“If you want to change your genetic pattern, that’s the way to start. There’s a long shot, too… if we should ever manage to liberate humanity from the Tanu. There just might happen to be a human genetic engineer among the time-travelers. I don’t know exactly how the Tanu Skin works, but it may be possible to utilize it to alter your grossly mutated bodies back into a more normal form. We were able to do this in some cases, using the regeneration-tanks of the future world that I came from.”
“You have given us much to ponder.” Sugoll was more subdued. “Some of the intelligence is bitter indeed, but we will think on it. Eventually, we will make our decision.”
Madame Guderian now stepped forward and resumed her role of leader. Her voice was firm; her color had returned. “Mighty Sugoll, there is still the matter of our mission. Our request of you.”
The exotic clenched his fist, which still held Yeochee’s message. The vellum crackled. “Ah, your request! This royal command was useless, you know. Yeochee has no power here, but doubtless he did not care to admit it to you. I allowed you to enter our territory on a whim, curious as to the extremity that would make you take such a risk. We had planned to amuse ourselves with you before finally permitting you to die…”
“And now?” Madame inquired.
“What do you ask of us?”
“We seek a river. A very large one, rising in this area, which flows eastward until it reaches the great half-salty lagoons of the Lac Mer hundreds of kilometers from here. We hoped to travel upon this river to the site of the Ship’s Grave.”
There was a surprised chorus of howls.
“We know the river,” Sugoll said. “It is the Ystroll, a truly mighty flood. We have a few legends of the Ship. Early in the history of our people on this world, we broke away from the main body of the Firvulag and sought independence in these mountains, away from the Hunting and the senseless annual slaughter of the Grand Combat.”
Madame had to explain carefully the human complicity in the recent rise to dominance of the Tanu, as well as her own scheme to restore the old balance of power while freeing humanity. “But to do this, we must obtain certain ancient items from the crater of the Ship’s Grave. If you will furnish us with a guide to the river, we believe that we will be able to locate the crater.”
“And this plan, when will you put it into effect? When might the human scientists be free of the Tanu yoke and able, if Teah wills, to help us?”
“We had hoped to implement the scheme this year, before the start of the Grand Combat Truce. But there is scant hope of this now. Only twelve days remain. The Ship’s Grave lies at least two hundred kilometers from here. It will doubtless take us half of the remaining time just to walk to the head of navigation on the river.”
“That is not so,” Sugoll said. He called out, “Kalipin!”
The Bogle stepped forth from the throng. His formerly surly face was transfigured by a broad smile. “Master?”
“I do not understand these kilometers. Tell the humans how it is with the Ystroll.”
“Below these mountains,” the Bogle said, “are the caverns where we make our homes. But at other levels, some deeper, some shallower, are the Water Caves. They are a maze of springs, bottomless pools and streams flowing through the blackness. Several rivers have their sources in the Water Caves. The Paradise, which flows past Finiah to the northwest, is one. But the mightiest torrent born beneath our mountains is the Ystroll.”
Claude exclaimed, “He could be right! There were underground tributaries to the Danube even in our own time. Some said they came from Lake Constance. Others postulated a connection to the Rhine.”
The Bogle said, “The Ystroll emerges as a full-grown river into a great lowland to the northeast. If you enter the Water Caves at Alliky’s Shaft via the lift buckets, you can pick up the Dark Ystroll not two hours’ march from here. Then it is a subterranean water-journey of but a single day to the Bright Ystroll, that which flows beneath the open sky.”
Madame asked Sugoll, “Would your boatmen guide us along the underground section?”
Sugolldid not speak. He lifted his eyes to the surrounding crowd of monstrosities. There was a musical chorus of howls. The goblin shapes began to shift and change, and the terrible swirling pattern of the sky calmed. The mental energies of the little people relaxed from the projection of undisciplined hatred and self-loathing and began to weave gentler illusions. The dreadful deformities faded, a throng of miniature men and women took the place of the nightmares.
“Send them,” sighed the Howling Ones.
Sugoll bowed his head in acknowledgment. “It will be done.”
He arose and lifted his hand. All of the small people repeated the gesture. They became as tenuous as mountain mist burning away in the noon sunlight.
“Remember us,” they said as they vanished. “Remember us.”
“We will,” Madame whispered.
The Bogle went trotting away, beckoning for them to follow. Claude took Madame Guderian’s arm, and Richard, Martha, and Felice came trailing behind.
“Only one thing,” the old woman said to Claude in a low tone. “What did he really look like, this Sugoll?”
“You can’t read my mind, Angélique?”
“You know I cannot.”
“Then you’ll never know. And I wish to God,” the old man added, “that I didn’t.”
CHAPTER SIX
Late in the evening, when the giant hawkmoths and the flying squirrels played their aerial games above the wooded canyon of Hidden Springs Village, seven men bearing six heavy sacks came home to the Lowlife settlement, led by Khalid Khan. They sought Uwe Guldenzopf, but his hut was empty. Calistro the goat-boy, bringing his animals home from their browsing, informed the seven that Uwe was at the community bathhouse with Chief Burke.
“The Chief is here?” Khalid exclaimed in consternation. “Then the expedition to the Ship’s Grave was a failure?”
Calistro shook his head. He was about five years old, sober and responsible enough to know something of the great plans that were afoot. “The Chief was hurt, so he came back. Sister Amerie fixed his wounded leg, but he still must soak it many times each day… What do you have in the sacks?”
The men laughed. Khalid dropped his load on the ground with a loud clanging sound.
“Treasure!” The speaker was a wiry, shock-haired individual standing just behind Khalid, the only one of the seven not burdened down. The stump of his left arm was wrapped in a wad of dark-stained cloth.
“Let me see!” begged the child. But the men were already on their way up the flat-floored canyon. Calistro hurried his animals into their night pen and rushed to follow.
White starlight shone on a small area of open grass near the banks of the brook that was born of the hot and cold springs’ mingling; however, most of the village lay concealed in deep shadow, the homes and community buildings sheltered beneath tall pines or spreading evergreen oaks that hid them from Finiah’s Tanu sky-searchers. The bathhouse, a large log structure with a low-caved roof overgrown with vines, was built against one of the canyon walls. Its windows were closely shuttered, and a U-shaped passage kept torchlight from the interior from shining out the open door.
Khalid and his men entered into a scene of steamy cheerfulness. It seemed that half the village had gathered in here on this rather chilly evening. Men, women, and a few children splashed in stone-lined hot or cold pools, lolled in hollow-log tubs, or simply lounged about gossiping or playing backgammon or card games.
Uwe Guldenzopf’s voice rang out over the communal din. “Hoy! Look who’s back home again!” And the Lowlives raised a shout of welcome. Somebody yelled, “Beer!” And one of Khalid’s grimy contingent appended a heartfelt, “Food!” The boy Calistro was sent to roust out the village victualers while the new arrivals pushed through a gabbling, laughing mob toward an isolated tub where Peopeo Moxmox Burke sat, his long graying hair stringy in the bathhouse vapors and his craggy face atwitch as he suppressed a delighted grin.