Warlock, page 11
Once, when Richter was considering abandoning this tack and moving the rest of the way as one group, behind a single cleared trail, his decision to be careful was reinforced by the flickering sound of something huge and powerful as it made its way over the heavily thatched roof of palms above them.
Everyone stopped, listening. Faces paled, and hands went to daggers.
It must be one of the aircraft, Richter said, calling back the lines of frightened men. The ones our spies have told us circle round the castle keep of Jerry Matabain.
Tis not something that should be in the skies! one of the men said, shuddering.
Wrong, Shaker Sandow called. It was made for the skies. The skies are exactly where it belongs. In the days before the Blank, there were thousands of such vehicles in the heavens, and any one of us-or all of us-might have owned one for traveling.
Fear was replaced, to a small degree, by awe. Then the noise was gone, and there was nothing to do but advance toward the region of the crystal trees.
Slowly, the landscape around them seemed to change. The trees and the plants seemed filmed with something misty which refracted the light and made them glitter. A hand drawn over the leaves, though, felt nothing amiss. Step-by-step, the mist became heavier until, in scattered spots, small, sprouting clusters of jewels seemed to grow directly from the trees, like thumb-sized mushrooms.
The men broke them off, examined them as they marched, stuffed their pockets full of them.
Could they be real jewels? Daborot asked the Shaker, turning around from his place before the magician to show a fungus of rubies.
Perhaps, the Shaker said. I am no expert of such things. But even if they are priceless, why stuff your clothes with them here? So the birds say, there are more and better wonders ahead.
Just the same, Daborot said, his broad face flushed and beaded with sweat, I'll keep 'em. Being so recently near death, the nice things in life seem all the nicer. You know?
Indeed, the Shaker said.
Soon, the sound of their feet on the trail rose differently to their ears, with a grinding noise that echoed for a short way through the jungle before the heavy growth impeded all sound and returned silence to them. It was as if they were walking on ground glass, on a thousand shattered store windows. Commander Richter called a halt, and they fell to examining what lay beneath the cut ferns over which they had been moving. When the tight undergrowth was pulled back far enough, they could see that, rather than soil, the land was composed of a powder of diamonds, glittering with all the colors of the spectrum.
What do you make of it, Shaker? Richter called, holding up a handful of the powdery soil and letting it flow brilliantly through his hand.
I think, at one time, the crystal disease-if disease it was-reached this part of the forest, though it did not attack the larger growths. Whether for reasons of its innate nature or because it was losing potency, I could not say. For a while, however, it crystallized the ferns, the smaller and simpler forms of plant life. And then it lost its hold and real ferns returned, crumbling the diamond plants beneath them.
Why don't we just load up on this stuff and return to Darklands? Crowler asked. We wouldn't have to fight Oragonia then; we could buy the whole damned country!
Aye, return and find we've carried nothing but ground glass across the Cloud Range and the Banibals! someone said, and the laughter at Crowler's remark ceased.
What about it, Shaker? Richter asked. Real gems or glass we walk upon?
Real, Fremlin said before the Shaker could make testament to his ignorance on the subject
And how would you know? Richter asked.
I have some small interest in stones myself, Comander, the Squealer master said. My brother is a jeweler in Dunsamora, back home. I've spent time with him, learning the trade. When I get too old for scaling mountains, perhaps I'll take my birds and open some jewelry shop somewhere.
Aye, Crowler said, and have them flit around and steal your wares for you. A smart way to build an inventory!
Shaker Sandow desperately wanted to cease this conversation-or at least to finish it as they walked. But he could see the salutory effect this jocularity had upon them, and he was not going to be the one to break the first mood of optimism to pass through the ranks since they had left Perdune. All of them needed to laugh. Even he and Mace and Gregor. But the sun was going to be behind the mountains soon, and the forests of diamond trees lay so close ahead
But real, then? Richter asked Fremlin.
Yes, real. Or as near as couldn't tell the difference. But real I think.
Hear this, then, Richter said, sweeping the men with steady, clear eyes. I will permit every man to pack upon his person the equivalent of two pounds of the gem stones, though no more than that. This has been a hellish journey, and the very least that all of you deserve is a moderate wealth upon our return to the Darklands!
There was a rousing cheer delivered there, hands raised in the fisted salute of appreciation for their master. The troops were positively beaming with good humor.
But mind you: no more than two pounds. For one thing, a great abundance of gems in the Darklands will only bring the prices down. For another, climbing back across the Cloud Range and then the Banibals will be task enough-without a huge burden of diamonds and emeralds on each man's shoulders.
