Storm Over Warlock

A >> Andre Norton >> Storm Over Warlock

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"What are you going to do?"

"Get that."

Shann surveyed the water about the rock. The forked tail had sunk just
there. Was the Survey officer mad enough to think he could swim
unmenaced through a sea which might be infested with more such
creatures? It seemed that he was, for Thorvald's white body arched out
in a dive. Shann waited, half crouched and tense, as though he could in
some way attack anything rising from the depths to strike at his
companion.

A brown arm flashed above the surface. Thorvald swam strongly toward the
floating object. He reached it, his outstretched hand rasping across the
surface. And it responded so quickly to that touch that Shann guessed it
was even lighter and easier to handle than he had first thought.

Thorvald headed back, herding the thing before him. And when he climbed
out on the rock, Shann was pulling up his trophy. They flipped the find
over, to discover it hollow. They had, in effect, a ready-made craft not
unlike a canoe with blunted bows. But the substance was surely organic:
Was it shell? Shann speculated, running his finger tips over the
irregular surface.

The Survey officer dressed. "We have our boat," he commented. "Now for
Utgard--"

Use this frail thing to dare the trip to the islands? But Shann did not
protest. If the officer determined to try such a voyage, he would do it.
And neither did the younger man doubt that he would accompany Thorvald.

9. ONE ALONE

Once again the beach was a wide expanse of shingle, drying fast under a
sun hotter than any Shann had yet known on Warlock. Summer had taken a
big leap forward. The Terrans worked in partial shade below a cliff
overhang, not only for the protection against the sun's rays, but also
as a precaution against any roving Throg air patrol.

Under Thorvald's direction the curious shell dragged from the sea--if it
were a shell, and the texture as well as the general shape suggested
that--was equipped with a framework to act as a stabilizing outrigger.
What resulted was certainly an odd-looking craft, but one which obeyed
the paddles and rode the waves easily.

In the full sunlight the outline of islands was
clear-cut--red-and-gray-rock above an aquamarine sea. The Terrans had
sighted no more of the sea monsters, and the major evidence of native
life along the shore was a new species of clak-claks, roosting in cliff
holes and scavenging along the sands, and various queer fish and shelled
things stranded in small tide pools--to the delight of the wolverines,
who fished eagerly up and down the beach, ready to investigate all
debris of the storm.

"That should serve." Thorvald tightened the last lashing, straightening
up, his fists resting on his hips, to regard the craft with a measure of
pride.

Shann was not quite so content. He had matched the Survey officer in
industry, but the need for haste still eluded him. So the ship--such as
it was--was ready. Now they would be off to explore Thorvald's Utgard.
But a small and nagging doubt inside the younger man restrained his
enthusiasm over such a voyage. Fork-tail had come out of the section of
ocean which they must navigate in this very crude transport. And Shann
had no desire to meet an uninjured and alert fork-tail in the latter's
own territory.

"Which island do we head for?" Shann kept private his personal doubts of
their success. The outmost tip of that chain was only a distant smudge
lying low on the water.

"The largest ... that one with trees."

Shann whistled. Since the night of the storm the wolverines were again
more amenable to the very light discipline he tried to keep. Perhaps the
fury of that elemental burst had tightened the bond between men and
animals, both alien to this world. Now Taggi and his mate padded toward
him in answer to his summons. But would the wolverines trust the boat?
Shann dared not risk their swimming, nor would he agree to leaving them
behind.

Thorvald had already stored their few provisions on board. And now Shann
steadied the craft against a rock which served them as a wharf, while he
coaxed Taggi gently. Though the wolverine protested, he at last
scrambled in, to hunch at the bottom of the shell, the picture of
apprehension. Togi took longer to make up her mind. And at length Shann
picked her up bodily, soothing her with quiet speech and stroking hands,
to put her beside her mate.

The shell settled under the weight of the passengers, but Thorvald's
foresight concerning the use of the outrigger proved right, for the
craft was seaworthy. It answered readily to the dip of their paddles as
they headed in a curve, keeping the first of the islands between them
and the open sea for a breakwater.

