The Totems of Abydos

CHAPTER 23





Brenner looked wildly about.

He cursed a world with no moon. The forest loomed about him, lit by the dim glow of the dangling lantern fruit.

The snapping of a twig is a tiny sound, but he had heard it. He had heard, too, from time to time, movements amongst dried leaves, which might have been their stirring in the wind, but might, too, have been the soft, quick tread of paws.

Brenner sobbed and peered into the darkness.

He jerked off the knapsack and held it by the straps. It would be a poor weapon, flung on its straps. It would be an ineffectual shield. Yet it was something to strike out with, or something to insert between himself and the forest.

A stick, a club, would be better.

Brenner stood in the tiny clearing and listened, as carefully, as intently, as keenly, as he could. He could hear only his own breathing.

There is nothing there, he told himself. I am alone.

He saw another of the white stones. He ran toward it. It was late at night, how late he did not know. He fell on his knees and picked up the whitish stone, and clutched it to him, weeping, and then put it down.

He must now search out another.

How fortunate that the Pons were so stupid, and had so little sense of direction, or knowledge of woodcraft, that they needed a trail of stones to find their way between Company Station and the village. With such an aid Rodriguez’ compass and map, which had been lost in the journey to the village, were not even necessary.

Brenner stood up.

Anything might have caused a twig to snap, if it really had. If it were small enough, and dry enough, and properly positioned, even the foot of a git might break it. Perhaps he had not even heard the sound. It was late at night. It was dark. His imagination might have played tricks on him.

Brenner looked about for another stone. He saw it, several yards away.

He hurried toward it.



* * *



Brenner looked behind him, and to the side.

He stumbled toward another whitish stone.

I have gone miles, he said to himself. The knapsack was now again on his back. In one hand was grasped a stout branch. It would help him to keep his feet in the darkness. There is nothing to be afraid of, he told himself.

Then he cried out with alarm and flung up the stick, and was nearly buffeted by a fleet body which bounded past him, crossing diagonally before him, from his right to his left, one of the tiny, small-horned ungulates of the forest.

He remained very still.

Overhead he heard the calls of a night bird.

Then he went to the next stone.



* * *



After an hour or so, Brenner stopped to drink at a shallow stream, one of many which flowed through the well-watered forest. Then, at the edge of the stream, he sat down. He was tired and hungry. He removed the knapsack and put the stick beside him. He leaned back against a tree.

He sat up, quickly, when two of the small-horned ungulates, one larger and one smaller, crossed the stream some yards below him, splashing, and trotted into the darkness. Their heads bobbed as they moved. Had Rodriguez been with him Rodriguez might have remarked on the oddity of the movements of such creatures at night, as they were day-feeders and normally quiescent at night.

Brenner partook of some bemat cakes and dried fruit.

Then, rested and fed, and feeling much better than before, he rose up.

He had, of course, before resting, located the next stone.



* * *



Brenner was not clear, at first, that that there was anything out there. It is very difficult to interpret the shadows in the uncertain light of stars, in the dim glow of lantern fruit.

It was his unusually fine hearing that at last convinced him that he was not, as he had hitherto assumed, alone in the forest.

At first it was the soft flaking, and crushing, of dried leaves, closer now, and less mistakable than formerly. It was mostly on his right, and behind him.

A little later Brenner stopped, suddenly, and, to be sure, there was the sound again, but then it stopped, as he had stopped.

He removed the knapsack uneasily from his back. He clutched the stick more firmly.

Then he heard the sound, or a similar sound, from his left.

Brenner hurried to the next stone. It was fortunate that there were such stones. Without them he would have been lost, utterly confused, disoriented, in the forest. Even with a map and compass it would have required skill to find Company Station. Without them, trying, say, to find one’s way by marks of weathering, by the growth of moss, by stars, and such, there would have been but small prospect of success. Company Station was no more than a dot in the trackless forests of the northern hemisphere of Abydos. In searching for it, one might pass within a mile of it and never know it. But, felicitously, there were the stones! They would be his guideposts. They comforted him, providing him with assurances of Company Station, with its fence and gate.

