Andre Norton - Moonsinger 04 - Dare to Go A-Hunting

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Norton, Andre - Free Trades-Moon Singer 04 - Dare to Go A-Hunting (v1.0) (html).html

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Dare to Go A-Hunting by

Andre Norton

Chapter One

It was warm, too warm for one of the room's inhabitants. However, it was

probably discourteous to remark upon the heat though a round drop of sweat

gathered just below one of his slightly slanted eyes to trickle down his cheek.

There was a small rustle when he shifted position on the uncushioned stool

which supported him an uncomfortable height from a floor of tiles matched in

brilliant color to form patterns which he could only glance at or it made his eyes

ache. That his host not only accepted all this as natural, but took comfort in it

was one of those irritating situations which had filled Farree's life for some time.

He had seen aliens a-plenty during his bad time in that sleazy portside district,

the Limits, which formed his earliest memories. However, such strangers in their

own homes were something he was now only being introduced to by the full

swing of fate's finger crystal.

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Norton, Andre - Free Trades-Moon Singer 04 - Dare to Go A-Hunting (v1.0) (html).html

"Hot" Togger's thought, always pitched so high that his own sense could hardly

understand, came testily. Farree's jerkin heaved and wrinkled as the smux

crawled out into the open to gaze up into his face with stalked eyes.

"Soooo—it is hot, little one?" Not a thought this time but words uttered with a

hissing intonation. At a goodly distance down the room a third inhabitant arose,

the extended talons on his webbed and scaled feet scraping across the stone

pattern on the floor. "Courtesy is all very well, my little friends, but allow me

also the privilege of displaying it." A yellow scaled arm, banded at both wrist

and above the elbow with well-worn cuffs of an iron-hard wood, reached out to

the wall and flipped a switch.

There was no sound of any winds, yet there blew across the room now a swift

breeze, tepidly warm to be sure, but at least better than the slow baking heat it

disturbed. He who had summoned that now came threading a path between small

tables and large—all piled with learning tapes and scan plates in boxes. Farree

gave a, he hoped, concealed sigh of relief. Those folds draped across his

shoulders, extending down his back so that their edges swept the floor, rose in

turn. He did not flourish the wings in full display—he needed more room for that

—but at least he could give them a stretch.

The tall old alien watched Farree almost eagerly. He had swept a whole cascade

of scan plate boxes to the floor and seated himself with a little grunt and some

rubbing of one scaled and plated knee.

Then he leaned forward, setting the palms of his hands on both knees. Farree did

not know how long Zacanthans continued to inherit this plane of existence

(which was how they referred to life and death) but he was sure that Grand Hist-

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Technneer Zoror was indeed a long-time master of that skill which, as with all

his species, centered upon the collection of information about oddities in a well-

spread galaxy— especially the history of such new races as were introduced

from time to time into the records of exploration. They were indeed long-lived,

these lizardlike people, but even the oldest of them often asserted that he was

only beginning his labors.

"Soooo—" Once more Zoror made a hissing of the word. "You wish now that

this old man of scales would come directly to the point and tell you what you are

and from whence you have come." The Zacanthan nodded so that the pleated

frill of skin which lay about the back of his head and shoulders unfolded into a

fan like some large ornamental collar.

"It is not easy, you know," Zoror continued. "We cannot walk to the records and

say 'Tell me who is this winged one? From what earth and people did he spring?'

These," he again flung out an arm to gesture at the unwieldy piles of tapes and

spools fencing them both in, "these are records of voyages, many, many

voyages, also contributed by men who tell strange tales, sometimes merely out

of their own imagination, but other times bearing a truth which—if the Ever

Mighty is helpful—can be traced about this far!" He held up a hand to display a

thumb and forefinger with a space between them maybe as big as one of

Togger's second claws.

"There—there was nothing then?" Farree had curbed his patience all morning,

ever since all he could remember had been fed into the read-all of the big

computer. His scant store of information had been recorded to match mixtures of

still dubious details.

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"No, I do not say that. There are stories of such as you. Those come from the

bards of Loel, the Rememberers of Garth, the Dance-think of Udolf. Stories,

mind you, garnered on more than a hundred planets. But—it remains that they

are stories without concrete proof. Those who retell them gather details on this

world or that. But the strongest of all—those come from Terra—"

"Terra? But that is but a tale, too." Farree did not try to hide his disappointment.

"Not so—" Zoror's neck frill fluttered as he shook his head. "However, there is

something common to all the worlds from which the clearest and most detailed

of these stories come. Those were the planets first colonized by people from

Terra. Yes, most certainly there was a Terra. It bred several races, in all of which

there was one abiding gift, that of curiosity. Terrans were not the first explorers

of the space dark, yet they spread farther in leas time than many of those who

came before. And with them they brought, as we all do, tales which were old and

yet part of their lives."

