 Key Out of Time by Andre Norton, Chapter 6 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by RJ Davis. Key Out of Time by Andre Norton, Chapter 6, Locust the Useless The wash of waves covered Ross's advance until he came up against the wall, not too far from the spy's perch. Whoever crouched there still leaned forward to watch Karar, and Ross's eyes, having adjusted to the gloom of the cavern, made out the outline of head and shoulders. The next two or three minutes were the critical ones for the terror. He must emerge on the ledge in the open before he could attack. Karar might also have read his mind and given conscious help. For now, she went out to the point of the ledge to whistle the dolphin's summons. Tina Ross's sleek head bobbed above water as he answered the girl with a bubbling squeak. Karar nodded and the dolphin came to butt against her outheld hand. Ross heard a gasp from the washer. A faint sound of movement. Karar began to sing softly. Her voice rippling in one of the liquid chants of her own people. The dolphin interjecting a note or two. Ross had heard them at that before, and it made perfect cover for his move. He sprang. His grass tightened on flesh. Fingers closed about thin wrists. There was a yell of astonishment and fear from the stranger as the terror jerked him from his perch to the ledge. Ross had his opponent flattened under him before he realized that the other had offered no struggle, but lay still. What is it? Karar was torched being caught in both. Ross looked down into a thin brown face, not too different from his own. The wide-set eyes were closed, and the mouth caped open. Though he believed the vacuum unconscious, Ross still held hold on those wrists as he moved from the sprawled body. With the girl's aid, he used the length of kelp to secure the captive. The stranger wore a garment of glistening skin-type material, which covered body, legs, and feet, but left his lanky arms bare. A belt about his waist had loops for a number of objects. Among them a hook pointed knife, which Ross prudently removed. Why, he's only a boy, Karar was said. Where did he come from, Ross? The terror pointed to the wall crevice. He was up there watching you. Her eyes were wide and round. Why? Ross dragged the prisoner back against the wall of the cave. After witnessing the fate of those who had swum ashore from the wreck, he did not like to think what motive might have brought the Avakakin here. Again, Karar was thought must have masked tears for she added, but he did not even draw his knife. What are you going to do with him, Ross? The problem already occupied the terror. The wisest move, undoubtedly, was to kill the native out of hand, but since ruthlessness was more than he could stomach, and if he could learn anything from the stranger, gained some knowledge of this new world and its ways, he would be twice-winner. Why, this encounter might even lead to ash. Ross, his leg, see? The girl pointed. The tight fit of the Avakakin's clothing made the defect clear. The right leg of the stranger was shrunken and twisted. He was a cripple. What of it, Ross demanded sharply. This was no time for an appeal to the sympathies. But Karawa did not urge any modification of the bonds, as he half feared she would. Instead, she set back, crossed-legged, and odd, withdrawn expression making her seem remote, though he could have put out his hand to touch her. His lameness, it could be a bridge. She observed through Ross's mystification, a bridge? What do you mean? The girl shook her head. This is only a feeling, not a true thought, but also it is important. Look, I think he is waking. The lids above those large eyes were fluttering. Then, with a shake of the head, the Avakakin blinked up at them. Blank bewilderment was all Ross could read in the stranger's expression until the alien saw Karawa. Then, a flood of clicking speech poured from his lips. He seemed utterly astounded when they made no answer, and the fluency of his first outburst took on a pleading note, while the expectancy of his first greeting faded away. Karawa spoke to Ross. He is becoming afraid, very much afraid. At first, I think he was pleased, happy. But why? The girl shook her head. I do not know. I can only feel. Wait! Her hand rose in emperous command. She did not rise to her feet, but crawled on hands and knees to the edge of the ledge. Both dolphins were there. Raising their heads well out of the water, their actions expressing unusual excitement. Ross, Karawa's voice rang loudly. Ross, they can understand him. Tina, Ross and Tal can understand him. You mean they understand this language? Ross found that fantastic. Awesome as the abilities of the dolphins were. No, his mind. It's his mind, Ross. Somehow he thinks in patterns they can pick up and read. They do that, you know, with a few of us, but not in the same way. This is more direct, clearer. They're so excited. Ross glanced at the prisoner. The alien had wiggled about, striving to raise his head against the wall as a support. His captor pulled the Avakakian into a setting position. But the native accepted that aid almost as if he were not aware of Ross's hands on his body. He stared with a kind of horrified disbelief at the bobbing dolphin heads. He is afraid, Karawa reported. He has never known since communication before. Can they ask him questions? demanded Ross. If this odd mental time between Terrand Dolphin and Avakakian did exist, then there was a chance to learn about this world. They can try. Now he only knows fear, and they must break through that. What followed was the most unusual, foresighted conversation Ross could have ever imagined. He put a question to Karawa, who related to the dolphins. In turn, they ask it mentally of the Avakian and conveyed his answer back by the same route. It took some time to allay the fears of the stranger, but at last the Avakian entered wholeheartedly into the exchange. He is the son of the Lord ruling the castle above, Karawa produced the first rational and complete answer. But for some reason he is not accepted by his own kind. Perhaps she added on her own. It is because he is crippled. The sea is his home, as he expresses it, and he believes me to be some mythical being out of it. He saw me swimming, masked, and with the dolphins, and he is sure I changed shape at will. She hesitated, Ross, I get something odd here. He does know, or thinks he knows, creatures who can appear and disappear at will. And he is afraid of their powers. Gods and goddesses, perfectly natural. Karawa shook her head. No, this is more concrete than a religious belief. Ross had a sudden inspiration. Apparently he described the cloak figure who had driven the castle people from the piles of salvage. Ask him about that one. She relayed the question. Ross saw the prisoner's head jerk around. The Avakian looked from Karawa to her companion. They shade a speculation in his expression. He wants to know why you ask about the Polanna. Surely you must well know what matter of beings they are. Listen, Ross was sure now that he had made a real discovery, though its importance he could not guess. Tell him we come from where there are no Polanna, that we have powers and must know of their powers. If he could only carry on this interrogation straight and not have to depend upon a double translation, and could he even be sure his questions reached the alien undistorted? Rarely Ross sat back on his heels. Then he glanced at Karawa with a twinge of concern. If he was tired by the roundabout communication, she must be doubly so. There was a droop to her shoulders and her last reply had come in a voice hoarse with fatigue. Abruptly he started up. That's enough for now, which was true. He had to have time for evaluation to adjust to what they had learned during the steady stream of questions passed back and forth. And in that moment he was conscious of his hunger. Just as his voice was paper dry from lack of drink, the canister of supplies he had left by the cave entrance. We need food and drink, he fumbled with his mask, but Karawa motioned him back from the water. Taw brings weight. The dolphin trailed the native containers to them. Ross unscrewed one, pulled out a bowl of fresh water. A second box yielded the dry wafers of emergency rations. Then after a moment's hesitation, Ross crossed to the prisoner, cut his wrist bones, and pressed both a bowl and a wafer into his hold. The Avakakian washed the tarant eat before he bit into the wafer, chewing it with vigor, turning the bulb around in his fingers with alert interest before he sucked at its contents. As Ross chewed and swallowed, mechanically, and certainly with no relish, he fitted one fact to another to make a picture of this Avakakian time period in which they were now marooned. Of course, his picture was based on facts they had learned from their captive. Perhaps he had purposely misled them or fogged some essentials, but could he have done that in a mental context? Ross would simply have to accept everything with a certain amount of cautious skepticism. Anyway, there were the records of the castle, petty lordlings setting up their holes along the coast, preying upon the shipping which was the lifeblood of this island water world. The tarant had seeded them in action last night and today, and if the captive's information was correct, it was not only the storm's fury which brought the waves harvest. The records had some method of attracting ships to crack up on their reefs. Some method of attraction, and that force which had pulled the tarant through the time cave. Could there be a connection? However, there remained the records on the cliff and their prey, the seafarers of the ocean. With an understandably deep enmity between them, these two parties Ross could understand and be prepared to deal with. He thought. But there remained the Felanna, and from their prisoner's explanation the Fianna were a very different matter. They possessed a power which did not depend upon swords or ships or the natural tools and weapons of men. No, they had strengths which were unearthly to give them superiority in all but one way, numbers. Though the Felanna had their warriors in service, as Ross had seen on the beach, they themselves were of another race, a very old and dying race, of which few remained. How many? Their enemies could not say, for the Felanna had no separate identities known to the outer world. They appeared, gave their orders, levied their demands, opposed or aided as they wish. Always just one or two at a time, always so muffled in their cloaks that even their physical appearances