Aye, but maybe we are destined to return home by air! Crowler said, his tone not argumentive, only friendly. He was acting as a bit of comic relief, and he knew it.
The men cheered that thought.
And maybe not, Richter said, acting as the balancing force of sobriety.
Whether or not they have planned this act and used it before, they are excellent at it, the Shaker thought. One works to raise the men's spirits while the other works to dampen them just enough to add caution to their good nature.
In any event, Commander Richter said, two pounds and not a stone more. But I would also advise you that you wait until we find this place which the birds have reported, for there may be higher quality gems to be found.
In agreement, men began emptying their pockets of the treasures they had stored there, and they picked up the pace of the march again-faster and more jubilant than ever.
The trees around them were shot through with strips of bright jewels, like veins of coal or gold striking through earth, beveled and fractured, casting back amber here like the rustling silk of heavy curtains here crimson as bright as blood here blue like deep waters here blue like a high morning sky now and then catching their images, casting them back in multi-faceted fantasies cold to the touch of a hand, cloyding with the evaporation of perspiration from the offending flesh here orange and shimmering with the stinging beams of filtered sunlight stabbing through the canopy of palm fronds singing with a clear bell note when snapped with the nail of a finger here green, casting back the colors of the forest that were not affected with the jewel disease
Soon now, Daborot said, turning to the Shaker, his broad face alight.
Soon, Shaker Sandow agreed.
Soon what? he wondered. Just what is all this about and what are we walking into here?
And then the region which the birds had reported was fully upon them. In the space of half a dozen steps, the ratio of gems to living plant flesh grew markedly greater until, abruptly, there was not the least sign that anything here was alive. Everywhere: bright. Everywhere: images of themselves. Everywhere: wealth
Great palms thrust upward in petrified beauty, their boles semi-transparent with millions of tiny facets. The palm fronds overhead were feathery constructions, crystallized into the most delicate laces. The sun came through them and was transformed into a rainbow aurora, making the floor of the forest seem like the inside of a mammoth cathedral with the largest stained glass windows in the world. In the uppermost levels, the wind and the rain had taken their toll on the fronds, had shattered them completely or had made them ragged. But further down, they remained intact, a spectacle to make the eyes seek darkness and comparative comfort.
Around their feet, glittering ferns stood at brittle attention, their undersides coated with tiny, crystallized spores that each looked like a bead of solidified wine. When a foot touched them, they shattered and sprayed up, went down with a tinkling reverberation that was like the laughter of small children-or of evil spirits.
The orchids and other flowers here had also been transformed, and the smooth petals now stood permanently open, permanently fresh, colored a very slight purple. The stamens and pistils were like the hobby work of a watch-maker, intricately perfect, carved from diamonds by a madman with the eyes of a hawk and the sense of precision of a ballet dancer. Some of the men carefully plucked blooms and tucked them into their lapels. The crystals made the undersides of the men's chins shine with color
It was Shaker Sandow who made the unpleasant discovery.
He was prowling along a small lane between the scintillating plants, examining the wide variety of forms which had been frozen in detail for eternity. He had noticed that rocks and soil had not been affected, only whatever plant life had been about. He had also noticed, here and there, pieces of metal breaking the ground, rusted and eaten through, but impressive nonetheless. It seemed as though they were roofbeams the size of the wooden ones beneath the shingles of his own house back in Perdune, but made of steel. Clearly, here were the remains of the buildings that had existed before the Blank, back in times now lost. He felt his pulse quicken as he examined these bits and pieces of ancient times.
But these things were not what made him stand straight, his eyes wide and his spine suddenly cold.
The thing that did that was what appeared to be a tiger.
It was crystallized.
Shaker Sandow took a step backward, his eyes riveted to the beast which did not advance on him, could never advance on anything again.
The tiger stood upon three legs, the fourth foot braced against a tree where it had crystal claws sunk into crystal bark. On its face, there was a look halfway between rage and agony. It seemed that the disease had struck quite suddenly, too fast for the tiger to drop and writhe in its death throes-yet too slow to keep it from expressing its confusion and despair in at least this small manner.
It was striped, as tigers should be. It carried a very slightly orange cast, with darker umber streaks through it, though it was more transparent than anything.
Mace, who had been nearby-as always-had apparently seen his master's surprise. He had come along the narrow trail with swift, easy grace. What is it? he asked.
Sandow pointed.
Mace looked, grumbled, bent and touched the frozen creature of the jungle. Can it do this to us? he asked the Shaker.
That's what I have been wondering, Sandow said. That's the same nasty thought I've just had: we might all remain here like this tiger if we don't break out quickly
17
With amber head and green body, crimson hands expressing his emotions better than his words did, fingers moving in quick flight before him, Commander Richter considered the danger they might all be in, and he tried to weigh it all correctly before taking any action that might be adverse rather than helpful.