From the air, Thorvald's course would have been a crooked one, for he
wove back and forth between the scattered islands of the chain, using
their lee calm for the protection of the canoe. About two thirds of the
group were barren rock, inhabited only by clak-claks and creatures
closer to true Terran birds in that they wore a body plumage which
resembled feathers, though their heads were naked and leathery. And,
Shann noted, the clak-claks and the birds did not roost on the same
islands, each choosing their own particular home while the other species
did not invade that territory.

The first large-sized island they approached was crowned by trees, but
it had no beach, no approach from sea level. Perhaps it might be
possible to climb to the top of the cliff walls. But Thorvald did not
suggest that they try it, heading on toward the next large outcrop of
land and rock.

Here white lace patterned in a ring well out from the shore to mark a
circle of reefs. They nosed their way patiently around the outer
circumference of that threatening barrier, hunting the entrance to the
lagoon. Within, there were at least two beaches with climbable ascents
to the upper reaches inland. Though Shann noted that the vegetation
showing was certainly not luxuriant, the few trees within their range of
vision being pallid growths, rather like those they had sighted on the
fringe of the desert. Leather-headed flyers wheeled out over their
canoe, coasting on outspread wings to peer down at the Terran invaders
in a manner which suggested intelligent curiosity.

A full flock gathered to escort them as they continued along the outer
line of the reef. Thorvald impatiently dug his paddle deeper. They had
explored more than half of the reef now without chancing on an entrance
channel.

"Regular fence," Shann commented. One could begin to believe that the
barrier had been deliberately reared to frustrate visitors. Hot
sunshine, reflected back from the surface of the waves, burned their
exposed skin, so they dared not discard their ragged clothing. And the
wolverines were growing increasingly restless. Shann did not know how
much longer the animals would consent to their position as passengers
without raising active protest.

"How about trying the next one?" he asked, knowing at the same time his
companion was not in any mood to accept such a suggestion with good
will.

The officer made no reply, but continued to use his steer paddle in a
fashion which spelled out his stubborn determination to find a passage.
This was a personal thing now, between Ragnar Thorvald of the Terran
Survey and a wall of rock, and the man's will was as strongly rooted as
those water-washed stones.

On the southwestern tip of the reef they discovered a possible opening.
Shann eyed the narrow space between two fanglike rocks dubiously. To him
that width of water lane seemed dangerously limited, the sudden slam of
a wave could dash them against either of those pillars, with disastrous
results, before they could move to save themselves. But Thorvald pointed
their blunt bow toward the passage with seeming confidence, and Shann
knew that as far as the officer was concerned, this was their door to
the lagoon.

Thorvald might be stubborn, but he was not a fool. And his training and
skill in such maneuvers was proved when the canoe rode in a rising swell
in and by those rocks to gain the safety, in seconds, of the calm
lagoon. Shann sighed with relief, but ventured no comment.

Now they must paddle back along the inner side of the reef to locate the
beaches, for fronting them on this side of the well-protected island
were cliffs as formidable as those which guarded the first of the chain
at which they had aimed.

Shann glanced now and then over the side of the boat, hoping in these
shallows to sight the sea bed or some of the inhabitants of these
waters. But there was no piercing that green murk. Here and there
nodules of rock projected inches or feet above the surface, awash in the
wavelets, to be avoided by the voyagers. Shann's shoulders ached and
burned, his muscles were unaccustomed to the steady swing of the
paddles, and the fire of the sun stabbed easily through only two layers
of ragged cloth to his skin. He ran a dry tongue over dryer lips and
gazed eagerly ahead in search of the first of the beaches.

What was so important about this island that Thorvald _had_ to make a
landing here? The officer's stories of a native race which they might
turn against the Throgs to their own advantage was thin, very thin
indeed. Especially now, as Shann weighed an unsupported theory against
that ache in his shoulders, the possibility of being marooned on the
inhospitable shore ahead, against the fifty probable dangers he could
total up with very little expenditure of effort. A small nagging doubt
of Thorvald's obsession began to grow in his mind. How could Shann even
be sure that that carved disk and Thorvald's hokus-pokus with it had
been on the level? On the other hand what motive would the officer have
for trying such an act just to impress Shann?