remained a mystery. But there was no mystery about their powers. Ross gathered at no record lord, no matter how much a leader among his own kind, how ambitious had yet dared to oppose actively one of the Felanna. Though he might make a token protest against some demand from them. And certainly the captain's description of those powers and action suggested a supernatural origin of Felanna knowledge, or at least force application. But Ross thought that the answer might be that they possessed the remnants of some almost forgotten technical know-how, the heritage of a very old race. He had tried to learn something of the origin of the Felanna themselves, wondering if the Robes ones could be from the Galactic Empire. But the answer had come that the Felanna were older than recorded time. That they had lived in the great citadel before the race of the Terran's prisoner had risen from very primitive savagery. What do we do now? Care were broken upon Ross's thoughts as he had repassed the containers? These slaves that the records take upon occasion may be ash. Ross was catching at very fragile straws he had to. And the stranger had said that able-bodied men who swam ashore, relatively uninjured, were taken captive. Several had been the night before. Locus. Ross and Carawa looked around. The prisoner put down the water bulb and one of his hands made a gesture they could not mistake. He pointed to himself and repeated that word. Locus. The Terran touched his own chest. Ross murdered him. Perhaps the other was as impatient as he with the roundabout method of communication and had decided to try and speed it up. The analyzer. Ash had included the analyzer with the equipment by the gate. If Ross could find that, why then the major problem would be behind him. Swiftly he explained to Carawa and with the vigorous nod of a scent she called to Tom, ordering the rest of the salvaged material from the gate he brought to them. Locus. Ross pointed to the youth. Ross. That was himself. Carawa. He indicated the girl. The alien made a clicking hiss of the first name. Carawa. He did better with the second. Ross carefully unpacked the box tall had located. He had only slight knowledge of how the device worked. It was intended to record a strange language, break it down into symbols already familiar to the time they use. But could it also be used as a translator with a totally alien tongue? He could only hope that the rough handling of his journey through the gate had not damaged it and that the experiment might possibly work. Putting the box between them he explained what he wanted and Carawa took up the small microdisk. Speaking slowly and distinctly the same liquid civil wolf she had used in the dolphin song. Ross clicked the lever when she was finished and watched the small screen. The symbols which flashed there had meaning for him right enough. He could translate what she had just taped. The machine still worked to that extent. Now he pushed the box into place before Locuth and made divisively reluctant Havakakin take the disk from Carawa. Then through the dolphin link Ross passed on definite instructions. Would it work as well to translate a stellar tongue as it had the languages passed and present of his own planet? Reluctantly, Locuth began to talk to the disk. He had first in a very rapid mumble and then as there was no frightening response with less speed and more confidence. There were symbol lines on the visit plate in the quarters and some of them made sense. Ross was elated. Ask him, can one enter the castle unseen to check on the slaves? For what reason? Ross was sure he had read those symbols correctly. Tell him that one of our kind may be among them. Locuth did not reply so quickly this time. His eyes, grave and measuring studied Ross, then Carawa, then Ross again. There is a way discovered by this useless one. Ross did not pay attention to the odd adjective Locuth chose to describe himself. He pressed to the important matter. Can and will he show me that way? Again, that long moment of appraisal on the part of Locuth before he answered. Ross found himself reading the reply symbols aloud. If you dare, then I will leave. This concludes the reading of Chapter 6. Key out of Time by Andre Norton. Chapter 7. This is Lieberbach's recording. All Lieberbach's recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Lieberbach's.org. Recording by RJ Davis. Key out of Time by Andre Norton. Chapter 7. Witches meet. He might be recklessly endangering all of them, Ross knew. But if Ash was immersed somewhere in that rock pile over their heads, then the risk of trusting Locuth would be worth it. However, because Ross was chancing his own neck, did not mean that caravan need be drawn into immediate peril too. With the dolphins at her command and the supplies, scanty as those were, she would have a good chance to hide here safely. Holding out for what? She asked quietly after Ross elaborated on this subject, thus bringing him to silence. Because her question was just. With the gate gone, the Terrans were committed to this time. Just as they had earlier been committed to a vaca key when on their home world, they had entered the spaceship for the take-off. There was no escape from the past, which had become their present. The Pavanas, she continued, these records, the sea people, all had odds with one another. Do we join any? Then their quarrels must also become ours. Tom knows the ledge behind the girl. Squeaked a demand for attention. Caravan looked around at Locuth. Her look was as searching as the one the N80 had earlier turned on her and Ross. He, the girl nodded at the aback again, wishes to know if you trust him. And he says to tell you this. Because the shades chose to inflict upon him a twisted leg, he is not one with those of the castle. But to them a broken, useless thing. Ross, I gather he thinks we have powers like the Fowanna, and that we may be supernatural. But because we did not kill him out of hand and have fed him, he considers himself bound to us. Ritual of bread and salt could be, though it might be folly to match alien customs to Terran. Ross thought of that very ancient pact on his own world. Eat a man's food, become his friend, or at least declare truth between you. Stiff taboos and codes of behavior mark nations on terror, especially warrior societies, and the same might be true here. Ask him, Ross told Carawa, what is the rule for food and drink between friends or enemies? The more he could learn of his customs, the better protection he might be able to weave for them. Long moments for the relay of that message, and then Locus spoke into the microdisk of the analyzer, slowly, with pauses, as if trying to make sure Ross understood every word. To give bread into the hands of one you have taken in battle makes him your man, not as a slave to labor, but as one who draws sword at your bidding. When I took your bread, I accepted you as cup lord. Betweenstiff there is no betrayal, for how may a man betray his lord? I, Locus, am now a sword in your hands, a man in your service, and to me this is doubly good, for as a useless one, I have never had a lord, nor one to swear to. Also, with his sea mate and her followers to listen to thoughts, how could any man speak with a double tongue, were he one who consorted with the shadow and wore this cloak of evil? He's right, Carawa added. His mind is open. He couldn't hide his thoughts from Ta and Tina Ra, even if he was. All right, I'll accept that. Ross glanced about the ledge. They had piled the containers at the far end. For Carawa to move might be safe. He said so. Move where? She asked gladly. The men from the castle are still hunting drift out there. I don't think anyone knows of this cave. Ross nodded to Locus. He did, didn't he? I wouldn't want you trapped here, and I don't want to lose those supplies. What is in those containers may be what saves us all. We can sink those over by the wall, weigh them down in a net. Then if we have to move, they will be ready. Do not worry. That is my department. She smiled at him with a slightly mocking lift of lips. Ross subsided, though he was irritated because she was right. The management of the dolphin team and sea matters were her department, and while he resented her reminder of that point, he could not deny the justice of her retort. In spite of his crippled legs, Locus displayed an agility which surprised Ross. Freed from his ankle bones, he beckoned to tear him back to the very niche where he had hidden to watch carewalk. Up he swung into that, and in a second had vanished from sight. Ross followed to discover it was not a niche after all, but the opening of a crevice, leading upward as a vent. It had been used before as a passage. There was no light, but the native guided Ross's hands to the hollow climbing holes cut into the stone. Then Locus pushed past and went up the crude ladder into the dark. It was difficult to judge either time or distance in this black tomb. Ross counted the holes for some check. His agent training made one part of his mind sharply aware of such things. The need for memorizing a passage which led into the enemy's territory was apparent. But the purpose of this slit had originally been he did not know, but strongholds on Terra had had their hidden ways in and out for use in times of siege, and he was beginning to believe that these aliens had much in common with his own kind. He had reached twenty in his counting and his senses, alerted by training and instinct, told him there was an opening not too far above. But the darkness remained so thick it felt in tangible folds about his sweating body. Ross almost cried out his fingers clamped about his wrist when he tried to reach for a new hole. Then urged by that grasp he was up and out, sprawling into a vertical passage. Far ahead was a gray of faint light. Ross coped and then sneezed as dust puffed up from between his scrambling hands. The hole which had been on his wrist shifted to his shoulder, and with a surprising strength, Locust hauled the Terran to his feet. The passage in which they stood was a slit extending in height well above their heads, but narrow, not much wider than Ross's shoulders. Whether it was a natural fault or had been cut, he could not tell. Locust thows a head again, his rocking limp making the outline of his body a jerky up-and-down shadow. Again his feet and agility amazed the Terran. Locust might be lame, but he had learned to adapt to his handicap very well. The light increased, and Ross marked slits in the walls to his right, no wider than the breadth of his two fingers. He peered