Farree's face creased in a frown. Zoror, for all his learning, was apt to tell stories,

too. Ordinarily Farree would have listened with interest. However, what he

wanted now was truths, even if they afforded only a very thin thread to trace.

"These from Terra—they were certainly not like me." He put up a hand to touch

the edge of one wing.

"No. They were not Farree's—" Zoror assured him. "Only stories of such they

did carry. In their tales—much of this was researched and put together by Zahaj

in a mist of years ago—in their tales they spoke of 'Little People', which lived

sometimes underground—"

Farree unfolded his wings another fraction. "With these they could not!" he

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countered.

"True, true. But there were different species or races of them. Some were

wingless according to the tales. They all had a strange relationship with the men

of Terra. Sometimes they were good friends, again they were blood enemies. It

is said that they often stole the children of men and raised them, to renew and

enrich their own blood. For they were very old so at times their race dwindled

until only a handful of them remained. They were supposed to have great

treasures— perhaps even records!" Zoror's voice soared high. "Only there

always came a time when the men drove them from their homes—perhaps not

wantonly (though there are legends about such deeds as that also) but because

they held land men wanted. And all know the stories of the ever-living greed of

Terra which spread like a mist-dark cloud wherever their ships touched, until

there came the Great Reckoning.

"Before that these winged and unwinged ones fled along the star roads not

knowing where they might land. They found worlds to settle for a space. But

always the same such worlds drew the Terrans. They would come so that the

Little People must once more take to space. This has happened many times over,

judging by legends we have recorded. However, at last there were no more

reports of them, only what remained in songs and stories."

"Did they war with the Terrans then?" Farree's mouth was dry. He must have

squeezed Togger too hard for the smux twisted about and gave a warning nip to

a finger.

"There was a war, yes, though we hear little of that— mainly a ballad over some

Terran killed by the evil magic of the Little People.. From Udolf, for example,

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there comes a whole set of dance songs lamenting some leaders who died from

weapons known to the Little People alone. They must have practiced also some

form of mind control, for they would keep men within their hold for what

seemed a day or a year and then let their captives go, for them to discover that

they had really been gone from their homes for a matter of years. There is also

the Mingra report. Come and see for yourself."

Farree followed the Zacanthan to the larger table where there were even more

piles of tapes balanced perilously. Zoror began to clear these away, piling them

on the floor. Farree stooped quickly to help him, folding his wings tight again

lest he cause some disaster.

"This is old, too, by the reckoning of most." The Hist-Technneer was fussing

with a reader, making sure the machine was in proper position.

"Mingra?" That was a word Farree had never heard before.

"The darkened world—the world of the dead-alive—" Zoror was more intent on

the disc he was fitting into the reader than he was to any question. "Now this"—

he gave the roll a last turn, slipping it into place—"was the Shame of Mingra, the

Shame of all who are space travelers—though perhaps it has so faded during the

years that it is only alive as a poisonous whisper by now. Watch with care—for

into it has gone the hate of one species for another and yet there is nothing to

explain—"

His voice died away in a final hiss. Farree obediently looked at the small screen.

Togger moved impatiently in his grasp until he placed the smux down carefully

on the table before the screen. Togger drew himself into a ball and perhaps went

to sleep. For Farree there was no sleep. He had seen plenty, since his arrival at

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Zoror's home which was also headquarters for a whole quadrant of researchers,

of such records. Some had been so wildly fantastic that he had been sure they

were indeed travelers' tall tales and not any true garnering of knowledge,

A picture formed on the screen. Farree jerked, half arose from his seat. For there

was not only an ominous picture of a sphere, half lit at one edge by a red beam.

But in his head—

He could not say it was a song, he could not even distinguish what must be

wholly alien words. Yet deep into him had struck the thought-feeling that this

held a truth which was evil and powerful. Gripping the edge of the table he made

himself sit again but he did not loose his sustaining hold.

"Hurt—dark—hurt—" The smux had unrolled from his sleep ball and crouched

before the screen, waving his great claws back and forth as if he were facing

some dire danger.

That thread of sound swelled and, as if it called for sight, the red light on the

screen blazed higher to display a barren stretch of riven rocks which were

eroded, or perhaps storm-clawed, into ridges and plateaus. Shadows still clung to

the feet of those outcrops and these dark wisps moved as if thrown by some

source other than the rocks against which they sulked.

