seek us whether you’ve turned rogue or not. Certainly, you realize you are to be expunged.”
“Then I must leave you, we must part ways.”
Garth shook his head. “If you believe that then you don’t know the inquisitors as I do. Have you ever seen them in pursuit of a rogue?”
“No,” she admitted.
“They are ruthless and thorough. They will have full accountings from all skalds involved, coerced by their riders into giving exact testimony. Your current feelings combined with my influence will be your undoing.”
After this Kris fell silent and moody, while Garth searched for a way down from the jungle ape’s nest. The equatorial variety of the great horks was the largest. They dominated the plant growth in the ecosystem, and were in fact ecosystems unto themselves. Whole species of animals had evolved that relied particularly to a given stratum of the great horks, which often towered over five hundred feet into the air. Every branch and leaf of these living islands teemed with insects and parasitic plants. Garth kept a sharp eye out for the deadly leaf-snakes, but none seemed interested in approaching the nest.
A careful search of the nest revealed the badly mangled corpse of a forester. One of his power-boots still remained, rekindling hope in both of them.
“We can use this to drop down from the trees safely,” she said, excitedly testing the slid controls on the top of the boot. Although bent and scored they were operable.
“There’s only one boot and two of us,” he said doubtfully. “How will we balance well enough to get down without destabilizing and falling to our deaths?”
Kris made an impatient gesture, already strapping the boot to the belt around her midsection. “I live in this region. I have passed all the basic survival courses, don’t worry.”
Worrying strongly, Garth followed her directions, lying on top of her while she lay on the boot. Delicately, she adjusted the angle of the boot and pushed the power control slider to the maximum. Giving a desperate groan of fear, he allowed himself to fall from the side of the nest, clinging to Kris and the power-boot.
They fell together in slow motion. Even set to maximum power, the boot couldn’t force them to rise, although it did manage to turn their fall into a gentle drifting descent.
“You certainly are heavy for a skald,” she said, gasping for breath.
To Garth’s relief, Kris didn’t attempt to drop all the way to the forest floor, but rather made short trips from one major branch to another. Howlers pelted them with debris and leaf-serpents hissed as they passed. Cackle- grouse, resplendent in their yellow and crimson plumage, sought to bomb them with guano. Their odd, laughter- like cries soon became tiresome.
After perhaps half an hour of drifting in the humid air of the jungle, they reached the ground. Garth stamped about in pleasure, enjoying the feel of solid land against his feet. They made their way toward the highway, which they had caught a glimpse of during the long flight downward.
Not far from the base of the great hork tree, they found the body of the great ape. A vast mound of furred flesh it was, already being eaten away by scavengers. Long black hair covered the creature from head to foot, save for its leathery face and the white-skinned bald spot on the peak of its pointed head.
“I guessed right,” whispered Garth in a hushed voice. “The gunshot wounds finally took their toll.”
“Well, I’m glad it’s dead. It killed three good men.”
Massive wounds showed in the creature’s head and neck. Part of its cheek was blown away, revealing a mouthful of gleaming white teeth.
“Such an impressive creature. We seem so puny in comparison,” said Garth. Gingerly, he climbed up onto the broad chest and stood there, rubbing his chin. “It seems such a waste.”
Kris snorted. “It would have eaten us before the night was out if it had survived. These beasts relish live food and often store prey in their nests for later. I’m surprised that it didn’t snap our legs to prevent escape, that is what they usually do, or so I’m told.”
“Probably, it was distracted by its injuries,” said Garth. He climbed down from the hairy mountain of death. “Come, let’s get back to the road before other less pleasant things begin to stalk us.”
“What could be less pleasant?”
“There are more horrid things about on Garm, even now,” said Garth. “My rider has intimated this to me over the last few days, mostly in dreams, or during our most intense battle for control. This is what Fryx fears as much as death itself, I believe. The threat from the skies has driven him and I into disharmony.”
“You don’t seem to battle Fryx now as you did earlier.”
“No. I believe this is due to the fact that I’ve decided to listen to his desperate warnings. I won’t relinquish my body completely again without a struggle, but I will head for the South Pole, as he wants me to. As long as I travel this way, I think he will restrain his desire to control me.”
Scrambling over a tree root the size of a flitter, Kris asked, “Do you not miss the philosophical heights to which only a rider can take a human?”
“Yes, at times, although I’ve had precious little time to consider it.”
They reached the gully and Garth’s wrecked air car. Hunting about, they managed to find the hand-cannon and one of the rifles. Taking up the unfamiliar weapons, they found the hauler still sitting beside the road. They climbed in and soon were winding deeper into the jungle toward New Chad.
Garth took the time to tell Kris of the horrors that Fryx had intimated to him. Both parties tactfully avoided all discussion of the previous evening’s activities, although Garth noted that he was treating her differently and he thought to notice a similar change in her manner. As he sat in the hauler’s cab with her for long hours, free for the first time in days of his rider’s constant abuses, he took the time to study her face sidelong. She was indeed attractive.
It was the following evening at camp deep in the jungles that Fryx began to trouble him again. A stabbing pain seemed to exist directly behind his left eye, causing him to blink and twitch in an unnatural fashion. Itching spasms traversed his spine at regular intervals, making it almost impossible to eat or sleep.
“What does Fryx want now?” asked Kris in concern.
“He would like to commune again with Tuux,” slurred Garth, leering. The left half of his face clenched up in an unnatural manner.
Kris looked away.
“I’m sorry,” sighed Garth, trying to regain all of his mind. “I think he wants to commune with me.” With shaking hands he produced his skire, which he hadn’t had the heart to destroy. Placing the reed to his lips he began to play.
Fryx was right there, aiding with every note. Clear beautiful tones sounded in the humid night. A group of howlers somewhere in the forest hooted a contemptuous response.
For a time it was as it had been before with Fryx. Garth exalted in close communion, the music of his skire filling everything with rose-colored joy. While Kris looked on happily, he pranced about the fire they had lit, playing his skire as a satyr would play his pipes. His rider intimated further details concerning the Imperium and their fantastic aggressions of the past. Images of entire worlds enslaved and burning filled his mind. Dark ships sailed out of the void to devastate unsuspecting worlds, exterminating spindly bipedal creatures that bore riders in their skulls, as did skalds. Garth learned that these ancient hosts of the riders had perished in a fantastic war with the Imperium that had lasted for a thousand years.
So entranced was he, that at first he didn’t hear Kris’ cries of distress. Shots rang out from the forest and he saw her frail body collapse in upon itself, folding up like a holo-image when the power is cut off. Blood pumped between her fingers. She looked into his eyes with horror and agony. Some dim part of his mind realized with cold logic that they had gut-shot her so that she would take a long time to die.
Making an odd, croaking noise, Garth stumbled away from the campfire. Fryx goaded him to stay put, to wait for the inquisitors to join them and perform the necessary extractions. Bucking like a wild horse, he lurched and shambled into the trees. He crashed through black-green walls of vegetation.
The shadowy jungle night swallowed him up whole. There was no possibility of immediate pursuit. Taking up refuge in the hollow bole of a fallen tree, he pressed the barrel of his hand-cannon to his forehead and wept profusely.
Inside his skull, the spiny gelatin that was Fryx writhed in fear. Half of Garth’s face sneered in grim delight while the other half sagged in grief.