out of one and was looking into empty air while below he heard the murmur of the sea. This way must run in the cliff face above the beach. A click of impatient whisper drew him on to join Locust. He was a flight of stairs, narrow of tread, and very steep. Locust turned back and sighed against these to climb. His outspread hand flattened on the stone as if it possessed adhesive qualities to set him. For the first time, his twisted leg was a disadvantage. Ross counted again, ten, fifteen of those steps, bringing them once more into darkness. Then they emerged from a well-like opening into a circular room. A sudden and dazzling flare of light made the Terran shade his eyes. Locust set a pallid but glowing cone on a wall shell, and the Terran discovered that the burst of light was only relative to the dark of the passage. Indeed, it was very weak elimination. The Avakakian braced his body against the far wall. The strain of his effort, whatever its purpose, was easy to read in the contorted line of his shoulders. Then the wall slid under Locust's urging. A slow move as if the weight of the slab he strove to handle was almost too great for his slender arms. Or else the need for caution was intensified here. They now fronted a narrow opening, and the light of the cone shone only a few feet into the space. Locust back into Ross and they went on. Here the left wall was cut in many places, emitting patches of light in a way which bore no resemblance to conventional windows. It was like walking behind a pier's screen which followed no logical pattern in the cutaway portions. Ross gazed out and gasped. He was standing above the center core of the castle, and the life below and beyond drew his attention. He had seen drawings reproducing the life of a feudal castle. This resembled them, and yet, as Ross studied to seem closer, the differences between the Terran past and this became more distinct. In the first place, there were those animals. Or were they animals? Being hooked up to a cart, they had six limbs, walking on four, holding the remaining two folded under their necks. Their hornets consisted of a network fitted over their shoulders, anchored to the folded limbs. Their grotesque heads bobbing and weaving on lengthy necks. Their bodies were sleekly scaled. Ross was startled by a resemblance he traced to the Sea Dragon he had met in the future of this world. But the creatures were subject to the men hornishing them, and the activity in other respects. Ross had to fight a wayward and fascinated interest in all he could see, force himself to concentrate on learning what might be pertinent to his own mission. But Locust did not allow him to watch for long. Instead, his hand on the Terran's arm urged the other down the gallery behind the screen and once more into the bulk of the fortress. Another narrow way ran through the thickness of the walls. Then a patch of light, not that of outer day, but a reddish gleam from an opening waist high. There, Locust went awkwardly to his good knee, motioning Ross to follow his example. What lay below was a hall furnished with a barbaric rawness of color and glitter. There were long strips of brightly-hued woven stuff on the walls. Touched here and there was sparkling glints, which were jewel-like. And set at intervals among the hangings were oval objects, perhaps Ross's height, on which were designs and patterns picked out in paint and metal. Maybe the stylized representation of native plants and animals. The whole gave an impression of clashing color, just as the garments of those gathered there were garish in turn. There were three of Vakakians on the two-step dais. All wore robes fitting tightly to the upper portion of the bodies, girded to their waist with the elaborate belts, then falling in long points to floor level. The points being finished off were tassels. Their heads were covered with tight caps, which were a latest work of decorated strips glittering as they moved. And a mixture of colors in their apparel was such as to offend, tear in eyes with their harsh, pliscious shade against shade. Gone up below the dais were two rows of guards, but the reason for the assembly baffle Ross, since he could not understand the clicking speech. There came a hollow echoing sound as from a gong. The three on the dais, straightened, turned their attention to the other end of the hall. Ross did not need Locus' gesture to know that something of importance was about to begin. Down the hall was a somber note in his flash of clashing color. The Terran recognized the gray-blue robe of the proanna. There were three of the robes ones this time, one slightly in advance of the other two. They came at a gliding pace as if they swept along above that paved flooring, not by planting feet upon it. As they halted below the dais, some in their rows. Ross could read the reluctance to make that concession in the slowness of their movements. They were plainly being compelled to render deference when they longed to refuse it. Then the middle one of the castle lord spoke first. Sir Her, Locus' region Ross' ear, his pointed finger indicating the speaker, Ross longed vainly for the ability to ask questions. A chance to know what was in progress. That the meeting of the two of Vakakin's factions was important he did not doubt. There was an interval of silence after the castle lord finished speaking. To the Terran, this fun on and on, and his sense of mounting tension. This must be a showdown, perhaps even a declaration of open hostilities between wreckers and the older race. Or perhaps the pause was a subtle weapon of the foanna, used to throw a less sophisticated enemy off balance as a judo fighter might use an opponent's attack as part of his own defense. When the foanna did make answer, it came in the sing song of chanted words. Ross felt Locus' shiver, felt the crawl of chill along his own spine, the words. If those were words, and not just sounds intended to play upon the mind, and emotions of a listener, cut into one. Ross wanted to close his ears, thrust his fingers into them to drown out that sound, yet he did not have the power to raise his hands. It seems to him that the men on the dais were swaying now, as if the chant were a rope leashed about them, pulling them back and forth. There was a clatter. One of the guards had fallen to the floor and lay there rolling, his hands to his head. A shout from the dais, the chanting reached a note so high that Ross felt a torment in his ears. Below, the lines of guards had broken. A party of them were heading for the end of the hall, making a wide decour around the foanna. Locus gave a small choked cry. His fingers tightened on Ross' forearm with painful intensity as he whispered. What was about to happen meant something important. To Locus, or to him, ash was just concerned with ash. Ross crowded against the opening, tried to see the direction in which the guards had disappeared. The weight made him doubly impatient. One of the men on the dais had dropped on the bench there, his head forward in his hands, his shoulders quivering. But the one Locus had identified as a fur still front of the foanna spokesman, and Ross gave tribute to the strength of will which kept him there. They were returning, the guards, and herded between their lines three men. Two were of Akakians, the bare-dark bodies easily identifiable. But the third, ash, Ross almost shouted his name aloud. The tares stumbled along and there was a bandage above his knee. He had been stripped to his swimming trunks, all his equipment taken from him. There was a dark bruise on his left temple, the angry well of a last mark on neck and shoulder. Ross's hands clenched, never in his life had he so desperately wanted a weapon as he did at that moment. To spray the company below with a machine gun would have given him great satisfaction. But he had nothing but the knife in his belt, and he was cut off from ash as if they were in separate cells of some prison. The caution which had been one of his inborn drifts and which had been fostered by his training clamped down on his first wild desire for action. There was not the slightest chance of his doing ash any good at the present. But he had this much, he knew that Gordon was alive and that he was in the alien's hands. Faced by those facts, Ross could plan his own moves. The Fiona chant began again, and the three prisoners moved. The two of Achaquian's turn set themselves on either side of ash and gave him support. Their actions had a mechanical quality as if they were directed by a will beyond their own. Ash gazed about him at the wreckers and the road figures. His awareness of them both suggested to Ross that if the natives had come under the control of the Fulana, the Terran resisted their influence. But Ash did not try to escape the assistance of his two fellow prisoners, and he limped with their aid back down the hall following the Fulana. Ross deduced that the captives had been transferred from the Lord of the Castle to the Fulana, which meant Ash was on his way to another destination. The Terran was on his feet and headed back, intent on returning to the sea cave and starting out after Ash as soon as he could. You have found Gordon? Carawa read the news from his face. The wreckers had him prisoner. Now they've turned him over to the Fulana. What will they do with him? What will they do with him, the girl demanded of Locust? His answer came round about as usual as a native squatted by the analyzer and clicked his answer into it. They have claimed the wreck survivors for tribute. Your companion will be Witchesmeat. Witchesmeat? Repeated Ross, uncomprehending? Then Carawa drew a gagged breath, which was a gasp of horror. Sacrifice. Ross. He must mean they are going to use Gordon for a sacrifice. Ross stiffened and then hurled against Locust by the shoulders. The inability to question the native directly was an added disaster now. Where are they taking him? Where? He began that fiercely and then forced control on himself. Carawa's eyes were half closed, her head back. She was manifestly aiming that inquiry at the dolphins to be translated to Locust. Symbols burned on the analyzer screen. The Fulana had their own fortress. It can be entered best by sea. There is a boat I can show you for it is my own secret. Tell him yes as soon as we can, Ross broke out. The old feeling that time was all important worried at him. Which is meat? Which is meat? The words were sharp as a lash. This concludes a reading of chapter 7. Key out of Time by Andre Norton, chapter 8. