There was a pooling of memories, both Iftin and human, among those gathered in the ship. As Ift after Ift was eliminated from that council, Olyron spoke to those left.
"Does it not strike you as strange, brothers, that while we seem in memory to be divided more or less equally between the age of the Green Leaf and the Gray, there are none among us from the Blue, which must have been the golden age of our nation? And that all we have in memory of the Oath between Kymon and That is legend only? If those who made changelings of us could draw from two ages, the vigorous Green, the fading Gray, why not from the third and, by their belief, the best—the Blue? Was that time so far back that they could not evoke the personalities of any living then to 'haunt' one of their treasure traps? Or is there an important reason why that age was barred to them?"
"Of what importance is that here and now?" one of the brothers asked.
"I do not know. Save that a memory of Kymon's time could guide us so well. To go blindly into this struggle is to be chain-bound from the start."
"If we lack knowledge of Kymon," Jarvas reminded them, "at least we have that of Jattu Nkoyo." He nodded to the Ift on his left. Out of all the men questioned only Jeyken, he who had once been Jattu Nkoyo, robot-service tech, had training that might aid them. His was the best off-world memory they could find, and now it must work secondhand into the bargain, lest Jeyken, turning to Nkoyo's recall, be swept up by That.
"You must not depend too much on what I can give you." Jeyken spread out his hands as if refusing some task beyond his strength. "What you really need is an engineering tech and his tools."
"Since we can summon neither out of thin air," Olyron commented dryly, "we shall do our best with you. Give us what you have, let Drangar learn it from you, going over in detail Ayyar's observation of what may be needed."
"I have been thinking of that pillar in the Waste and its beckoning beam," Jarvas cut in. "It may be near time for supply ships at the port. Do you suppose that signal could bring a ship? These animated space suits came from ships. We found one such landed back in the Waste last season, an old one. There could well have been others."
"So you propose making plans for an assault on the beacon? Just on the chance that it may be of some disservice to us?" inquired Olyron.
"If it is now being used, as Ayyar believes, to pull the rest of the Settlers into the Waste, then it is already a menace," Jarvas replied. "Yes, I believe that we must make that also an objective—for a third party."
Olyron looked skeptical, as if he wondered just how Iftin without machines or tools was going to accomplish such a program. And Ayyar could agree with him. Jattu Nkoyo might be a master robot-tech, but more engineering knowledge than he ever possessed could well be needed to unseal that stairway—let alone down the beacon pillar.
But he detailed for them again his best observations of the plug. At last the one-time robot-tech leaned back and looked to the Ift who would carry what technical assistance he could supply.
"It may be impossible. If you had a cutter set on high beam, you could go for the edge around the plug. Or if the passage below paralleled those above, you could cut through some feet back and drop down. But without a cutter—" He shook his head doubtfully. "You say these space suits still wear their equipment belts, with tools in them?" he asked Ayyar. At the other's nod, he continued. "Any plug put in that way would be too well set to burn out with hand tools—the way the sword energy handled the doors. Doors—" he repeated thoughtfully.
"What about them?" Jarvas wanted to know when Jeyken did not continue.
"This place, these burrows, as you call them, they must have been set up by space men. You had that impression, did you not—I mean, they seemed familiar?"
"Yes, they did!"
"And you came up a ladder, past how many levels?"
"Two."
"Did the corridors on each radiate in the same pattern? And how far apart were the levels, how many steps between?"
Ayyar closed his eyes and tried to visualize the mound stairs. Could he be sure that the pattern had been the same on each level? Never had he flogged his memory harder.
"I think that the next level up had a like number of passages running in the same directions. Of the other I am not sure. There were—no, I cannot tell the number of steps—" Another failure to report, and this one he could have avoided. Why had he not taken greater care to be sure of such details?
"Then—I would advocate a break downward from one of the passages."
"Through this metal lining and rock—using what—our fingernails?" Drangar snorted. "I have dug fields in my time, but that was earth and I had a plow—"
Jeyken did not answer him directly. He spread out his hands on the table top, framing the rude sketch Ayyar had made there of the passages and the stoppered stairway as he had seen them.
"Here is your weak point." The former tech pointed to the door of the passage. "If it is to spacer design, then these doors on all levels will be hung on a column straight down, each above the other. And around here in the wall somewhere will be an opening to repair any jammed control. On a ship a servo-robot is generalized, which means it is bulky and well armored, to work inside or out in space. So it needs plenty of room. Thus a repair space must allow for that and so would be large enough for a man to enter.