The beach at last! As they headed the canoe in that direction the
wolverines nearly brought disaster on them. The animals' restlessness
became acute as they sighted and scented the shore and knew that they
were close. Taggi reared, plunged over the side of the craft, and Shann
had just time to fling his weight in the opposite direction as a
counterbalance when Togi followed. They splashed shoreward while
Thorvald swore fluently and Shann grabbed to save the precious supply
bag. In a shower of gravel the animals made land and humped well up on
the strand before pausing to shake themselves and splatter far and wide
the burden of moisture transported by their shaggy fur.

Ashore, the canoe became a clumsy burden and, light as the craft was,
both of the men sweated to get it up on the beach without snagging the
outrigger against stones and brush. With the thought of a Throg patrol
in mind they worked swiftly to cover it.

Taggi raised an egg-patterned snout from a hollow and licked at the
stippling of greenish yolk matting his fur. The wolverines had wasted no
time in sampling the contents of a wealth of nesting places beginning
just above the high-water mark, cupping two to four tough-shelled eggs
in each. Treading a path among those clutches, the Terrans climbed a
red-earthed slope toward the interior of the island.

They found water, not the clear running of a mountain spring, but a
stalish pool in a stone-walled depression on the crest of a rise,
filled by the bounty of the rain. The warm liquid was brackish, but
satisfied in part their thirst, and they drank eagerly.

The outer cliff wall of the island was just that, a wall, for there was
an inner slope to match the outer. And at the bottom of it a showing of
purple-green foliage where plants and stunted trees fought for living
space. But there was nothing else, though they quartered that growing
section with the care of men trying to locate an enemy outpost.

That night they camped in the hollow, roasted eggs in a fire, and ate
the fishy-tasting contents because it was food, not because they
relished what they swallowed. Tonight no cloud bank hung overhead. A
man, gazing up, could see the stars. The stars and other things, for
over the distant shore of the mainland they sighted the cruising lights
of a Throg ship and waited tensely for that circle of small sparkling
points to swing out toward their own hiding hole.

"They haven't given up," Shann stated what was obvious to them both.

"The settler transport," Thorvald reminded him. "If they do not take a
prisoner to talk her in and allay suspicion, then--" he snapped his
fingers--"the Patrol will be on their tails, but quick!"

So just by keeping out of Throg range, they were, in a way, still
fighting. Shann settled back, his tender shoulders resting against a
tree hole. He tried to count the number of days and nights lying behind
him now since that early morning when he had watched the Terran camp die
under the aliens' weapons. But one day faded into another so that he
could remember only action parts clearly--the attack on the grounded
scoutship, the sortie they had made in turn on the occupied camp, the
dust storm on the river, the escape from the Throg ship in the mountain
crevice, and their meeting with the hound. Then that storm which had
driven them to seek cover after their curious experience with the disk.
And now this day when they had safely reached the island.

"Why this island?" he asked suddenly.

"That carved piece was found here on the edge of this valley," Thorvald
returned matter-of-factly.

"But today we found nothing at all----"

"Yet this island supplies us with a starting point."

A starting point for what? A detailed search of all the islands, great
and small, in the chain? And how did they dare continue to paddle openly
from one to the next with the Throgs sweeping the skies? They would have
provided an excellent target today as they combed that reef for an hour
or more. Wearily, Shann spread out his hands in the very faint light of
their tiny fire, poked with a finger tip at smarting points which would
have been blisters had those hands not known a toughening process in the
past. More paddling tomorrow? But that was tomorrow, and at least they
need not worry tonight about any Throg attack once they had doused the
fire, an action which was now being methodically attended to by
Thorvald. Shann pushed down on the bed of leaves he had heaped together.
The night was quiet. He could hear only the murmur of the sea, a lulling
croon of sound to make one sleep deep, perhaps dreamlessly.

Sun struck down, making a dazzle about him. Shann turned over drowsily
in that welcome heat, stretching a little as might a cat at ease. Then
he really awoke under the press of memory, and the need for alertness
rode him once more. Beaten-down grass, the burnt-out embers of last
night's fire were beside him. But of Thorvald and the wolverines there
were no signs.

Not only did he now lie alone, but he was possessed by the feeling that
he had not been deserted only momentarily, that Taggi, Togi and the
Survey officer were indeed gone. Shann sat up, got to his feet,
breathing faster, a prickle of uneasiness spreading in him, bringing him
to that inner slope, up it to the crest from which he could see that
beach where last night they had concealed the canoe.