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by RJ Davis. Key out of Time by Andre Norton, chapter 8. The Free Rovers. Twilight made a gray world where one could not trace the true meaning of land and water, sea and sky. Surely the haze about them was more than just the normal dusk of coming night. Ross balanced in the middle of the skiff as it bobbed along the swell of waves inside a barrier reef. To his mind the craft carrying the three of them and their net of supplies was too frail, road too high. The carawa paddling in the bow and locusts at the stern seemed to be content. And Ross could not, for pride's sake, question their competency. He covered himself with the knowledge that no agent was able to absorb every primitive skill. And carawa's people had explored the Pacific and outrigger canoes hardly more stable than their present vessel, navigating by currents and stars. Spothering his feeling of helplessness and the slow anger that roused in him, the Terran busies himself with study of a source. They had had the longer part of the day in the cave before locusts would agree to venture out of hiding and paddle south. Ross, using the analyzer's hand with locust's aid, said about learning what he could of the native tongue. Now possessed with a working vocabulary of clipped words, he was able to follow locust's speech so that translation through the dolphins was not necessary except for complicated directions. Also he had a more detailed briefing of the present situation on a vaka key, enough to know that they might be embarking on a mad venture. The citadel of the phoenix was distinctly forbidden ground, not only for locust's people, but also for the phoenix of vaka key and followers who were housed and labored in an outer ring of fortification come village. Those natives were, Ross gathered a hereditary corpse of servants and warriors, worn to that status and not recruited from the native population at large. As sits, they were armored by the magic of their masters. If the phoenix are so powerful, Ross had demanded, why do you go with us against them? To depend so heavily on the natives made him uneasy. The hawaka kin looked to Korah, one of his hands raised, his fingers sketched a sign towards the girl. With the sea maid and her magic I do not fear. He paused before adding, always has it been said to me, and to me, that I am a useless one, fit only to do women's task. No word weaver shall ever chat my battle deeds in the great hall of Zahir. I, who am Zahir's true son, cannot carry my sword in any Lord's train. But now you offer me one of the great to be remembered quests. If I go, so may I prove that I am a man, even if I go livingly. There is nothing the phoenix can do to me which is worse than what the shadow has already done. Choosing to follow you, I may stand up to face Zahir in his own hall. Showing that the blood of his house has not been drained from my veins because I walked crookedly. There was just bitter fire, not only in the sputtering rush of locust words, but in his eyes is faced the wright twist of his lips, that Ross believed him. The terror no longer had any doubts that the castle outcast was willing to brave the unknown terrors of the phoenix heath. Not just to aid Ross whom he considered himself bound to serve by the customs of his people, but because he saw in this venture a chance to gain what he had never had, a place in his warrior culture. Shut off from the normal life of his people, he had early turned to the sea. His twisted leg had not proved a handicap in the water, and he stated with confidence that he was the best swimmer in the castle. Not that the men of his father was following had taken greatly to the sea, which they looked upon merely as a way of preying upon the true sea rollers. The reef on which the ships had been wrecked was a snare of sorts. First by the whim of nature when wind and current piled up the trading ships there. Then Ross was startled when locust elaborated on a later development of that trap. So Zahur returned from this meeting and set up the great magic among the rocks according to the spells he was taught. Now ships are drawn there so the wrecks have been many, and Zahur becomes an even greater lord with many men coming to take sword oath under him. This magic asked Ross of what manner is it, and where did Zahur obtain it? It is fashioned so. Locust gets two straight lines in the air, not curved as a sword, and the color of water under a stormed sky, both rods being as tall as a man. There was much care to set them in place. This was done by a man of Glikmus. A man of Glikmus? Glikmus is now the High Lord of the Ico. He is blood kin to Zahur, yet Zahur must take sword oath to send to Glikmus a fourth of all his sea gleamings for a year in payment for this magic. And Glikmus, where did he get it? From the Fulana? Locust made an empathic denial of that. No, the Fulana has spoken out against their use, making even greater ill feeling between the old ones and the coast people. It is said that Glikmus saw a great wonder in the sky and followed it to a high place of his own country. A mountain broke in twain and a voice issued forth from the rent, calling that the Lord of the country come and stand to hear it. When Glikmus did so, he was told that the magic would be his. Then the mountain closed again, and he found many strange things upon the ground. As he uses them, they make him akin to the Fulana in power. Some he gives to those who are his blood kin, and together they will be great until they close their fists not only upon the sea rovers, but upon the Fulana also. This they have come to believe. But you do not, Karara asks him. I do not know, sea mate. The time is coming when perhaps they shall have their chance to prove how strong is their magic. Already the rovers gather in fleets as they never did before. And it seems that they too have found a new magic. For their ships fly through the water, depending no longer on wind-filled sails or upon strong arms of men at long paddles. There is a struggle before us, but that you must know, being who and what you are, sea mate. And what do you think I am? What do you think Ross is? If the Fulana dwell on land and hold old knowledge and power beyond our reckoning in their two hands, he replied, then it is possible that the same could have roots in the sea. It is my belief that you are of the shades, but not the shadow. And this warrior is also of your kind, but perhaps in different degree, putting into action your desires and wishes. Thus, if you go up against the Fulana, you shall be well matched, kind to kind. Nice to be so certain of that, Ross thought. He did not share Locus' confidence on that subject. The shades, the shadow, Karara persisted. What are these, Locus? An odd expression crossed the Avakakin's face. Are these not known to you, sea mate? Indeed, then, you are of a breed different from the men of land. The shades are those of power who may come to the aid of men should it be their desire to influence the future. And the shadow? The shadow is that which ends all. Man, Hope, Good. To which there is no appeal, and which holds a vast and enduring hatred for that which has life and full substance. So Zahur has this new magic. Is it the gift of shades or shadow? Ross brought them back to the subject which had sparked in him a small warning signal. Zahur prosperous mightily. Locus' answer was ambiguous. And so the shadow could not provide this magic, the Taranpus. But before the Avakakin had a chance to answer, Karara added another question. But you believe that it did. I do not know. Only the magic has made Zahur a part of Glikmus. And Glikmus is now perhaps a part of that which spoke from a mountain. It is not well to accept gifts which tie one man to another unless there is from the first a saying of how deep that barn may run. I think you are wise in that, Locus, Karara said. But the uneasiness had grown in Ross. Alien powers out of a mountain heart passed from one Lord to another. And on the other hand the rovers sudden magic in turn lending their ships wings. The two facts balanced in an odd way. Back on Terra there had been the sudden and unaccountable jumps in technical knowledge on the part of the enemy. Jumps which had set in action the whole time travel service of which he had become a part. And these jumps had not been the result of normal research. They had come from the looting of derelict spaceships wrecked on his world in the far past. Could drivelets of the same stellar knowledge have been here deliberately fed to warring communities? He asked Locus about the possibility of space-born explorers. But to the Havakakian that was a totally foreign conception. The stars for Locus were the doorway and windows of the shades. And he treated the suggestion of space travel as perhaps natural to those all-powerful specters, but certainly not for beings like himself. There was no hint that Havakaki had been openly visited by a galactic ship, though that did not bar such landings. The planet was, Ross thought, dimly populated. Whole sections of the interiors of the larger islands were wilderness. And this world must be in the same state of only partial occupation as his own earth had been in the Bronze Age. When tribes on the march had fanned out into virgin wilderness, great force, as steps unwalked by man before their coming. Now, as he balanced in the canoe and tried to keep his mind off the queesiness in his middle, and the insecurity of the one thickness of sea creature height stretched over a bone framework which made up the craft between his person and the water. Ross still mulled over what might be true. Had the galactic invaders for their own purposes begin to meddle here, leaking weapons or tools to upset what must be a very delicate balance of power? Why? To bring on a conflict which would occupy the native population to the point of exhaustion or depopulation? So they could win a world for their own purposes without effort or risk on their part? This cold blooded fishing in carefully troubled waters fitted very well with the persons of the Baldees as he had known them on Arterra. And he could not set aside that memory of this very coast as he had seen it through the peep. The castle and the runes, tall pylons reaching from the land into the sea, was this the beginning of that change, which would end in the abacca key of his own time, empty of intelligent life, shattered into a loose network of islands. This bog is strange, care was worse, startled Ross, to return to the here and now. The haze he had been only half conscious of when they had put out from the tiny secret bay where Locus kept his boat