"You burn out the lock there, just as Ayyar burnt the doors, giving you access to any control cable. This will be strung in a well, and that will be your passage down to the sealed-off level."
"If and if and if again," commented Jarvas. "Always supposing that this is all made to a spacer design."
"Short of bringing in a large-size cutter, brothers," Jeyken answered, "I do not see any other way."
"But I no longer have the sword energy," Ayyar pointed out.
"Then you will have to capture a suit and get a blaster from it," was Jeyken's reply. "At a high voltage that will cut you in. Now, Drangar, this is what you are to look for—" He went into detail concerning the service doors and the machinery to be found within.
Ayyar slumped on the bench and stared at his hands resting limply on the table before him. He did not believe that they would have much profit from plans that left so much to chance, and guess work. Better accept defeat in this, rescue Illylle, retreat overseas, and leave the destroyed Forest, the Waste, and the off-worlders to That.
"We cannot—"
Ayyar raised his eyes to meet those of Jarvas.
"We cannot, or we would! Think you, are you able to set aside the thought that the seeding will fail, that our nation, now only a weak handful, will not have another springtime?"
Within Ayyar was a stirring. The sap drink had awakened and strengthened his body, not his weary mind. Now he knew Jarvas was right, that there had been planted in the changelings the need to perpetuate their kind, to set the treasure traps, to thus produce more and more Iftin. They could no more turn their backs upon that urge than the off-worlders he had seen could escape the call of That.
Perhaps if this was to be the end of the seeding, it was better that it came in battle with That than in slow decay. He got to his feet. That sense of purpose that had wrapped him, given him confidence when he had left the Mirror with Illylle, had ebbed. He had left in him now only a kind of weary determination to see this to the end.
"Illylle?"
"Kelemark and Lokatath will bring her back after we find her."
They waited upon the night. Two parties left the bay where the ship was already making ready to return overseas, after disembarking a third small force to remain at shore line concealment. One of the parties would go upriver, to deal with the beacon as well as they might. If any of them really believed that could be done, thought Ayyar, watching them disappear among the dunes.
The larger group, with him as guide, headed straight into the same trap from which he had come. His wound made him walk a little stiffly, but without the pain that had made his flight a torturous ordeal. Each of them carried at his belt a flask of oily spicy-smelling mixture that Kelemark and some of the other Iftin believed would overcome their repugnance to any off-world tool they used.
Undoubtedly they made better time than Ayyar had on his way out, covering the ground with their usual agile speed. Always they listened, sniffed, scouted for the enemy. It would seem that That's servants did not patrol so far south. At least they crossed the trail of no prowlers.
"It does not seem to care." Ayyar spoke his thoughts aloud as they finally halted, to drink from their sap bottles and eat sparingly of nut meal wafers.
"So it appears," Jarvas agreed, and then he added, "or else It is so occupied elsewhere and believes us so weak as opponents that It can grind us into nothingness under Its boot sole when more important tasks are behind It—"
"But It began the attack against the Forest." Ayyar blinked. Had there been a shift of purpose as Jarvas suggested, That turning from the eradication of the remains of Iftcan to more pressing matters?
"Suppose that the struggle against a dying Forest is no longer important," Jarvas continued. "Suppose That discovered the off-worlders and Settlers, set in motion against us, made such excellent servants for Its purposes that It could easily forget Iftin and use these to build what lies in Its mind. Suppose the Larsh were a tool which failed, that It has slumbered through the ages, waiting the coming of stronger metal—"
"But It is the ancient Enemy against Iftcan, against Ift—" protested Drangar, almost as if he resented the thought that they were as grains of dust, to be brushed contemptuously away to free a site for the building of another plan.
"To Ift, That is the great Enemy, yes. We know that we held It static or powerless for generations, until It fought us on our own plane with the Larsh. But perhaps That has another purpose, and our long struggle merely postponed it. Now It has found material with which to carry out such plans."
"But the garthmen, the port crew, have been here for years. Why wait until now to use them?"
Jarvas shrugged. "Perhaps It was not aware of them, not until the Iftin arose once more to disturb Its quiescence. Then, triggered by old memories, It moved against us. It may not even know how few we are. Needing servants to take the place of the Larsh, It found them. It may be experimenting. I believe that the false Iftin are an experiment, perhaps not a fully successful one. Remember the robot woman used the open the garth defenses? So That needs raw material for further experiments, summons it, molds it—"
"And, becoming so entranced with such a quest for knowledge, may not concentrate upon us?" Kelemark asked. "A welcome thought, but not one we dare to build too much upon."
