or even heard of such a monster before. Nowhere in the great forests of Grunstein, nor down south in the steamy jungles of Amazonia and New Chad, nor even on the remote archipelago of the skalds did such a creature exist.
Sarah and Bili emerged from the horkwoods as evening fell. They had reached a small jax-raising farm outside of Hofstetten. After negotiating the electrified landshark fences, they met up with a boy about Bili’s age.
“Hi, I’m Jimmy Herkart,” he said, as if this was enough to explain anything and everything to two total strangers.
Bili did most of the talking. In an act of diplomacy far beyond his years, he gave his father’s spacers watch to Jimmy. They approached the farmhouse and safety with only occasional glances back to the dark edge of the forest.
Nine
Garth took another sip of his hork-berry spritzer. The red liquid cooled his parched throat.
“You look like you could use some sleep, skald,” said the barkeep, a man with reddish-bronze skin. He had immense hairy arms and a bald head. His speech revealed the lilting accent of New Amazonia. “I’ve got a few cots in the back if you’ve got the credits. Be an honor to have you.”
Garth shook his head, not meeting the man’s eyes. The ice in his drink tinkled as he set down the glass.
“All right, but you look like you’re going to drive right into a ravine if you keep going.”
Garth took up his drink again. His hands shook. He was a rogue now; he had shunned his rider two days ago. Sleep was unthinkable.
As he finished his drink and coded a tip into the barkeep’s account, another skald came into the tavern. A wave of greenhouse heat and humidity gusted in the open door with her. The fetid smells of the jungle outside eluded the thrumming air conditioners for a time.
Garth sensed her before he turned, feeling the increased agitation of Fryx. The rider, trapped in the skull of a rogue, desperately wanted to communicate with another of its kind. Garth screwed up his eyes and bared his teeth as nerves flared with red pain. Garth knew that Fryx would never kill or seriously damage his host, but he could freely use pain as a goad.
The skald stepped up to the bar and took a stool beside him. Garth turned away, pulling the wide-brimmed hat he had bought lower over his forehead.
“You’re the one,” said the skald quietly. Her voice was soft and melodious. “You’re the one my rider brought me here to find.”
Garth whirled. His sweating face and haunted, sunken eyes leered at her. “I want solitude.”
The woman was tall and thin in the way of the skalds. Her long limp hair hung to her waist. It was white and very fine. “No skald can ever have that,” she said with a slow shake of her head.
Garth grabbed up his drink and tossed it down. He sucked up a sphere of ice and rattled it about against teeth. With the relish of a man recently come from the desert he chewed it and swallowed. The cold explosion in his mouth helped ease the agony up higher in his head.
The skald’s eyes widened as she watched him. “You’re so-so uncontrolled, so unreserved-” suddenly, she gasped in understanding. “You’re a rogue.”
Garth grinned at her, his eyes doing a wild fluttering roll before refocusing on her face. He removed his hat with an almost drunken flourish. “Yes, meet Garth the rogue, pretty one.”
She drew back, aghast and fascinated. “I am Kris and I bear Tuux. What is your rider’s name? I see by the mounting stripe on your face that you bear a great rider.”
“My rider’s identity is unimportant,” slurred Garth. His shoulders rolled and his fingers writhed seemingly of their own accord. “What is significant,” he hissed out in agony, “is that he plays on my nerves like a player plucking at a harp just now. I must ask you to leave me, he seems bent on torturing me in your presence.”
“He wants only to communicate with another rider, I’m sure. Let Tuux contact him,” she pleaded. She placed her hand on his. “He must feel so alone, so isolated. Your conduct is most disrespectful.”
“No,” Garth hissed, pulling back from her touch as he would the fanged mouth of a leaf serpent. The skin of his hand burned and tingled. Standing, he reeled toward the exit.
“If the militia pull you over, don’t tell them you came from here,” shouted the barkeep, shaking his head.
Kris quietly followed him, biting her lip.
Garth drove the lurching ground vehicle further into the jungles of New Amazonia. He passed by several settlements on the way, ignoring the reclusive inhabitants who gaped at him as they did all outsiders. Beneath the dark green canopy of the tropical hork-trees fantastic creatures hooted, howled, trumpeted and screeched. Howlers dented his vehicle with heavy seedpods. Leaf serpents dropped into the roadway, attacking the car in the belief that they were defending their territory. Garth crushed the seedpods and the serpents with equal disregard, his overriding concern being the need to stay awake.
Over a hundred miles out from the settlement where he had met Kris and rested, a large vehicle normally used for hauling timber approached from behind. The stabbing sensations in his mind let him know instantly that Fryx sensed the nearness of another rider. He had been expecting this, clearly Kris and Tuux had gathered what help they could to hunt him down.
He shoved the power rod upward, braking sharply. The car shuddered, became difficult to control. Stabilizers whined in protest. He swerved off the road and into the undergrowth. The car bucked and lurched, steering became almost impossible. Fighting the controls, he managed to guide the car into a narrow gully. Fronds lashed the car, probing into the broken windshield like green fingers.
Out of the greenery stepped a monster. Standing erect, directly in front of him, stood a male bald jungle ape of terrific size. In panic, he swerved the car wildly and hit the rocky wall of the gully. The front end crushed inward and he was ejected into the leafy undergrowth. Inside his head Fryx screamed in mortal terror.
Stunned, he lay on a bed of moss. A trickle of water dribbled over his back from somewhere high above in the forest canopy. Whining insects crawled on his skin and tasted his sweat. Out on the road the hauler stopped where he had entered the jungle and there was the sound of heavy boots on the pavement. Men shouted to one another as they entered the forest to pursue him. He shifted his head a fraction, but could see no sign of the jungle ape.
“He’s back here somewhere, see the path he’s carved through the jungle?”
Shouts came from his pursuers as they followed his trail and found the mouth of the gully. Garth remained prone, fearing the dark form of the jungle ape more than any group of men. Men might be reasoned with.
“Over here!” cried the melodious voice of Kris. “I’ve found the car. It appears to be wrecked.”
The men appeared now on the fringe of Garth’s vision. They were strong-looking men of the forest, not the thin pallid forms of skalds. Two held rifles while the third toted a hand-cannon. Soon the man with the hand- cannon, seemingly the leader, discovered Garth where he lay in the undergrowth.
“Is this the man who raped you?” he demanded, prodding Garth’s inert form with the barrel of his hand- cannon.
Garth listened with only half an ear. He thought to see the flickering of a dark shape along the edge of the gully.
“Well-he,” began Kris in a troubled voice. Garth knew that she battled against her rider to tell the truth. “He needs help.”
“Come now, girl,” said the man with the hand-cannon. “You can’t be soft with him now.”
Even as they spoke, Garth felt a huge soft shadow fall over them. He cringed involuntarily, unable to play dead any longer.
“Hey, he’s waking up-” began the leader, then broke off into a hoarse shout of surprise. Incoherent shouting