was truly a fault, piling up in soft billows and cutting down visibility with speed. The phoena, Locus' answer, was sharp, a recognition of danger, their magic. They hide their place so there is trouble, trouble on the move. To bring on a conflict which could occupy the native population to the point of exhaustion or deep population, so they could win a world for their own purposes without effort or risk on their part, this cold blooded fishing in carefully troubled waters fitted very well with the persons of the Baldees as he had known them on Arterra. And he could not set aside that memory of this very coast as he had seen it through the peep. The castle in the ruins, tall pylons reaching from the land into the sea, was this the beginning of that change, which would end in the abacca key of his own time, empty of intelligent life, shattered into a loose network of islands. This bog is strange, care was worse, startled Ross, to return to the here and now. The haze he had been only half conscious of when they had put out from the tiny secret bay where Locus kept his boat was truly a fall, piling up in soft billows and cutting down visibility with speed. The phoena, Locus' answer, was sharp, a recognition of danger, their magic. They hide their place so there is trouble, trouble on the move. Do we land then? Ross did not ascribe the present blotting out of the landscape to any real manipulation of nature on the part of the all-powerful phoena. Too many times the recitations of medicine men had been so enhanced by coincidence, but he did doubt the wisdom of trying to bore a head blindly in this murk. Towel and Tina Rock and Gaitis, Karawa reminded him, throw out the rope, Ross, what is above water will not confuse him. He moved cautiously, striving to adapt his actions to the swing of the boat. The line was ready coil to hand, and he tossed a loose end overboard to feel the cord jerk taut as one of the dolphins caught it up. They were being towed now, though both paddlers reinforced a forward tug with their efforts. The curtain gathering above the surface of the water did not hamper the swimmer's beneath the surface. And Ross felt relief. He turned his head to speak to Locus. How near are we? The mist said thick and to the point that, close as the native was, the lines of his body blurred. His clicking answers seemed distorted too, almost as if the fog had altered not only his form but his personality. Maybe very soon now, we must see the seagate before we are sure. And if we aren't able to see that, challenge Ross? The seagate is above and below the water. Those who obey the sea maids, who are able to speak thought to thought, will find it if we cannot. But they were never to reach that goal, Carawa gave warning. There are ships about. Ross knew that the dolphins had told her. He demanded in turn, what kind? Larger, much larger than this. Then Locus broke in. A rover raider, three of them. Ross sprouted. He was a cripple here. The other two, with their ability to communicate with the dolphins, were the sighted, he's a blind. And he resented his handicap in a burst of bitterness which must have colored his tone as he ordered. Hand in shore, now. Once on land, he went in the fog. He felt that they had the advantage in any hide and seek which might ensue with this superior enemy force. But afloat he was helpless and vulnerable. A state Ross did not accept easily. No, Locus returned sharply. There is no place to land along the cliff. We are between two of the ships, Carawa reported. Your paddles. Ross grueled his voice to the whisperer. Hold them. Don't use them. Let the dolphins take us on. In the fog, if we make no sound, we may get by the ships. Right, Carawa agreed. And he heard an ascending grunt from Locus. They were moving very slowly. Strong as the dolphins were, they dared not expend all their strength on towing the skiff too fast. Ross thought fiercely. Perhaps a sea could be their way of escape if the need arose. He had no idea why raiding ships were moving under the cover of fog into the vicinity of the Fulana Citadel. But the terror's knowledge of tactics led him to guess that this impending visit was not anticipated by the Fulana, nor was it a friendly one. And as veteran seamen who should normally be wary of fog as thick as this, the rovers of sail must have a driving reason for some safeguard which led them here now. But dared the three spill out of their boat, trusted their swimming ability, and that of the dolphins, and invaded the Fulana Sea Gate so? Could they use a coming rover attack as a cover for their own invasion of the hold? Ross considered that the odds in their favor were beginning to look better. He whiskers his idea and begins to prepare their gear. The boat was still headed for the shore the three could not see. But they could hear sounds out of the white cotton wall, which told him how completely they were boxed in by the raiders. Creeks, whiskers, noises. Ross could not readily identify, carried across the waves. Before leaving the cave and beginning this voyage, they had introduced locusts to the use of the gill pack. Made him practice in the depths of the cave pool with one of the extras drawn through the gate among the supplies. Now all three were equipped with the water aid, and they could be gone in the sea before the trap closed. The supply net, Ross warned Carowoff. A moment or two later, there was a small bump against a skiff at his left hand. He cautiously raised a collection of containers and eased the burden into the water, knowing that one of the dolphins would take charge of it. However, he was not prepared for what happened next. Under him the boat lurched first one way and then the other in sharp jerks as if the dolphins were trying to spill them into the sea. Ross heard Carowoff call out, her voice thin and frightened. Towel, Tina Ross. They have gone mad. They will not listen. The boat raced in a zigzag path, locust clutched at Ross, driving to steady him to keep the boat on an even keel. The falana, just as locusts cried out, Carowoff lunged over the prowl of the boat, whether by design or chance Ross did not know. And then the craft whirled about, smashed side against side with a dark bulk looming out of the fall. Above Ross heard cries, knew that they had crashed against one of the raiders. He fought to retain his balance, but he had been knocked to the bottom of the boat against locust and they struggled together, unable to move during a precious second or two. Out of the air over their heads got the massive waving strands, which enveloped both of them. The stuff was adhesive, slimy. Ross fled out a choked cry as the lines tightened about his arms and body, pinioning him. Those tightens were beneath. Now he's being drawn up out of the plunging skiff, a helpless captain. His whining legs, still free of the swiming force, struck against the side of the larger ship. Then he swung in over the well of the deck, thudded down on that surface with bruising force, unable to understand anything, except that he had been taken prisoner by a very effective device. Locust dropped beside him, but Carol was not brought in and Ross held to that small bit of hope. As she made it to freedom by dropping into the water before the rovers netted them, he could see men gathering about him, masked and distorted in the fall. Then he was rolled across the deck, boosted over the edge of a hatch and knew an instant of terror as he fell into the depth below. How long was he unconscious? It could not have been very long, Ross decided, as he opened his eyes on dark, heard the small sounds of the silt. He lay very still, trying to remember together his wits before he tried to flex his arms. They were held tight to his sides by strands which no longer seemed slimy, but were wrinkling as they dried. There was an odor from them which gagged him, but there was no loosening of those loops in spite of his struggles, which grew more intense as his strength returned. And at last he lay panning, knowing there was no easy way of escape from here. This concludes the reading of Chapter 8, Key out of Time by Andre Norton, Chapter 9 Mr. Deliverbox Recording All Deliverbox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit leverbox.org. Recording by RJ Davis Key out of Time by Andre Norton Chapter 9, Battle Test Babel of speech cries sounded muffled to Ross, made a mounting clamor on the deck. Had the raider's ship been boarded? Was it now under attack? He strove to hear and think through the pain in his head, the bewilderment. Locust, he was certain that the back of kin had been dumped into the same hole. The only answer was a low moan, a mutter from the dark. Ross began to inch his way in that direction. He was no seaman, but during that worm's progress, he realized that the ship itself had changed. The vibration which had carried through the planks on which he lay was stilled. Some engines shut off. One portion of his mind put that into familiar terms. Now the vessel rocked with the waves, did not bore through them. Ross brought up against another body. Locust, ah, the fire, the fire! The half-intelligence will answer, held no meeting for the terror. It burns in my head, the fire! The rocking of the ship rolled Ross away from his fellow prisoner towards the opposite side of the hole. There was a roar of voice, bull strong above the noise on deck. Then the sound of feet back and forth there. The fire, ah! Locust's voice rose to a scream. Ross was now wedged between two abutments. He could not see and from which his best efforts could not free him. The pitching of the ship was more pronounced. Remembering the two vessels he had seen pounded to bits on the reef, Ross wondered if the same doom loomed for this one. But that disaster had occurred during a storm. And say for the fog, this had been a calm night, the sea on trouble. Unless, maybe the shaking his body had received during the past few moments had sharpened his thinking. Unless the Fulana had their own means of protection at the sea gate. And this was the result. The dolphins, what had made Tina raw and towel, react as they did. And if the rover ship was out of control, it would be a good time to attempt escape. Locust, Ross dared to call louder. Locust, he struggled against the drying strands which bound him from shoulder to mid thigh. There was no giving them. More sound from the upper deck. Now the ship was answering to direction again. The Terran heard sounds he could not identify and the ship no longer rocked so violently. Locust moaned. As far as Ross could judge, they were heading out to sea. Locust, he