The Hour of the Gate (23 page)

XII

ONCE THERE WERE
inquiring words at the curtain and Jon-Tom had to go outside to explain them away. Time passed, the distant music faded. He slept.

A great armored spider was treading ponderously after him, all weaving palps and dripping fangs. Run as he might he could not outdistance it. Gradually his legs gave out, his wind failed him. The monster was upon him, leering down at his helpless, pinioned body. The fangs descended but not into his chest. Instead, they were picking off his fingers, one at a time.

“Now you can't play music anymore,” it rumbled at him. “Now you'll have to go to law school… aha ha ha!”

A hand was shaking him. “Da master's awake, Jon-Tom friend.”

Jon-Tom straightened himself. He'd been asleep on the floor, leaning back against the chamber wall. Clothahump was sitting up on the creaking wicker bed, rubbing his lower jaw. He donned his spectacles, then noticed Jon-Tom. His gaze went from the man to his assistant and back again.

“I now know the source,” he told them brightly, “of the new evil obtained by the Plated Folk. I know now from whence comes the threat!”

Jon-Tom got to his feet, dusted at himself, and looked anxiously at the wizard. “Well, what is it?”

“I do not know.”

“But you just said… ?”

“Yes, yes, but I do know and yet I don't.” The wizard sounded very tired. “It is a mind. A wonderfully wise mind. An intelligence of a reach and depth I have never before encountered, filled with knowledge I cannot fathom. It contains mysteries I do not pretend to understand, but that it is dangerous and powerful is self-evident.”

“That seems clear enough,” said Jon-Tom. “What kind of creature is it? Whose head is it inside?”

“Ah, that is the part I do not know.” There was worry and amazement in Clothahump's voice. “I've never run across a mind like it. One thing I was able to tell, I think.” He glanced up at the tall human. “It's dead.”

Pog hesitated, then said, “But if it's dead, how can it help da Plated Folk?”

“I know, I know,” Clothahump grumbled sullenly, “it makes no sense. Am I expected to be instantly conversant with all the mysteries of the Universe!”

“Sorry,” said Jon-Tom. “Pog and I only hoped that—”

“Forget it, my boy.” The wizard leaned back against the black wall and waved a weary hand at him. “I learned no more than I'd hoped to, and hope remains where knowledge is scarce.” He shook his head sadly.

“A mind of such power and ability, yet nonetheless as dead as the rock of this chamber. Of that I am certain. And yet Eejakrat of the Plated Folk has found a means by which he can make use of that power.”

“A zombie,” muttered Jon-Tom.

“I do not know the term,” said Clothahump, “but I accept it. I will accept anything that explains this awful contradiction. Sometimes, my boy, knowledge can be more confusing than mere ignorance. Surely the universe holds still greater though no more dangerous contradictions than this inventive, cold mind.” He reached a decision.

“Now that I am sensitized to this mind, I am confident we can locate it. We must find out whose it is and destroy him or her, for I had no sense of whether the possessor is male or female.”

“But we can't do dat, Master,” Pog argued, “because as you say dis brain is under da control of da great sorcerer Eejakrat, and Eejakrat stays in Cugluch.”

“Capital city of the Plated Folk,” Clothahump reminded Jon-Tom.

“Dat's right enough. So it's obvious dat we can't… we can't…” The words came to a halt as Pog's eyes grew wide as a lemur's. “No, Master!” he muttered, his voice filled with dread. “We can't. We can't possibly!”

“On the contrary, famulus, it is quite possible that we can. Of course, I shall first discuss it with the rest of our companions.”

“Discuss what?” Jon-Tom was afraid he already knew the answer.

“Why, traveling into Cugluch to find this evil and obliterate it, my boy. What else could a civilized being do?”

“What else indeed.” Jon-Tom had resigned himself to going. Could this Cugluch be worse than the Earth's Throat? Pog seemed to think so, but then Pog was terrified of his own shadow.

Clothahump's strength had returned. He slid off the bed, started for the doorway. “We must consult the rest of our party.”

“They may not all be in a condition to understand,” Jon-Tom warned him. “We have generous hosts, you know.”