"Look!" Rizak pointed to the northeast. The beacon was on, but this time it did not beckon from the garthland but turned in the direction of the port.
"Still gathering in," Jarvas said softly. "First the garths, now the port, or maybe from a ship there—"
Watching that beam, Ayyar wondered at their own rashness in believing that they could dispose of that, put down even so small a portion of the Enemy's works. And he could not see any success for the party pledged to try it.
They trotted on, glancing now and then at the distant beacon, which showed no change. There was no other sign that That was awake and aware. The Waste appeared deserted. At daybreak they sighted the glitter of the White Forest's ruin, and Ayyar picked up one landmark after another. The green valley could not be too far ahead.
"Scout first." He drew level with Jarvas. "I have been thinking if That does look for true Ift within its country, It could use the valley for a trap."
"True. Take the point then, Ayyar. I will come in from the north. The rest of you, move with caution."
There were five others. Kelemark, his small bundle of healing supplies humping one hip under his cloak; Lokatath; Rizak—of their original company; Drangar and Myrik, another Ift volunteer, from the overseas party. Now they all faded into obscurity, using shadows and the rough ground to cover their passing.
Ayyar moved out, intent on reaching the valley, not from the direction of the road but from the south. The shattered spires and stumps of crystal rose about him, and he had to pick a careful way, not as concealed a one as he could wish. He relied upon his nose, and so far none of the stench of the false Ift or That's other servants had come to his nostrils. But an early morning breeze blew, now and then raising a weird sound in its path across the crystal needles, and those forces might be downwind.
On this side of the green valley the rim was higher. He saw none of the welcome, leafed branches showing above it. Then he reached the edge of the drop, staying as close to the earth as he could huddle, searching all that lay below with a probing eye. To his most suspicious examination there was nothing to signal danger. He found a place that could be descended and started down, these few moments when he would be open against the cliff the most perilous.
He landed, in a leap that brought pain shooting through his thigh, almost knee deep in green growth. Before him were bushes, and he believed he was near that spring with the small pool. Looking up to where Jarvas must come in, he saw a hand raised and lowered and signaled back.
Ayyar moved on under the canopy of the trees. He had rounded one trunk when he came across a trail, and the sight of the crushed and broken vegetation stopped him short. Whoever had passed that way had paid no attention to any obstruction less than a tree, plowing ahead to beat and break a road. And Ayyar did not need to sight those footprints deep in the moss to enlighten him as to the identity of the invader.
One of the space suits, probably of the humanoid type since it left clear footprints, had stamped that path down the valley, one set going and then returning, or so the over-trodden prints spelled out—and some time ago, for growth not quite crushed was rising slowly.
Along that trail Ayyar ran, heading for the narrowed point of the valley, already knowing in his heart what he was destined to find. Those stones he had worked with such care to pile had been scattered in all directions. And the hollow wherein Illylle had been left was empty.
Ayyar stood there, not wanting to believe the evidence of his eyes. His the blame! If he had not left her— Perhaps he could have devised some way of getting her out. But, no, he had gone, leaving her to be found by some servant of That, taken off in bondage. If indeed she was still alive—
"She was there?" Jarvas joined him.
Ayyar nodded dumbly. How long had it been since they had taken her? Perhaps if the Iftin force had left the bay before nightfall—had he done so—it would have been in time.
Jarvas' hand on his arm tightened, anchoring him solidly to this spot where the earth was scarred by those ponderous beating feet of the space suit.
"Steady!" That was an order, delivered so sharply that the word pierced Ayyar's turmoil. "What is done"—Jarvas' words were slowly spaced, as emphatic as that "steady"—"is done. We go on from here—"
"To the mirrors in the burrows." Ayyar, remembering what he had seen there, twisted in an effort to throw off Jarvas' grip.
"Perhaps. But what good will it do us—or her—Ayyar, if you run headlong without thought? I do not believe that they can do aught with her while she lies in that sleep—"
Ayyar rounded on the other. "What do you know about it!"
"She fell asleep when she gave unto you what the Mirror had placed within her," Jarvas replied quietly. "I may not remember all that Jarvas who was once Mirrormaster knew, but I know this much, one who has been a vessel of that kind of power and emptied herself of it for the use of another is still under the protection of Thanth. Remember, you once saw the force of Thanth in action. And around you now, above this valley, lies the evidence of how it wrought here. The nature of That is a mystery. So also is the nature of Thanth, save that we of the Forest know that to call upon it wholeheartedly in peril brings an answer—"
"I am no Mirrormaster," Ayyar flung at him. "And the memories I hold from the mists of time long past are of death and defeat. Where was Thanth then?"