wanted information. He must have it. To be so ignorant of what was going on was unbearable frustration. If they were now prisoners in a ship leaving the island behind, the threat of that was enough to set Ross struggling with his bonds until he laid panning with exhaustion. Ross, only a vacacan could make that name a hiss. Here, Locust, but of course it was, Locust. I am here. The other's voice sounded oddly weak as if it issued from a man drained by a long illness. What happened to you, Ross demanded? The fire. The fire in my head. Eating. Eating. Locust's reply came with long pauses between the words. The Terran was puzzled. What fire? Locust had certainly reacted to something beyond the unceremonious handling they had received as captives. This whole ship had reacted, and the dolphins. But what fire was Locust talking about? I did not feel anything, he stated to himself, as well as to the vacacan. Nothing burning in your head so you could not think? No. It must have been the phoenix magic. Fire eating so that a man is nothing. Only that which fire feeds upon. Carwall. Ross's thoughts flashed back to those few seconds when the dolphins had seemed to go crazy. Carwall had then called out something about the phoenix. So the dolphins must have felt this. And Carwall. And Locust. Whatever it was. But why not Ross Murdock? Carwall possessed an extra undefinable sense which gave her contact with the dolphins. Locust had a mind which those could read in turn. But since communication was closed to Ross. At first that realization carried with it a feeling of shame and loss. That he did not have what these others possessed, a subtle power beyond the body, a part of mind, was humbling. Just he had felt shut out and crippled when he had been forced to use the analyzer instead of the sense the others had. So did he suffer now. Then Ross laughed shortly. All right, sometimes insensitivity could be a defense as it had at the sea gate. Suppose his lack could also be a weapon. He had not been knocked out as the others appeared to be. But for the bad luck of having been captured before the raiders had succumbed, Ross could perhaps have been master of this ship for now. He did not laugh now. He smiled sardonically at his own grandiose reaction. No use thinking about what might have been. Just file this fact for future reference. A creaking overhead heralded the opening of the hatch. Light lands down into the cubby and a figure swung over and down a side letter coming to stand over Ross, feet apart for balancing accommodatingly to the swing of the vessel with the ease of long practice. Thus Ross came to face to face with his first representative of the third party in the Evacachian Tangle of Power, a rover. The seamen was tall with a heavier development of shoulder and upper arms than the landsmen. Like the guards he wore supple armor, but this had been colored or overlaid with a pearly hue in which other tents wove opaline lines. His head was bare except for a broad-scale band running from the nape of his neck to the midpoint of his forehead. A band supporting a sharply serrated crest not unlike the erect vent of some taran fish. Now as he stood, Viss planted on hips the rover presented a formidable figure and Ross recognized in him the error command. This must be one of the ship's officers. Dark eyes surveyed Ross with interest. The light from the deck focused directly across the raider's shoulder to catch the taran in its full glare, and Ross fought the need for squinting. But he tried to give back stare for stare, confidence for self-confidence. On terror in the past more than one adventurer's life had been saved simply because he had the will and nerve enough to face his captors without any display of anxiety. Cis bravado might not hold here and now, but it was the only weapon Ross had to hand and he used it. You, the rover broke the silence first. You are not of the Filana. He paused if waiting for an answer. Denial or protest. Ross provided neither. No, not the Filana, nor the scum of the coast either. Again they paused. So what matter if Viss has come to the net of Torvul? He called and order a lot. A rope here. We'll have this Viss and his fellow out. Locathan Ross were jerked up to the upper deck. Dumped into the midst of a crowd of seamen. The abacca king was left a lie, but at a gesture from the officer Ross was set on his feet. He could see the nature of his bonds now. A network of dull gray strands, shriveled and stinking. But not giving in the least when he made another try at moving his arms. Oh, the officer grinned. This beast does not like the net. You have teeth, Viss. Use it. Slice yourself free. A murmur of applause from the crew answered that mild talk. Ross thought at time for a counter move. I see you did not come too close to those teeth. He used the most defiant words his limited abacca king vocabulary offered. There was a moment of silence. And then the officer clapped his hands together with a sharp explosion of sound. You would use your teeth, Viss. He asked, and his tone could be a warning. This was going blind with a vengeance. But Ross took the next leap in the dark. He had the feeling, which often came to him in tight quarters, that he was being supplied from some hard core of endurance and determination far within him with the right words. The fortunate guess. On which one of you? He drew his lips tight, displaying those same teeth, wondering for one startled moment if he should take the rover's query literally. Viss, sir. Viss, sir. More than one voice called. One of the crew took a step or two forward. Like Torgull, he was tall and heavy. His overlong arms well muscled. There were scars on his forearms, the seam of one of his jaw. He looked what he was, a very tough fighting man. One who was judged so by peers as seasoned and dangerous. Do you choose to prove your words on Viss's face? Again, the officer had a formal note in his question, as if this was all part of some ceremony. If he meets me as he stands, no other weapons, Ross flights back. Now, he had another reaction from them. There were some jeers, a sprinkling of threats as to Viss's intentions. But Ross got also the fact that two or three of them had gone silent and were eyeing him in a new and more searching fashion and that Torgull was one of those. Mr. Latt, well said piece, so be it. Torgull's hand came out palm up facing Ross. In his hollow was a small object that Terran could not see clearly. A new weapon? Only the officer made no move to touch it to Ross. The hand merely moved in a series of waves in mid-air, then the rover spoke. He carries no unlawful magic. Mr. Nottet, he's no foena. And what need have I to fear the spells of any coast crawler? I am Vistar. Again the yells of his supporters arose in hearty answer. The statement held more complete and quiet confidence than any wordly boast. And I am Ross Murdock. The Terran matched the rover tone for tone. But does a piece swim with the spins bound to its sides? Or does Mr. fear a free piece too greatly to face one? His taunt brought the result Ross wanted. The ties were cut from behind, too fluttered down as withered, useless strings. Ross flexed his arms, tied as those thongs had been they had not constricted circulation. And he was ready to meet Vistar. The Terran did not doubt that the rover champion was a formidable fighter. But he had not had the advantage of going through one of the agent training courses. Every trick of unarmed fighting known on his own world had been pounded into Ross long ago. His hands and feet could be as deadly weapons as any crook-bladed sword or gun, provided he could get close enough to use them properly. Vistar stripped off his weapon belt. Put to one side his helmet, showing that under it his hair was plated into a braid coiled about the crown of his head to provide what must be an extra padding for that strangely narrowed helm. Then he peeled off his armor, peeled it literally indeed, catching the lower edge of the scaled covering with his hands and pulling it up and over his head and shoulders as one might skin off a knitted garment. Now he stood facing Ross wearing little more than the Terran's swimming trunks. Ross had dropped his belt and gill packs. He moved into the circle the crew had made. From above came a strong light, centering from a point on the main mast and giving him good sight of his opponent. Vistar was being urged to make a quick end of the reckless challenger, his supporters shouting directions and encouragement. But if the rover had confidence, he also possessed the more intelligent and valuable trait of caution in the face of the unknown. He outweighed, apparently outmatched Ross, but he did not rush in rashly as his backers wished him to. They circled, Ross studying every move of the rover's muscles, every slight fraction of change in the other's balance. There would be something to telegraph and attack from the other, for he intended to fight purely in defense. The charge came at last as the crew grew impatient and yelled their impatience to see the prisoner talk a lesson. But Ross did not believe it was that which sent Vistar at him. The Avakakin simply thought he knew the best way to take the Terran. Ross ducked so that a hammer blow merely grazed him. But the Terran's stiffened hands swept sideways in a judo chop. Vistar gave a whooping cry and went to his knees and Ross swung again, sending the rover flat to the deck. It had been quick, but not so vicious as it might have been. The Terran had no desire to kill or even disable Vistar for more than a few minutes. His victim would carry a couple of aching bruises and perhaps a hearty respect for a new mode of fighting from this encounter. He could have as easily been dead had either of those blows landed other than where Ross chose to plant them. Ah! The Terran swung around, setting his back to the foot of the mast. Had he guessed wrong? With their chosen champion down, would the crew now rush him? He had gambled on the element of fair play which existed in a primitive Terran warrior society after a man-to-man challenge. But he could be wrong. Ross waited tense. Just let one of them pull a weapon and it could be his end. Two of them were aiding Vistar to his feet. The rover's breath whistled in and out of him with that same whooping. And both of his hands rose unsteadily to his chest. The majority of his fellow stared from him to the slider Terran as if unable to believe the evidence of their eyes. Torgel gathered up from the deck the belt and gill pack. Ross had shed in preparation for the fight. He turned the belt