“A night of harmless pleasure is good for the soul now and then, my boy. Though it should never descend to unconsciousness. I am pleased to see that you have retained control of yourself.”

“So far,” said Jon-Tom fervently, “but after what you've just proposed, I may change my mind.”

“It will not be so bad,” said the wizard, clapping him on the waist as they swung aside the concealing curtain and moved out into the tunnel. “There will be some danger, but we have survived that several times over.”

“Yeah, but it's not like an inoculation,” Jon-Tom muttered. “We haven't become immune. We keep taking risks and sooner or later they've got to catch up with us.” He ducked to avoid a low section of iron ceiling.

“We shall do our best, my boy, to see that it is later.”

Pog remained behind, hanging quietly from the oil lamp in the now empty room. He considered remaining behind permanently. The Ironclouders would shelter him, he was sure.

That would mean no transformation, of course. All that he'd suffered at the wizard's hands, and mouth, would have been for naught. Also, as the only arboreal of the group, he knew how they depended on him for reconnaissance and such.

Besides, better death than life cursed by unrequited love.

He let free of the lamp, dipped in the air, and soared out into the tunnel after the two wizards.

There was the anticipated debate and argument the next morning. One by one, as before, the various members of the little group were won over by Clothahump's assurances, obstinacy, and veiled threats.

Their course decided, it was time to ascertain the position taken during the night by the inhabitants of Ironcloud. Five of the great owls faced the travelers on the plateau below the cave city. Two were horned, two pale barn, and one a tiny hoot, who was smaller than Pog but equal in dignity to his massive feathered brothers. With them were five lemurs. The sun was not yet up.

“We do not doubt your seriousness nor the truth you tell,” Tolafay was saying, “nor the worth of your mission, but still we doubted whether it was worth breaking a rule of hundreds of years of noninvolvement in the arguments of others.” He gestured at Ananthos.

“Yet we share such feelings with the inhabitants of the Scuttleteau and they have nonetheless agreed to help you. So we will help, too.” Murmurs of agreement came from his companions.

“That's settled, then,” said a satisfied Clothahump. “You will be valuable allies in the coming war and—”

“A moment, please.” One of the lemurs stepped forward. He had a high, stiff collar and light vest above billowing pantaloons of bright yellow. “We did not say that we'd be your allies. We said we'd help.

“You asked us to give the Weavers permission to travel through our country and to provide a route southward through the mountains so they can reach the Swordsward and then make their way to the Jo-Troom Gate you speak of. That's what we'll do. We'll also try and find you a way to the Greendowns. But we won't fight.”

“But I thought—” Jon-Tom began.

“No!” snapped one of the other owls. “Absolutely no. We simply can't do any more for yooooo. Don't ask it of us.”

“But surely—” A restraining hand touched Talea and she quieted.

“It is more than we'd hoped for, friends. It will suffice.” Clothahump turned to face Ananthos. “We have the allies we came to find.”

“so you do,” said the spider at last, “provided the army can be assembled in time to make the march.”

“I can only hope that it does,” the wizard told him solemnly, “because the fate of several worlds may depend on it.”

“Not Ironcloud,” said another of the owls smugly. “Ironcloud is impregnable to assault by land or air.”

“So it is,” agreed Caz casually, “but not by magic.”

“We'll take our chances,” said Tolafay firmly.

“Then there's nothing more to be said.” Clothahump nodded.

Wordlessly the Ironclouders departed, owl and primate soaring to join their brethren high in the night sky. Great wings and glowing eyes shone as the night hunters returned in twos and threes to their black home. They filled the air between earth and moon.

Another pair lifted from the plateau, heading for interior darkness and a good, warm day's sleep. Jon-Tom could only hope those homes would be as invulnerable as their inhabitants believed from the eventual attacks of the Plated Folk.

The last of the lemurs stared at them curiously while her companion owl kicked impatiently at the ground. The sun had peeked over the eastern crags and those great eyes were three-quarters closed in half sleep.

“There's one thing I'd like to know. How do you warmlanders expect to penetrate Cugluch?”

“Disguise,” Clothahump told her confidently.

