I released her suddenly, and she leapt back, her eyes startled and accusing. “You’re either a madman or a sick child!” she whispered.
“We’ll talk about it later,” I said. “Now is not the time.”
“I feel sorry for you.”
“Later.”
The clearing quieted down, and there was silence for a moment. Then out of the forest they came, walking three abreast. Geipgos, the old tribal chieftain, and his son Slagoon, and the warriors with their rippling muscles glinting in the pollen-scented dusk, and their spears held high in a cautious withholding of wrath.
You couldn’t call it a greeting. They were still shaken with anger, still ready to kill.
I went forward to meet them, with Kallatah in the crook of my arm. I’d talked and bargained and haggled with them a dozen times, but now I was seeing them for the first time through her eyes.
I have a curious gift of empathy. I could share her awe and admiration, and the stunned incredulity which must have made her doubt the evidence of her eyes.
The natives of Dracona are physically comely and well-proportioned, and they carry themselves with such an air of easy grace that you have to look twice to realize that they are not entirely like ourselves.
They have three eyes, but the extra one is so smoothly lidded that when it remains shut you scarcely notice it. Their three extra, slightly attenuated arms are not obtrusive, for they carry them pressed closely to their sides. And the green sheen of their skins looks more bronze than green in the forest gloom, and is hence far less startling than might be supposed.
They had such keen, discerning eyes, and mobile features that when they smiled in friendly greeting it was hard to think of them as primitives at all.
They were not smiling now.
I tightened my hold on Kallatah’s wrist, and looked Geipgos straight in the eye—the big forehead eye which opened slowly to glow with fierce reproach and scorn.
“Mukith Mani-Bumini!” I said. That translated out as: “I would know the reason for your displeasure, old friend!”
It was an excellent beginning and it brought an instant, completely understandable reply. The fire mountain had been complaining all day. Now the reason was clear to all. One like myself, only a female, had taken captive a Servant of the Mountain. Her punishment and death must follow as a matter of course.
Geipgos’ three eyes watched me, as if seeking in the frailties we had in common some excuse for my defense of such a female monster.
“Tun Huhji Swan,” I said. “This woman is more dear to me than life itself.”
I waited for his astonishment to subside, then went on quickly. “She is my mate. She is the adored one of my heart. The Servant of the Mountain flew to join us when he saw how deliriously happy we were. He wished to give us his blessing.”
It was a good beginning only if I could convince Geipgos that the lizard had flown into the net of its own free will, and had its own peculiar reason for not wanting to leave.
“The Servant of the Mountain is free to go,” I said. “He waits only to rejoice in the complete consummation of our happiness.”
“He waits to rejoice?” said Geipgos.
“In the glorious fulfillment of our happiness, yes.”
It was the wisest thing I could have said, for primitives everywhere are natural-born feast makers. Rejoicing in the happiness of the newlywed is second nature to them.
I could see that Geipgos was impressed. He raised his arm, and gestured to the warriors. Still scowling, but without hesitation, they strode past us, grouped themselves about the net and started prodding the lizard with their spears. Gently, firmly, and with great deference.
Suddenly the startled creature gave a shrill scream, swung about, and began untangling itself. The warriors leapt back in awe, lowered their spears, and waited to see what the Servant of the Mountain would do next.
It went right on screaming.
It was still screaming when it left the net like a bat out of a well. Straight across the clearing it soared and into the trees, missing Geipgos by a scant twelve inches.
What it did was perfectly natural under the circumstances, but its effect on Geipgos was tantamount to the lightning conversion of a miracle enacted for his benefit alone. He swung toward me, utter self-castigation in his eyes.
The Servant of the Mountain had been wiser than Geipgos. It had stayed until prodded, indicating a desire to stay. Amends must be made for the doubting of a friend. The female, my mate, must be the guest of Geipgos.
Kallatah stared at me with a wild surmise. “What did you tell him?” she asked. “What did he say to you?”
“We’re to go to their village,” I told her. “We’re to go as honored guests.”
At a command from Geipgos a litter sixteen feet square was set down before us, and we got into it. Four tall warriors grouped themselves with prideful eagerness about the conveyance, and lifted it to their shoulders, Geipgos and his son fell back with gestures of deep respect, and a procession formed behind us, and we were borne forward across the clearing like the idols of some primitive fertility cult whose wrath could shrivel crops and cause a blight to descend upon the land.
Amidst shouts of jubilation and an incredible bowing and scraping we were borne swiftly along a jungle trail between towering walls of vegetation. And then out on a sloping mountainside which overlooked a valley swimming in a deep, golden haze.
The trail descended the mountain in a corkscrew curve, with many evil-looking twists and turns. To be carried on a litter down a steep trail is always hazardous and I would have preferred to remain silent. But when I saw how alarmed Kallatah looked I thought it best to keep right on talking.
Across the valley loomed the largest volcano on Dracona and as I gestured toward it I did my best to sound cheerful.
“That mountain has our friends worried,” I