around over his forearm until the empty knife sheath was uppermost. One of the crew came forward and slammed back into its proper place the long diver's knife which had been there when Ross was captured. Then the rover offered belt and gill pack to Ross. The Terran relaxed. His gamble had paid off. By the present signs he had won his freedom. And my swordsman, as he buckled on a belt Ross nodded at locust still lying bound where they had pushed him at the beginning of the fight. He is sworn to you, Torgel asked. He is. Loose the co-stress then, the rover ordered. Now tell me stranger, what matter of man are you? Do you come from the foanna after all? You have a magic which is not our magic. Since a stone of puca did not reveal it on you, are you from the shades? His fingers moved in the same sign locust had made before carawa. Ross gave his chosen explanation. I am from the sea captain. As for the foanna, they are no friend to me. Since they hold captive in their hakeep, one who is my brother Ken. Torgel stared him up and down. You say you are from the sea? I have been a rover since I was able to stumble on my two feet across the deck after the manner and custom of my people. Yet, I have never seen your like before. Perhaps your coming means ill to me and mine. But by the law of battle, you have won your freedom on this ship. I swear to you, however stranger, that if ill comes from you, then the law will not hold. And you shall match your magic against the strength of puca. That you shall discover is another thing altogether. I will swear any oath you desire, me captain, that I have no will towards you and yours. There is only one wish I hold to bring him who I seek out from the foanna hold before they make him which is meet. That will be a task worthy of any magic you may be able to summon, stranger. We have tasted this night of the power of the sea gate. Through it we went in under the wheel of puca. We were as weeds whirled about on the waves. Who enters that gate must have more force than any we now know. And you too then have a score to settle with the foanna. We have a score against the foanna or against our magic, Torgull admitted. Three ships, one island faring, are gone as if they never were. And those who went with them are of our fleet planned. There is a work of the shadows stretching dark and heavy across the sea. New come into these waters. But there remains nothing we can do this night. We have been lucky to win to sea again. Now, stranger, what shall we do with you? Or will you take to the sea again since you name it as home? Not here, Ross countered swiftly. He must gain some idea of where they might be in relation to the island. How far from his shore. Carriois and the dolphins, what has happened to them? You took no other prisoners, Ross had to ask. There were more of you, Torgull countered. Yes, no need to say how many Ross decided. We saw no others. You, all of you, the captain grounded on the steel-clustered crew, get about your work. We must raise kind ad by morning and report to the council. He walked away and Ross determined to learn all he could, followed him into the stern cabin. Here again the Terran was faced with barbaric splendor, encarving, hanging, a wealth of plate, and furnishing not too different from the display he had seen in the wreckers' castle. As Ross hesitated just within the doorway, Torgull glanced back at him. You have your life, and that of your man, stranger. Do not ask more of me, unless you have that within your hands to enforce the asking. I want nothing, save to be returned to where you took me, captain. Torgull smiled grimly. You are the sea, you yourself said that. The sea is wide, but it is all one. Through it you must have your own path. Take any you choose, but do not risk my ship again into what lies and wait before the gates of the Fulana. Or do you go then, captain? To Cyan add, you have your own choice, stranger, the sea or our ferry. There would be no way of changing the rover's decision, Ross thought, and even with the gill pack he could not swim back to where he had been taken. There were no guideposts in the sea, but a longer acquaintance with Torgull might be helpful. Cyan add then, captain. He made the next move to prove equality and establish himself with this rover, cheating himself at the table as one who had the right to share the captain's quarters. This concludes the reading of Chapter 9, Key Out of Time by Andre Norton, Chapter 10. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by RJ Davis. Key Out of Time, Andre Norton, Chapter 10. Death at Cyan add. The hour was close to dawn again, and a need for sleep waited Ross's eyelids, was a craving as strong as hunger. Still, restlessness had brought him on deck, sent him to pacing, alert to this vessel and its crew. He had seen the ships of the Terran-Bron-Age traitors, small craft compared to those of his own time. Depending upon oarsmen when the wind failed their sails, creeping along coasts rather than venturing too far into dangerous seas, sometimes even tying up at the shore each night. There had been other ships, leaner, hardier, those had plunged into the unknown, touching lands beyond the sea-miss, sailed and oared by men plagued by the need to learn what lay beyond the horizon. And here was such a ship, taut, well-kept, larger than the Viking longboat, Ross had washed on the tape to the project's collection, yet most liked those far-faring Terran craft. The prowl curved up in a mighty bowsphere, where was the carved likeness of the sea-dragon Ross had fought in the vikki of his own time. The eyes of that monster flashed with a regular blink of light, which the Terran did not understand. Was it a signal or merely a device to threaten a possible enemy? There were sails now furrowed as this ship bore on, answering to the steady throb of what could only be an engine, and his puzzlement held. As Viking longboats powered by a motor, the mixture was incogorous. The crew were uniform as to face. All of them wore the flexible pearly armor, the skull-stripped helmets, though there were individual differences in ornaments and the choice of weapons. The majority of the men did carry curved pointed swords, though these were broader and heavier than those the Terran had seen ashore, but several had axes with sickle-shaped heads, whose points curved so far back that they nearly meant to form a circle. Spaced at regular intervals on deck were box-like objects running what was resembled gunports. And smaller ones of the same type were on the raised deck at the stern and mounted in the prowl, their muzzles, if the square fronts might be deemed muzzles, blanking the blinking dragon head. Catapults of some type, Ross wondered. Ross? His name was given the hiss locust used, but it was not the wrecker youth who joined him now at the stern of the ship. Oh, that was strong magic, that fighting knowledge of yours. Mr. Rubb is just reminiscent. You have big magic, Seaman, but then you serve the maid, do you not? Your swordsman has told us that even the great peace understand and obey her. Some peace, qualified Ross. Sixth peace, is that perhaps? This start pointed to the curling wake of foam. Startled, Ross stared in that direction. Torgall's command was the centermost of a trio of ships, and those cruised in a mine, leaving three trails of troubled wake behind them. Coming up now to port in the comparison calm between two wakes was a dark object. In the limited light, Ross could be sure of nothing safe that it trailed the ships. Appeared to rest on, or only lightly, in the water, and that his speed was less than that of the vessels it doggedly pursued. A feast? That, Ross asked, once, Mr. Orton. But the Avakakin sight must have been keener than the Terran's. Had there been a quick movement back there, Ross could not be sure. What happened? He turned to Vissar for enlightenment. As a salt car, at least now a man above the surface. But that is no salt car. Unless, Ross, you who say you are from the sea, have servants unlike any finned one we have drawn in by net or line before this day. The dolphins, Katina-Raw or Taw, be both in steady pursuit of the ships? But Karwa, Ross leaned against the rail, stared until his eyes began to wander from the strain of trying to make out the nature of the black blot. No use. The distance was too great. He brought his fists down against the wood, trying to control his impatience. More than half of him wanted to burst into Torgil's quarters, demand that the captain bring the ship about to pick up or contact that trailer or trailers. Yours, again Vissar asked. Ross had tight rain on himself now. I do not know. It could well be. It could well be also that the smart thing would be to encourage the rovers to believe that he had a force of sea-dwellers much larger than the four-time castaways. The leader of an army or a navy had more prestige in any truth discussion than a member of a lost scouting party. But the thought that the dolphins could be trailing held both promise and worry, promise of allies, and worry over what had happened to Karwa. Had feet two disappeared after ash into the hold of the phoenix? The day did not continue to lighten, though there was no cut and a mist that had enclosed in the night before. There was an odd muting of sea and sky limiting vision. Shortly Ross was unable to sight the follower or followers. Even Vissar admitted he had lost visual contact. Had the block men hopelessly out-distance? Or was it still dogging the wakes of the roverships? Ross shared the morning meal with captain Torgil. A round of leatherly substance with a salty, meaty flavor and a thick mixture of what might be native fruit reduced to a tart paste. Once before he had tasted alien food, when in the derelict spaceship it had meant eat or starve. And this was in like circumstance. Since their emergency ration supplies had been lost in the net, but though he was apprehensive, no ill effects followed. Torgil had been uncommunitive earlier. Now he was looser of tongue, volunteering that they were almost to their port, the fairing of Cyan ad. But Tiren had no idea how far he might question the abacca kin. Yet the fuller his information, the better. He discovered that Torgil appeared willing to accept Ross's statement that he was from a distant part of the sea and that local customs differed from those he knew. Living it on and by the sea, the rovers were quick-witted, adaptive with a highly flexible, if loose-knit organization of fleet clans. Each of these had control over certain islands, which served them as fairings, ports for refitting