Multi-colored, his men listened and watched.
There eyes were kaleidoscopes.
They were still flesh, but the light from the prisms which so gayly colored them made them feel as if the first taint of the crystal blight had already gotten within their blood. Perhaps, already, minims of gem structures swirled through their blood
But would we not already have changed? Richter asked the Shaker, hands flitting, face melting honey.
I have no way of knowing that, But the fact remains that we assumed that only the plants had been transformed-when it was the animals, too, that were stricken, all living things.
They had found a dozen birds perched rigidly and eternally upon the glittering branches of the trees. Their colorful plumage was even brighter in the death than it could ever have been while they lived and flew. They watched the assembled men with hard, shining eyes that saw nothing at all.
There was a snake, too. It had been found alongside the little clearing in which they now stood. It looked like nothing so much as a diamond walking stick.
If we take the gems with us and manage to escape with our flesh intact, Richter mused, will the jewels we carry away be deadly? Will they, at some later time, transmit this disease to us and bring about our destruction? And perhaps the destruction of the Darklands where we will take them when our mission's done?
Again, the Shaker said, we can only guess.
Then we shall not risk it, Richter said, though he clearly loathed breaking his promise that all the men would know some wealth when they returned across the mountains.
That will not be necessary
They turned, in all different directions, seeking the source of the words all of them had heard. In the fantasmagorical fountain of jewels, there was no one but themselves.
Who spoke? Mace asked, his hand upon the hilt of his knife, his eyes shifting about through the trees.
I have no name to give you, the voice said. In a thousand years, you see, one loses the need for a name and soon forgets who he was
There is a real voice, Richter said. We are hearing a Shaker's tongue inside our heads.
Not a Shaker, Sandow said. It is too smooth, too assured, too easily performed telepathy for a Shaker. Alas, we are not so well-talented as our visitor.
If you have no voice and no name, Richter said to the air around them, perhaps you have no form, either. But if you should have features like other men, show them to us so that we may rest easy that we don't speak to demons.
Above you, the stranger said.
They looked overhead in time to see the face forming on the fronds of the glazed palm trees, spread over an area of six feet, the face of a minor god looking down on them, from some equally minor heaven. It was an indistinct face in some ways, chiseled by the sharp edges of the crystalline structures. But they could make out this much about it: the eyes were very blue and deepset beneath a broad forehead and above a strong, patrician nose; the chin was square and strong and set with a dimple; the lips between the nose and the chin were very thin and not the least bit sensuous; it was a man, a young man with a flowing mane of yellow hair which curled down the nape of his neck and concealed his ears.
His lips did not move as he said: I hope this is better. I had forgotten that men still of the flesh expect to view those to whom they speak.
You said something about the jewels we see around us, Richter reminded the spectral visage. Are they safe, or does our fate soon become the equal of the tiger's fate -or of yours?
The transformation of this part of the forest was completed long ago. Now, all remains in stasis and no further changes can be made, you are safe; the jewels are worth taking with you.
A collective sigh of relief passed through the men, and they seemed to stand easier. One or two of them bent and picked up the stones they had been examining while waiting for the specter's judgment of their safety.
But most of them still watched the face which shimmered overhead, fascinated by the alienness of such a vision.
What manner of thing caused this change in the jungle? Shaker Sandow asked he face. Was it some disease or other?
First, the specter said, you must understand the nature of this jungle in which you find yourself.
It is round, the Shaker said. And there is some artificial heat source beneath the surface of the ground.
Perceptive. What more do you know?
Nothing, really. There has been no time for examination of these interesting facts.
The face watched them, expressionless, nothing more than a construct for them to direct their attention to. Around them, inside their heads, the voice came again: At one time, this was a great amusement park. It was surrounded by a force shield which kept its animals within it, and visitors rode through encapsulated in smaller shields, getting first-hand looks at the jungle animals of earth and several other worlds from which animals had been brought back. Do you understand force shields?
No, the Shaker said, rather sadly. The world of such marvels died some centuries ago.
The refugees came through, for a while. That was some eight or nine hundred years ago. Telling strange tales of war in space, of traitors in high councils, of the earth shifting and dancing beneath the feet. They said mountains grew where no mountains had been and seas opened beneath cities once built upon rocks. We few who lived here, within the crystals, knew nothing of that. Our jungle was stable and no changes came to us-and we were incapable of going elsewhere to look. The refugees ceased to pass through, and only every few hundred years do we find one such as yourself.