"Who knows? But dare you, having stood and watched the Mirror rise to our call for aid, say that there is not power to challenge That? You carried that power within your body, did you not? And could you deny it then? I say to you, there are paths ordained for us, each with a purpose beyond our reckoning. If it is possible, then we shall bring Illylle forth again. Do you want my formal oath on that?"
Ayyar's eyes blinked, but they did not drop. He nursed this new rage in him, drawing from it a kind of strength that cast out all but the shadow of fear.
"At least this thing has left a fresh trail to follow—"
"Which we cannot take now."
It needed an instant or two for those words to register. When they did, Ayyar jerked free from Jarvas' hold.
"You may not take it," he cried, "but I shall!"
"No!"
Again so full of authority was that word that Ayyar paused.
"First the door and then—"
"No!" It was Ayyar's turn to cry out in denial.
"Yes!" Overriding his refusal, somehow by its very tone holding him there when he would be gone, came Jarvas' command.
"Show Drangar and the others the rightful door. Then we shall go for Illylle. Do you doubt me?" There was an undercurrent of emotion in the other's voice, enough to hold Ayyar.
In the end Ayyar won. The sun was rising, and its glare had long since deadened their sight of the beacon, so that they could not know whether that other party had had any success against the sinister rod of light.
Every nerve in Ayyar's body urged him on, but in the broad day, with goggles for only four of their number, such a journey was impossible. They must wait for night or be fatally handicapped from the start.
He tried to work out some of his restlessness on sentry-go at the rim of the valley, keeping a wary eye on the crushed road that led through the ruined wood. This time no spacesuit sentries rewarded his vigil, nothing stirred on the land or in the air. It might almost be that the forces of That were as bound by day as the Iftin. But there was an expectancy in the air, a tension such as a man might feel while waiting at a barrier for the rush of attack, as if the Enemy drew now upon all stored strength, marshaling forces, moving out Its pieces on the game board that twice in his dreams Ayyar had faced.
The noontime glare was so great that he had to retreat into the valley and seek out green shade to rest his eyes. Lokatath came to him.
"Ayyar, you spoke of the women and the children drawn out of the garths—"
Ayyar nodded absently. That was all far, very far back in time, separated from the here and now by the dragging hours since he had found that niche empty, the trail down the valley.
"Did you know—from which garth?"
Ayyar shrugged impatiently. What did it matter? The Settlers were less than nothing to him. Once he had been a labor slave, then a changeling Ift, and neither looked upon garthmen, with their cruel, harsh religion, their morose ways, with any liking. "I do not know—"
"I suppose not." Lokatath was studying the broken bushes beyond. "It has been many seasons now; I have not tried to keep count. But sometimes I remember that I was once Derek Vessters, and I see old, known faces dimly, hear voices I once knew. It was a harsh, hard life, so narrow that no sun or moon ever lit to the bottom of it, so that no man sang as we Iftin do who know the joys of the Forest, or would know them if we were left alone. Still—one remembers—and then one wonders how matters have chanced with those one knew—"
"You left close kin?" Some note in the other's voice reached Ayyar. He had his own meaningful memories from off-world.
"A father who sent me to the Forest when the Green Sick struck, and a mother who wept. I remember her tears. Perchance both are long since dead. Garth toil does not make for long lives. I do not know if I would recognize their faces if I were to look upon them now. By their standards I was no fit and proper son. Such strangeness to my kin was what brought me to the treasure and set the Ift seal upon me, for it is true that only those who can be so influenced have any desire to take up the bait and change."
"Listen!" Ayyar swung around, facing the rise that led to the glitter of the shards. He had been right; that was no wind through the splinters. Something moved—along the crushed roadway.
He climbed, crept out into the ruins, aware that Lokatath came with him. Together they took cover in a tangle of fallen prisms, broken trunks and branches.
Men, true men, walked with a steady tramp back up from the valley. They were not garthmen but wore uniforms, work clothes of the port. There were ten of them, and they strode as if with no fear of what lay either behind or ahead of them, rather as if they were moved by a purpose demanding their full attention.
"Are they robots?" whispered Lokatath.
Ayyar could not be sure, but it was very probable. They were armed with stunners and blasters, but those weapons were holstered—That's servants went on some unknown errand.