and brought them indeed close to the might they professed to have.”

“And you believe this to be such a god-thing?” There was a shadow of disbelief in the Salarika’s voice.

“It is clearly a thing of psychic power far past the ordinary. And I tell you I dare not put it to any test I could devise, because I might destroy what it holds. We may have chanced on such a treasure as we could not have hoped to discover in a lifetime.”

Perhaps it was the word “treasure” which brought the throat-purr of satisfaction from Yasa.

“But you believe that you can perhaps use it—through our cubling here—” The look she now gave Ziantha was both forgiving and approving.

“I will and can promise nothing, Lady. But with such a key I think old doors can be opened. We must start, of course, to trace its history while it was in Jucundus’s possession. Whether its import was known to him in more than a general way, I greatly doubt. He does not like sensitives, as well we know. Men with secrets to hide do not. I can believe that while it was in his hands no one capable of sensing its real value and meaning could have seen it. Though it must have been aroused by apporting. Only Ziantha knew it for what it was, or felt its pull, when she passed by the table on which it lay. A combination of lucky chances, Lady. That she should be in a heightened state when she first found it, so drawn to it, that she should then set it afire by using psychokinetic means to obtain it. Two factors out of the normal, reacting on it and on her in a short time, have set up a rapport we can use very well.

“Now, my girl,” he spoke to Ziantha, “you will be advised to try to read this.”

“I cannot!” she cried. “I tried, but I cannot! It—it was horrible.”

Yasa laughed. “To teach you, cubling, not to take such grave matters on yourself. You will, however, attend to what Ogan is saying or suffer a mind-lock.” She spoke lightly enough, but Ziantha had no doubt that she meant exactly what she threatened. Only the girl did not need such a threat; her fascination with the artifact had not been in any way lessened, though she had suffered enough during that one attempt to solve its mystery to know that she could not try that again—not as she felt now.

“In your guardianship then, cubling.” Yasa arose. “Or perhaps in its own, if Ogan’s reading of its present state continues. Meanwhile we shall take up the matter of where Jucundus first found it.”

4

There was no need of any warning. Ziantha realized she had in truth condemned herself to captivity in the villa while that vast underground of spies Yasa maintained went into action. The girl had expected Ogan to show more interest, though, both in her sudden development of psychokinetic powers and in the artifact. She had anticipated, with dread, hours of lab testing. And, when no such summons came, she was first relieved, then a little piqued at being so ignored. Did the parapsychologist think the artifact would continue to be so “charged” that it would defy his powers of research? Or was he only preparing stiffer tests?