“You do not look much like Plated Folk,” replied the lemur doubtfully.

Clothahump shook a finger at her, spoke knowingly. “The greatest disguise is assurance. We will be protected because no Plated One would believe our presence. And where assurance operates, magic is not far behind.”

The lemur shrugged. “I think you are all fools, brave fools, and soon-to-be-dead fools. But we will show the Weavers the path they require and you the path to your deaths.” She looked upward. “Your guides come.”

Two owls descended to join them. One motioned to the waiting Ananthos. The Weaver trembled slightly as he made his farewells.

“we shall meet at the gate,” he told them. “that is, if I survive this journey. i am not afraid of heights, but I have never been in a high place where i could not break a fall by attaching silk to some solid object. you cannot spin from a cloud.”

He climbed on the owl's back, waved legs at them. The owl took a few steps, flapping mighty wings, and then soared into the air of morning. He wore dark shades to protect him from the sunlight.

They watched until the wings became a black line on the horizon. Then the pair faded even from Caz's view.

The small hoot owl stood muttering to herself nearby. Her kilt was black, purple, and yellow. “I'm Imanooo,” she informed them brusquely. “Let's get on with this. I'll point you the way for two days, but that's all. Then you're on your own.”

The remaining lemur mounted his saddle. “I still think you're all fools, but,” he smiled broadly, “many a brave fool has succeeded where a cautious genius has failed. Fly well.” He saluted with an arm wave as he and his friend rose skyward.

Alone in their cold-weather garb, the travelers watched until the last pairing vanished into the hematite. Then Imanooo rose and started off to the south, and they followed.

The path where there was no path carried them steadily lower. The unvarying downhill hike was a welcome change from the tortuous march to Ironcloud. The day after Imanooo left them they began to discard their heavy clothing. Soon they were down among trees and bushes, and snow was only a fading memory.

Jon-Tom slowed his pace to stay alongside Clothahump. The wizard was in excellent spirits and showed no ill effects from the past weeks of marching.

“Sir?”

“Yes, my boy?” Eyes looked up at him through the thick glasses. Abruptly Jon-Tom felt uncomfortable. It had seemed so simple a while ago when he'd thought of it, a mere question. Now it fought to hide in his throat.

“Well, sir,” he finally got out, “among my people there's a certain mental condition.”

“Go on, boy.”

“It has a common name. It's called a death wish.”

“That's interesting,” said Clothahump thoughtfully. “I presume it refers to someone who wishes to die.”

Jon-Tom nodded. “Sometimes the person isn't aware of it himself and it has to be pointed out to him by another. Even then he may not believe it.”

They walked on a while longer before he added, “Sir, no disrespect intended, but do you think you might have a death wish?”

“On the contrary, my boy,” replied the wizard, apparently not offended in the least, “I have a life wish. I'm only putting myself into danger to preserve life for others. That hardly means I want to relinquish my own.”

“I know, sir, but it seems to me that you've taken us from one danger to another only to take successively bigger risks. In other words, the more we survive, the more you seem to want to chance death.”

“A valid contention based solely on the evidence and your personal interpretation of it,” said Clothahump. “You ignore one thing: I wish to survive and live as much as any of you.”

“Can you be certain of that, sir? After all, you've already lived more than twice a normal human lifetime, a much fuller life than any of the rest of us.” He gestured at the others.

“Would it pain you so much to die?”

“I follow your reasoning, my boy. You're saying that I am willing to risk death because I've already had a reasonable life and therefore have less than you to lose.”

Jon-Tom didn't reply.

“My boy, you haven't lived long enough to understand life. Believe me, it is more precious to me now because I have less of it. I guard every day jealously because I know it may be my last. I don't have less to lose than you: I have more to lose.”

“I just wanted to be sure, sir.”

“Of what? The reasons for my decisions? You can be, boy. They are founded upon a single motivation: the need to prevent the Plated Masses from annihilating civilization. Even if I did want to die, I would not do so until I had expended every bit of energy in my body to prevent that conflagration from destroying the warmlands. I might kill myself if I suffered from the aberration you suggest, but only after I'd saved everyone else.”