cried, raising his sticks. 'No, Bob, no!' she screamed, retreating but keeping her face to him. 'Touch me and I kill you!' They were about to fight each other?and Neq's status was not the issue! They were like demons, prowling about. each other in the night, too cautious to strike until the blow could be lethal. Like outlaws, killers of Neqa.... Neq charged, his sword whistling. Death to them both! But he did what he never did: snagged his foot in a ground-vine and crashed down ignominiously. The dirt and leaves of the forest floor ground into his face, and the glockenspiel jangled again?an incongruous burst of sound. Neq rolled over and spat out mud. His body had been humbled, but for the moment his mind was clear. These were the ghosts! These maddened people, seeing visions and attacking each other! That was the death that lurked in this forest! The fragrance of the night-bloomers came again, anesthetizing his nostrils with its splendor. Like alcohol, the fumes altered his perspective, made the real unreal, the unreal real.... There was killing to be done. The spooks were almost upon him. Neq lurched up, flung himself down the steep bank, into the black water of the river. The shock of cold brought his brain to full clarity again. There was death here, all right. Death from the spirits. Vapor spirits?windblown alcohol that evoked the kill-passions. A gaseous murderer who left no footprint, no scar. The haunt of the forest. He knew it for what it was, now?yet it could not be avoided. A man had to breathe! Physical shocks could abate it only temporarily; already that insidious fragrance was seeping through his nose and into his lung and on to his brain, modifying his perception. substituting more evocative images.... The sword could not battle this! Only an unarmed man, alone, could hope to survive. And what man would enter this forest that way? Neq looked at his glistening glockenspiel, the metal glowing faintly in the moonlight. Already it was wavering into the sword again. But it was a ghost sword; his real sword was dead. The ghost-sword could deliver him only into death, for he would be weaponless without believing it. Suddenly he felt lonely. His existence had never seemed so futile. He tapped the sword, finding the bells of the glockenspiel by touch and sound. That was one way to keep reminding himself that what he saw was false. He began to pick out a tune, there in the water?the water that seemed like rich warm blood?and the notes were lovely and clear. They expanded to form a melody, each note bearing its private animation but the theme expanding to encompass the world. The tune was marching; each beat was a bright foot. He saw them treading into the sky. JHe sang: 'You must walk this lonesome valley You have to walk it by yourself! Oh, nobody else can walk it for you...' The melody took hold of him compellingly, carried him up out of the river, gave him a glorious and sad strength. 'We must walk this lonesome valley?' Shapes came at him, male and female... but the music daunted them. Like a cordon of warriors, the band of notes swept back the opposition, softened its determination. He sang and sang, more wonderfully than ever before. 'We have to walk it by ourselves Oh, nobody else can walk it for us...' Then, hesitatingly, the shapes joined in. 'We have to walk it by ourselves...' With burgeoning confidence Neq started another sequence, marching down along the path while his body dripped wet water and the others followed. 'Takes a worried man To sing a worried song!' and the ghost-echo agreed, and they sang together, louder. 'It takes a worried man To sing a worried song! I'm worried now, But I wont be worried long!' Victoriously, Neq continued, throwing new forces of song and music into the fray as the old troops lost their potency against the ghost-fragrance. On down the path, through the dark forest, singlemindedly dispelling the insidious fumes with voice and instrument, leading the captive shapes out of the lonesome valley. Then it was done. Embarrassed, Neq broke off his singing, finding his voice hoarse. They had walked and sang for hours. Tyl and Vara were there, shaking their heads as though waking from nightmare. Dawn was coming.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
'Stay clear of the tribesmen,' Tyl said. 'Let them think we are dead, or they may kill us to preserve their secret. We'll sleep in the forest today.' 'The haunted forest?' Vara demanded nervously. 'It is safe by day. We shall want to visit it again by night.' Again!' Neq was incredulous. 'We nearly killed each other there! The ghosts?' 'You spared us that,' Tyl said. 'Your weapon vanquished them and brought us out. But our conquest is not complete until we know what causes the effect, and why the outlaw tribe chooses to sacrifice ignorant strangers to it. Surely they know; they can not be so stupid as to spend their lives adjacent to it and not fathom the mystery. I have never fled from an enemy?or left a potential enemy behind me.' He was right. An enemy neglected was doubly dangerous. 'The flowers,' Neq said. 'Night bloomers.' Tyl removed his weapons. 'Sticks to you,' he said to Vara. 'Sword to you, Neq.' Neq could not hold the sword effectively in his claw, but he understood what Tyl was doing. Tyl went to a hanging vine and plucked a closed bud. He pulled it open and put it to his nose. He sniffed. 