There was fear—a fear which arose and strengthened— which began to twist

within Farree. A pile of reading rolls crashed to the floor as his wings answered

to the unconscious stimulus.

With the speed of a laser shot a head flashed into the bloody light. It was the

epitome of all evil Farree had ever known. It clashed broken-toothed jaws

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Norton, Andre - Free Trades-Moon Singer 04 - Dare to Go A-Hunting (v1.0) (html).html

together, and eyes like pits with a fire deep held stared straight at him.

It knew, it hated, it was coming from him! And it was—

"Boogy—" The hissing of Zoror broke that fearful hold which the screened

creature had half woven about Farree— either to draw him into its place or to

burst forth from the screen—how could it? This was unlike any reading roll he

had seen. From whose mind had this horror been shifted for future study—and

where—when—?

"This was a collective nightmare," Zoror said. Farree heard him but more than

half of his own attention was still centered on that thing. It had emerged from the

shadow now. The mist lay shrunken behind as if its substance had been stolen to

give the creeper more reality. Creep the creature did. Stunted limbs supported it

—no, not limbs but rather thick tentacles; and Farree believed that he could

actually hear the sound of suckers being pulled loose from the rock to be set

again as it advanced.

Nightmare? This was more alive than any nightmare. Enough to bring death if it

struck through sleep.

"Which it did," the Zacanthan said. "Look to the rocks at the right, my little

friend."

Farree felt that if he withdrew his attention from the crawler he would leave an

opening for attack, even if this was a read-roll. However, he gave a quick glance

in the direction the Zacanthan suggested.

There was no shadow at the foot of this standing stone; rather it was crowned

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with such. The form was humanoid and—Farree sucked in a breath and

swallowed a cry. For it was a winged one standing there, and he knew without

being told that this one controlled the creeper, was sending it at some prey, not to

slay—at least not at first—but to torment with fear. A winged one. He gave it

full attention now. Its flesh, shown in limb and arm and face, was a dirty grey.

The eyes, like those of the thing it commanded, were red and burning. About its

body was tight clothing, also of a red to match the ever-lightening sky. Those

wings which lazily fanned the air were not like Farree's, broad and colored, with

one hue melting into another, so that full-spread the pinions were things of soft

beauty. No, this leader of merciless shadows had wings which lacked the

feathery down which covered Farree's. Instead they were the same foul greyish

shade as the skin. Spread out they displayed perilous-appearing hooks at the top.

"Winged—" Farree half whispered. To the fear which still coiled within him was

added now true horror. Was this what could claim him as kin—in spite of

Zoror's talk about true tales and false? Somehow he knew that this was a true tale

—

"Only to two." Zoror picked up his thought, and, for the first time since he had

discovered his gift because he could communicate with smux, Farree resented

that this was so.

"Two," Zoror leaned over and one of his well-smoothed finger claws touched a

control which sent the screen dead again. Yet when Farree looked at it, he could

still see that abomination winged and aloft on the rock waving forward the

horror born of shadows.

"The two," the Zacanthan was proceeding, "being he who dreamed and he, or

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perhaps it, who sent such a dream! This was taken from the dream sleep of a

small child, one of the many who were brought for treatment from Mingra to

Yorum well over a hundred planet years ago. Five only of those little ones

survived. The rest—nightmares such as you have just seen pursued them, until

some died of fear alone and some then retreated so far from the outer world in

their terror that none could reach within where they cowered. Thus they became

the lost which we could not help."

"But you speak of shame—" countered Farree. He had seen what could be

unending fear perhaps, but there was no shame that he could understand. Any

child, yes, and fully grown adult, too, would have no shame for such fear.

"There was on Mingra a colony of dream-sleepers and they were learning how to

control their dreams," Zoror explained. "When they were called upon to help,

when children howled and screamed in their sleep—they fled and refused any

aid. Those who dream-sleep hover always on the thin line of what most men call

madness. They have been known to strike out in their sleep, even take up

weapons in their hands, to the hurt of any who may be with them. Thus they are

sent into wilderness until they learn to control their powers. If this dream

recording you have seen worked upon you, think what it might have done to one

who was drilled to be sensitive to such encounters? It was not only themselves

that the dream-sleepers sought to protect. However, men and women who had

seen their children rave in their sleep, a sleep from which there seemed to be no

waking, no matter how the medical officers of that colony tried to rouse them—

such are not always answerable for red terror which they wreak on their own.

There was a wild descent upon the colony of the sleepers. They were taken and

given to pain of many kinds when they said they could not awaken nor help the

children. They died, not quickly or easily. It was a ship of the Patrol on a regular

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