The Valley of Creation

wolf's body—'

'Not your brain, but your mind' Kree said grimly. 'The mind is immaterial, a tenuous web of force. So said the ancients. And they built the instrument that can transfer minds to other bodies. I merely used that instrument.

'It is Asha's body still and Asha's brain. Asha's instincts, memories, latent knowledge are still in that brain and you will have use of them. But the real you, your conscious mind, is now in Asha's body and Asha's conscious mind-sleeps.'

Nelson felt his new body tense and rise. He cried out bewilderedly, 'But why? Why didn't you just kill me?'

'You are hostage for my son Barin,' Kree answered. 'When Barin is returned to us you will be returned to your own body!'

The anger that had been growing and growing in Nelson burst suddenly into a flame of rage. Rage such as he had never known, the wild anger of the wolf.

That they should have done this to him, Eric Nelson! That they should have dared!

Nelson was dimly aware of a strange linking of his familiar mind to something dark and primal and alien. Man-rage drawing from the deep red wells of the beast. He bared his fangs and snarled. He felt his whole new wolf-body coil tensely tight as he crouched.

Man-rage, beast-rage-memory, instinct, the loosing of the chain — not so alien after all, not so strange! Not so long ago man himself was a hunting beast!

He sprang in a beautiful, deadly, arching leap, straight for Kree.

He heard Nsharra cry out, and then in mid-air he felt the shock of Tark's great leaping body. The wolf's broad breast struck his shoulder, bowled him over to crash on the glassy floor. He slashed out, felt hair and hide tear under his teeth, tasted blood on his tongue.

And then Tark's greater weight was smothering him, Tark's huge jaws had closed on the back of his neck, and Tark was shaking him as a wolf-cub shakes a rat. The leader of the Clan flung Nelson from him, rolling over and over, and stood contemptuous and lordly in his strength, laughing with his red tongue run out between his open jaws.

'You've yet to learn,' came his thought, 'that I, Tark, lead the pack of the Hairy Ones!'

And Nelson, gathering himself, sent back the raging thought, 'But I am not of your Clan!'

He sprang again at Tark.

It was strange, how he knew the ways of fighting. To dart in low to snap the foreleg, to use the breast as a ram, to keep the throat always covered, to dodge and dance and whirl and give the long terrible slashing stroke where the hair thins on the side of the opponent's neck, over the vein.

All these things Nelson knew and knew well. He was young and powerful and he was fighting to kill. But it availed him nothing. Tark moved like a wraith before him so that his jaws rang shut on the empty air-and before he could recover himself the old pack lord would smash him off balance with his greater weight and his jaws would chop and slash and then he would be away again, out of reach, laughing.

Nelson sprang and sprang again, and was beaten down, and would not quit. The hot sweet taint of blood reddened the air, and the great black stallion tossed his head and stamped his hoofs on the glassy floor. Quorr wrinkled his striped face in a snarling grin, and his claws ran in and out of their velvet sheaths and his tail twitched.

Only Ei perched motionless on the back of Nsharra's chair. The girl's face was white and full of pity and there was a sickness in her eyes. She looked pleadingly at her father, who sat watching with dark, somber eyes.

In answer to Nsharra's look Kree sighed and said, 'Do not hurt him, Tark — more than you must.'

And Tark answered, panting, 'He must learn to obey!'

Once more his great jaws ripped, slashed and sent Nelson sprawling.

There came a time when Nelson tried to spring again and could not. Whipped to standstill, he stood trembling on legs braced far apart, his flanks heaving, his head hanging low. He left blood and sweat wetting his hairy wolf- body.

Tark's though asked, 'Have you learned, cub?'

Nelson answered, 'I have learned.' But still the dulled fire of rage burned in him.

Tark's mind said grimly, 'Do not forget!'

He trotted back to Nsharra's side and began to lick his fur, keeping one mocking eye on the creature that was Eric Nelson. Kree leaned forward, his deep-set gaze brooding somberly upon the wolf that was Nelson.

'Listen,' he said. 'Listen, Eric Nelson, to the price of your deliverance.'

He waited, as though for Nelson's shaken mind to clear, before he went on.

'Go back to your comrades, Eric Nelson. Go back to the Humanites. Bring my son to me alive and safe and you shall be a man again.'

Nelson voiced a bitter, snarling laugh.

'Do you think they'll believe me?' he demanded. 'Do you think they'll listen?'

'You must make them listen.'

'They'll shoot me on sight.'

'They are your comrades, Eric Nelson. They are your problem.' Kree turned to the pack-leader and his grim thought ordered, 'Tark, start him on his way.'

Tark rose and shook himself. He took three soft padding steps toward Nelson and said, 'Go.'

Nelson faced him sullenly and would not move.

Quorr's thought said, 'The cub is forgetful, Tark. You must teach him his lesson again.'

And Hatha, eyes rolling, stamped. 'Teach him!'

Ei rustled his wings in what sounded like a sigh.

'Remember, outlander,' his thought said, 'courage is a good quality only when one is wise enough to use it.'

'All of you, leave him alone!' cried Nsharra. She put out her hands pleadingly and said, 'Please go, Eric Nelson!'

Nelson saw that there were tears on her cheeks. He watched Tark padding toward him, his great body all one coiled and fluid motion. He watched the filtered sunlight gleam on Tark's teeth.

The smell of his own blood rose hot in his nostrils.

Quite suddenly Nelson turned and ran. As though that were a signal, a burst of sound broke from behind him — the stamp and squeal of Hatha, the tiger's echoing roar, a long wolf-howl. They were answered all through the Hall of Clans.

And Nelson, as he ran, heard with the noise the great ringing shout of Tark's mind.

'Clam of the Brotherhood! Send Clan-call forth that Asha the wolf is outlaw!'

Through the glittering corridors and dusty vaulted halls they drove him, out of the building, out into the forested streets of Vruun. With hoof and fang and claw they drove him and always the word ran ahead of him like wildfire:

'Asha the wolf is outlaw-outlaw!'

And he ran, he who was both wolf and man, both Asha and Eric Nelson. He ran along the broad forest ways between the bubble buildings, though the glittering city, and there was no shelter for him.

The eagles swooped and screamed above him. The gray pack loped behind him and, if he tried to dart aside, Hatha's Clan were there with plunging hoofs to bar the way. And everywhere the striped and silent bodies of the Clawed Ones flowed in the shadows, laughing at him.

The men and women of Vruun watched the driving of the outlaw with bitter eyes and they too barred his way. Nelson went the only way left open to him, out of Vruun and into the open forest. He ran belly-flat, choking on his own heart, and he knew how a dog feels when he is driven through a town.

The forest shade gathered him in. The earth was moist and soft under his paws. He fled onward between the trees and, after a time, he realized that the pursuit had drawn back and was dim and far away.

He slowed his pace to a trot and then to a dragging walk. Breathing was an agony, a tearing pain. Where Tark had slashed him the blood oozed and dripped and took his strength with it and his every joint and muscle was