'Faint?not the same.' He sniffed again, deeply. Then a third time. His manner changed. His eyes widened, then narrowed. His hand went for his sword. Then he grinned and dropped the flower. 'This is it!' he cried. 'I'm high on it now?but I know what it is. Don't come near me?' They knew what he meant. The weak, temporary daylight effect of one bud might not overcome a forewarned man, any more than an ounce of alcohol would. But the massed fragrance of thousands of blooms, in the flush of their strength, building up all night long?that would be another matter. 'I don't think we'd better stay the night,' Vara said. 'It fuels our passions....' Yes. And there was already a matter of death-vengeance between them. Tyl went down to the river and dunked his head. He came back dripping but triumphant. 'We know the haunt now!' 'We still have to breathe at night,' Neq said, returning the sword. 'We got through once, but it would be foolhardy to risk it again.' Tyl considered. 'Yes. I knew what it was doing to me, just now, but I didn't care. If I had had my weapons?' 'It was the same with me last night,' Neq admitted. 'But all I had was song.' 'The flower is the weapon,' Tyl said. 'One that would bring down a tribe. If others knew of it, it would be planted everywhere. We must make it ours.' Vara rubbed her eyes. None of them had slept yet, and the tribesmen could soon appear. Tyl was probably correct: the tribe had more interest in maintaining the secret of the forest than in exposing it. Dead men would spread its reputation, and prevent other tribes from moving in on the good hunting preserve. Naturally only strangers would be sacrificed. It was time to hide and sleep. Tyl nodded. 'We'll make a baffle by the water, under the bank, and sleep together without posting guard. If they find us, we'll stall until dusk?or dive into the river.' The tribesmen were either too confident or too stupid to search thoroughly. No one found them. Refreshed, the three walked to the southern fringe as the blooms opened. No tribesmen stood guard, understandably. 'If light makes them close...' Tyl murmured. Neq jumped. Tyl was leading the way directly to a large group of the opening flowers! 'Careful?moonlight didn't stop them last night.' 'Maybe it did,' Vara said. 'Maybe that's why we got through. We got only part of the effect....' 'Stand upwind,' Tyl said. He brought out his light. It was a small kerosene lantern with a circular wick and adjustable mantle, and it had a spark-striker attachment. It had been cumbersome to carry, and Tyl had seldom used it before, preferring his own night vision. He had never been one to travel unprepared, however. He ignited the lantern, adjusted it for maximum brilliance, and brought it near the vine. There was a reflector, so that a surprising amount of illumination was concentrated in that vicinity. Slowly the flowers closed. 'If light seals them, darkness must open them,' Tyl said. 'If we carried a vine with us?' 'It would die,' Neq said, leary of the notion. 'A growing vine, with its earth. Set in a box with this light.' 'A weapon!' Vara exclaimed, catching on. 'Cover it by day, leave it among enemies....' Tyl nodded. 'Pick it up when they are dead. Turn on the light. Travel on.' 'A counter- ambush,' Vara finished, her eyes seeming to glow in the night. More killing, Neq thought. No end to it, whether with sword or flower. Yet the plan had merit. 'This is a fringe zone. Will it grow beyond this forest?' 'Delicate mutation,' Vara said excitedly. 'Needs the right temperature, water, soil, shade?' 'We'll find out,' Tyl said. 'Man has tamed plants before.' The two of them hastened to dig up an appropriate sample and fix its enclosure. Neq had qualms, however. Any oversight, and the flowers could wipe out their little party. This was an uncertain ally. 'Var was self-sacrificing,' Vara said. 'He always helped me, even when I was pretending to be a boy. When we slept in the snows and I was stung by a badlands worm, be carried me back to the only hostel though his own ankle had been turned. And he fought to preserve my rest, though he was not then fit for the circle. He was exhausted and his foot was swollen?' Neq had to listen. This was the man he had killed. He could not restore what he had taken without first comprehending her loss. He understood what she was doing: Tyl had stopped her from attacking him with the sticks, so now she turned to words. Her voiced memories were terrible because they brought a dead man back to life, multiplying Var's greatness and the agony of his demise. Her verbal campaign was calculated, and he knew it, but still it hurt him. He had no legitimate defense. He had killed her husband, the man who should have been his friend, and now could never be. Sometimes when she said Var he heard Neqa. Neq himself had become Yod: slayer of the innocent. It worked. The vine prospered under Tyl's care, and a minimum flame in the lantern kept the narcotic flowers closed. But normally they set the plant down some distance from their night camp and let it bloom, so that its natural cycle would not be unduly disrupted. They had no concern about animals bothering it; the fragrance was defense enough. A mile's separation seemed more than sufficient?less than a mile when the wind was sure? though upon occasion they smelled the faint perfume and