Those lengths of brush and tufts of grass they had used for a screen
were strewn about as if tossed in haste. And not too long before....

For the canoe was out in the calm waters within the reef, the paddle
blade wielded by its occupant flashing brightly in the sun. On the
shingle below, the wolverines prowled back and forth, whining in
bewilderment.

"Thorvald----!"

Shann put the full force of his lungs into that hail, hearing the name
ring from one of the small peaks at his back. But the man in the boat
did not turn his head; there was no change in the speed of that paddle
dip.

Shann leaped down the outer slope to the beach, skidding the last few
feet, saving himself from going headfirst into the water only by a
painful wrench of his body.

"Thorvald!" He tried calling again. But that head, bright under the sun
did not turn; there was no answer. Shann tore at his clothes and kicked
off his boots.

He did not think of the possibility of lurking sea monsters as he
plunged into the water, swam for the canoe edging along the reef,
plainly bound for the sea gate to the southwest. Shann was not a
powerful swimmer. His first impetus gave him a good start, but after
that he had to fight for each foot he gained, and the fear grew in him
that the other would reach the reef passage before he could catch up. He
wasted no more time trying to hail Thorvald, putting all his breath and
energy into the effort of overtaking the craft.

And he almost made it, his hand actually slipping along the log which
furnished the balancing outrigger. As his fingers tightened on the slimy
wood he looked up, and loosed that hold again in time perhaps to save
his life.

For when he ducked to let the water cover his head in an impromptu half
dive, Shann carried with him a vivid picture, a picture so astounding
that he was a little dazed.

Thorvald had stopped paddling at last, because that paddle had to be put
to another use. Had Shann not released his hold on the log and gone
under water, that crudely fashioned piece of wood might, have broken his
skull. He saw only too clearly the paddle raised in both hands as an
ugly weapon, and Thorvald's face, convulsed in a spasm of rage which
made it as inhuman as a Throg's.

Sputtering and choking, Shann fought up to the air once more. The paddle
was back at the task for which it had been carved, the canoe was
underway again, its occupant paying no more attention to what lay behind
than if he _had_ successfully disposed of the man in the water. To
follow would be only to invite another attack, and Shann might not be so
lucky next time. He was not good enough a swimmer to try any tricks such
as oversetting the canoe, not when Thorvald was an expert who could
easily finish off a fumbling opponent.

Shann swam wearily to shore where the wolverines waited, unable yet to
make sense of that attack in the lagoon. What had happened to Thorvald?
What motive had led the other to leave Shann and the animals on this
island, the island Thorvald had called a starting point in his search
for the natives of Warlock? Or had every bit of that tall tale been
invented by the Survey officer for some obscure purpose of his own,
certainly no sane purpose? Against that logic Shann could only set the
carved disk, and he had only Thorvald's word that that had been
discovered here.

He dragged himself out of the water on his hands and knees and lay,
winded and gasping. Taggi came to lick his face, nuzzle him, making a
small, bewildered whimpering. While above, the leather-headed birds
called and swooped, fearful and angry for their disturbed nesting place.
The Terran retched, coughed up water, and then sat up to look around.

The spread of lagoon was bare. Thorvald must have rounded the south
point of land and be very close to the reef passage, perhaps through it
by now. Not stopping for his clothes, Shann started up the slope,
crawling part of the way on his hands and knees.

He reached the crest again and got to his feet. The sun made an
eye-dazzling glitter of the waves. But under the shade of his hands
Shann saw the canoe again, beyond the reef, heading on out along the
island chain, not back to shore as he had expected. Thorvald was still
on the hunt, but for what? A reality which existed, or a dream in his
own disturbed brain?

Shann sat down. He was very hungry, for that adventure in the lagoon had
sapped his strength. And he was a prisoner along with the wolverines, a
prisoner on an island which was half the size of the valley which held
the Survey camp. As far as he knew, his only supply of drinkable water
was that tank of evil-smelling rain which would be speedily evaporated
by a sun such as the one now beating down on him. And between him and
the shore was the sea, a sea which harbored such creatures as the
fork-tail he had watched die.

Thorvald was still steadily on course, not to the next island in the
chain, a small, bare knob, but to the one beyond that. He could have
been hurrying to a meeting. Where and with what?