and anchorage between voyages. Usually ruggedly wooded where the sea people could find the raw material for their ships. Colonies of clans took to the sea, not in the slim, swift cruisers like the ship Ross was now on, but in larger, deeper vessels providing living quarters and warehouses afloat. They lived by trade and raiding, spending only a portion of the year ashore to grow fast frowning crops on their fairing islands and indulge in some manufacture of articles the inhabitants of the larger and more heavily populated islands were not able to duplicate. Their main article of commerce was, however, a sea-dwelling creature whose subtle and well-tanned hide formed their defensive armor and served manifold other uses. This could only be hunted by men trained and fearless enough to brave more than one danger Torgo did not explain in detail, and a cargo of such skins brought enough in trade to keep a normal-sized fleet clan for a year. There was warfare among them. Rival clans tried to jump each other's hunting territories, raid fairings, but until the media passed, Ross gathered, such encounters were relatively bloodless affairs depending more upon craft and skillful planning to reduce the enemy to a position of disadvantage in which he was forced to acknowledge defeat rather than ruthless battle of no quarter. The shore side's record lords were always considered fair game, and there was no finesse and rover raids upon them. Those were conducted with the cold-blooded determination to strike hard at a long-time foe. However, within the past year there had been several raids on fairings with the same bloodbath result of a foray on a record port. And since all the fleet clans denied the sneak and strike, kill and destroy tactics, which had finished those rover holdings, the seafarers were divided in their opinion as to whether the murderous raids were the work of wreckers, suddenly acting out of character and taking to the seas to bring war back to their enemies, or whether there was a rogue fleet moving against their own kind for some purpose no rover could yet guess. And you believe, Ross asked, as Torgall finished his resume of the new dangers besetting his people, Torgall's hand is long slender fingers, spidery to tear an eye, rub back and forth across his chin before he answered. It is very hard for one who has fought them long to believe that suddenly those shore rats are entrusting themselves to the waves, venturing out to stir us with their swords. One does not descend into the depths to kick a soaker in the rump, not if one still has its wit's safety encased under his skull-brain. As for a rogue fleet, what would turn brother against brother to the extent of slaying children and women? Raiding for a wife? Yes, that is common among our youth, and there have been killings over such matters, but not the killing of a woman, never of a child. We are a people who have never, as many women as there are men, who wish to bring them into the home cabin. And no clan has as many children as they hope the shade will send them. Then who? When Torgall did not answer at once, Ross blasted the captain, and what the tyrant thought he saw showing for an instant in the other's eyes was a revelation of danger, so much so that it blurted out. You think that I? We? You have named yourself as a sea stranger, and you have magic which is not ours. Tell me this in truth. Could you not have killed Vister easily with those two blows if you had whooshed it? Ross took the bowl course. Yes, but I did not. My people kill no more wantonly than yours. The co-straps I know, and the phoenix, as well as any man may know their kind and ways, and my people. But you I do not know, sea stranger. And I say to you as I have said before, make me regret that I suffered you to claim battle rights, and I shall speedily correct that mistake. Captain! The cry came from the cabin door behind Ross. Torgall was on his feet with swift movements of a man called many times in the past for an instant response to emergency. The tyrant was close on the rover's heels as they reached the deck. A cluster of crewmen gathered on the portside near the narrow bow. That odd misty qualty this day held provided a murk hard to pierce, but the men were gesturing at a low-riding object rolling with the waves. That was near enough for even Ross to be able to distinguish a small boat akin to the one in which he, Kar-wah, and Lokath had dared to see gate of the phoenix. Torgall took up the great cursed shell hanging by a thong on the main mast. Setting his narrow end to his lips, he blew a weird booming note like the capping of a sea monster carried over the waves. But there was no answer from the drifting boat. No sign that carried any passengers. Who? Who? Who? Torgall's signal was re-echoed by shell calls from the other two cruisers. Heave, too, the captain ordered. Walkty, whose I'm in. Yoana, out and bring that in. Three of the crews leaped to the railing, poised there for a moment, and then dived almost as one into the water. A rope end was thrown, caught by one of them, and then they swam with powerful strokes towards the drifting boat. Once the rope was made fast, a small crash was drawn toward Torgall's command. The crewmen swimming beside it. Ross longed to know the reason for the tense expectancy of the men around him. Apparently, the skip had some ominous meaning for them. Ross caught a glimpse of a body huddled within the crowd. Under Torgall's orders, a sling was dropped through rise weighted with a passenger. The terrain was shouldered back from the rail by as the lift body was hurried into the captain's cabin. Several crewmen slid down to make an examination of the boat itself. Their heads came up. Their eyes searched along the rail and centered on Ross. The hostility was so open, the terrain braced himself to meet those cold stairs as he would a rush from a challenger. A slight sound behind sent Ross leaping to the right, wanting to get his back against solid protection. Locust came up, his limp making him awkward so that he clutched at the rail for support. And his other hand was one of the hook swords barred and ready. Get the murderers, someone in the back line of the crew yipped that. Ross drew his diver's knife. Shaking at this sudden change in the crew's attitude, he was warily on the defensive. Locust was beside him now and the Avakakin nodded to the sea. Better go there, he cried, over before they tried to gut you. Kill, the words frilled into a roar from the rovers. They started up the deck towards Ross and Locust. Then someone leaped between and Vister fronted his own comrades. Stand away. One of the others ran forward thrusting at the tall rover with a stiffened, out hailed arm to fend him out of their path. Vister rolled his shoulder sending the man shunting away. He went down while two more unable to halt thudded on him. Vister stamped on an outstretched hand and sent a sword spinning. What goes here? Torgos the man was loud enough to be heard. It stopped a few of the crew and two more went down as the captain struck out with his fists. Then he was facing Ross. The chill in his eyes was a threat the others had voiced. I told you, sea stranger, that if I found you are a danger to me or mine, you would meet the justice of Putka. You did, Ross returned. And in what way am I now a danger, Kyan and has been taken by those who are not wreckers, not rovers, not those who serve the Felanna, but strangers out of the sea. Ross could only stare back, confused, and then the full force of his danger struck home. Who those raiding sea strangers could be, he had no idea. But that he was now condemned by out of his own mouth was true. And he realized that these men were not innocent to any argument from him in their present state of mind. The growl of the crew was that of a hungry animal. Ross saw the wisdom in Locus' choice. Far better chance to the open sea than the mob before them. But his time for choice had passed out of nowhere whirled a lacy gray white net slapping him back against a bulkhead to glue him there. Ross tried to twist loose, head around in time to see Locus scramble to the top of the rail, turn as if to launch himself at the men speeding for the now helpless terrain. But the Avakakin's crippled leg failed him and he toppled back over side. No! Again Torgall shouts halted the crew. He shall take the black curse with him when he goes to meet the shadow. And only one can speak that curse. Bring him. Reeling under their blows, dragged along, Ross was thrown into the captain's cabin confronted by a figure braced up by coverings and cushions in Torgall's own chair. A woman her face had drawn death's head of skin pulled tight upon bone yet a fiery inner strength holding her mind above the suffering of her body looked at the terrain with narrow eyes. She nursed a bandied arm against her and now and then her mouth quivered as if she could not altogether control some emotion or physical pain. Yours is a cursing, lazy jazza. Make it heavy to bear for him as his kind has laid the burden of pain and remembering on all of us. She brought her good hand up to her mouth wiping its back across her lips as if to temper their quiver and all the time her eyes held upon her flesh. Why do you bring me this man? Her voice was strained high. He is not of those who brought the shadow to Qainad. What? Torgall began and then schooled his voice to a more normal tone. Those were from the sea. He was gentle in his questioning. They came out of the sea using weapons against which we had no defense. She nodded. Yes, they made very sure that we remained. But I had gone to the shrine of Putka since it was my day of duty and Putka's power threw its shade over me. So I did not die. But I saw. Yes, I saw. Not those like me. Ross dared to speak to her directly. No, not those like you. There were few. Only so many. She spread out her five fingers and they were all of one like as if born in one burst. They had no hair on their heads and their bodies were of this hue. She plucked at one of the coverings they had heaped about her. It was a lavender-blue mixture. Ross sucked in his breath and Torgall was fast to pounce upon the understanding he read in the Terran's face. Not your kind, but still you know them. I know them, Ross agreed. They are the enemy. The baldies from the ancient spaceships. That holy alien race with whom he had fought a desperate encounter on the edge of an unnamed sea in the far past of his own world. The galactic voyagers were here and inactive, if secret, conflict with the natives. This concludes the reading of Chapter 10.