Shann got to his feet, started down to the beach once more, sure now
that the officer had no intention of returning, that he was again on his
own with only his wits and strength to keep him alive--alive and somehow
free of this water-washed prison.

10. A TRAP FOR A TRAPPER

Shann took up the piece of soft chalklike stone he had found and drew
another short white mark on the rust-red of a boulder well above tide
level. That made three such marks, three days since Thorvald had
marooned him. And he was no nearer the shore now than he had been on
that first morning! He sat where he was by the boulder, aware that he
should be up, trying to climb to the less accessible nests of the sea
birds. The prisoners, man and wolverines, had cleaned out all those they
had discovered on beach and cliffs. But at the thought of more eggs,
Shann's stomach knotted in pain and he began to retch.

There had been no sign of Thorvald since Shann had watched him steer
between the two westward islands. And the younger Terran's faint hope
that the officer would return had died. On the shore a few feet away lay
his own pitiful attempt to solve the problem of escape.

The force ax had vanished with Thorvald, along with all the rest of the
meager supplies which had been the officer's original contribution to
their joint equipment. Shann had used his knife on brush and small
trees, trying to put together some kind of a raft. But he had not been
able to discover here any of those vines necessary for binding, and his
best efforts had all come to grief when he tried them in a lagoon
launching. So far he had achieved no form of raft which would keep him
afloat longer than five minutes, let alone support three of them as far
as the next island.

Shann pulled listlessly at the framework of his latest try, fully
disheartened. He tried not to think of the unescapable fact that the
water in the rain tank had sunk to only an inch or so of muddy scum.
Last night he had dug in the heart of the interior valley where the
rankness of the vegetation was a promise of moisture, to uncover damp
clay and then a brackish ooze. Far too little to satisfy both him and
the animals.

There were surely fish somewhere in the lagoon. Shann wondered if the
raw flesh of sea dwellers could supply the water they needed. But
lacking net, line, or hooks, how did one fish? Yesterday, using his
stunner, he had brought down a bird, to discover the carcass so rank
even the wolverines, never dainty eaters, refused to gnaw it.

The animals prowled the two beaches, and Shann guessed they hunted shell
dwellers, for at times they dug energetically in the gravel. Togi was
busied in this way now, the sand flowing from under her pumping legs,
her claws raking in good earnest.

And it was Togi's excavation which brought Shann a first ray of hope.
Her excitement was so marked that he believed she was in quest of some
worthwhile game and he moved across to inspect the pit. A patch of
brown, which had been skimmed bare by one raking paw, made him shout.

Taggi shambled downslope, going to work beside his mate with an
eagerness as open as hers. Shann hovered at the edge of the pit they
were rapidly enlarging. The brown patch was larger, disclosing itself as
a hump doming up from the gravel. The Terran did not need to run his
hands over that rough surface to recognize the nature of the find. This
was another shell such as had come floating in after the storm to form
the raw material of their canoe.

However, as fast as the wolverines dug, they did not appear to make
correspondingly swift headway in uncovering their find as might
reasonably be expected. In fact, a witness could guess that the shell
was sinking at a pace only a fraction slower than the burrowers were
using to free it. Intrigued by that, Shann went back to the waterline,
secured one of the lengths he had been trying to weave into his
failures, and returned to use it as a makeshift shovel.

Now, with three of them at the digging, the brown hump was uncovered,
and Shann pried down around its edge, trying to lever it up and over. To
his amazement, his tool was caught and held, nearly jerked from his
hands. To his retaliating tug the obstruction below-ground gave way, and
the Terran sprawled back, the length of wood coming clear, to show the
other end smashed and splintered as if it had been caught between
mashing gears.

For the first time he understood that they were dealing not with an
empty shell casing buried by drift under this small beach, but with a
shell still inhabited by the Warlockian to whom it was a natural
covering, and that that inhabitant would fight to continue ownership. A
moment's examination of that splintered wood also suggested that the
shell's present wearer appeared well able to defend itself.

Shann attempted to call off the wolverines, but they were out of control
now, digging frantically to get at this new prey. And he knew that if he
pulled them away by force, they were apt to turn those punishing claws
and snapping jaws on him.

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