“Go back!” screamed Brenner. “Get away!”

This was his first clear visual contact with what was out there. It was a dark shape to his left, as he had turned. It was not like the thing which had seized Archimedes. It was quite different. It was not nearly as large. It sat back on its haunches. It seemed almost, facing him, as though it had no head, until Brenner realized that what he had taken for the shoulders was actually a gigantic knot of muscle, humplike, below which, there emergent from the shoulders, was the head.

“Get away!” screamed Brenner.

When the beast turned its head to the side, Brenner could detect that it had an odd silhouette. There was something running the length of its skull. Brenner spun about. There was another noise there. Brenner was extremely quiet.

He now heard, clearly, from at least two quarters, quick, breaths, those which might be expected of animals with heavy coats, which might have become overheated in movement. Such creatures perspire primarily through their mouth, and the pads of their feet.

Then, from the darkness, there emerged another such beast. Its eyes flashed, suddenly, reflecting the light of one of the dangling fruits.

“Stay away I” said Brenner.

Then it had backed away, and was crouching down, watching him.

On its skull, running the length of it, beginning above and between the eyes, visible in the dim light of the lantern fruit, seemingly yellowish in its light, was a hairless, serrated bony plate, or ridge.

Brenner then detected two more of the creatures, farther back.

The muzzles of these creatures were very broad, and powerful. Brenner could see teeth, they, too, in the light of the lantern fruit, appearing yellowish.

“Go back!” said Brenner.

Suddenly one of the ungulates, the fourth he had seen, emerged from the darkness and darted, with odd bounds, through the beasts, and disappeared amongst the trees.

That is it, said Brenner to himself. They do not want me. They are pursuing that. That is what they want. That is what they are after.

Another pair of animals appeared.

They appeared, silently, from the direction from which the ungulate had come, fleeing.

“Get back!” said Brenner.

Brenner backed away, and the nearest animal, crouching down, inched forward.

Brenner could now detect several of these beasts about him. There were, though he could not be sure of it, given the darkness, seven of them.

“Get back!” said Brenner.

Another animal came a little closer. They expected Brenner to run.

Brenner, holding to a strap, flung the knapsack out at the closest animal. It struck it across the face, and it drew back. Then it bared its teeth. Another animal, crouching, head up, teeth bared, approached. Brenner struck out again with the knapsack. Then again, at another animal, he struck out. Then the sack was torn from his grip and he saw the knapsack attacked by two other animals. Three fought for it. Brenner saw the great knots of muscle in the necks bulge, the wide, powerful jaws closed like clamps on the object. Then it was being fiercely shaken by one or another animal, the others, too, rolling, snarling, in the dirt, not relinquishing their grip. Then each had a portion of the heavy leather and canvas object, the contents scattered for yards about, on the leaves, amongst the trees. The great mass of muscles in the back of the neck, of course, a feature in this life form, tended to average out successes in such vigorously prosecuted contests. Doubtless it had been selected for. It was useful in the retention of shares of food. These animals, like many social beasts, acquired food in concert, but its division, except for the young, which in the dens tended to be fed on regurgitated prey, was decided on a much more individualistic basis. Needless to say, the broad jaws, the tenacity of their grip, and such, had similar utilities. Although Brenner was not interested at the moment in such zoological matters it might be called to the attention of the reader that the hairless, serrated ridge on the skull was also of some importance. As these beasts were not merely hunters but scavengers it tended to reduce the danger of contamination from decomposing prey, guarding the head and jaws to some extent as they were thrust into the bodily cavities of carrion. The ridge also, of course, to some extent, enlarged the area within the cavity for the feeder, this giving freer play to the jaws. Its function apparently did not have to do with enabling vision within the bodily cavities, at least in the present form of the animal, as they fed with their eyes closed, a useful disposition to protect the eyes from bone and reduce the possibility of infection.

Brenner moved back, further.

The knapsack was now in pieces.

The beasts who had disputed it now sniffed it. Others, too, crept forward, to be warned away by menacing noises. One beast bit at another, and for a moment there was a flurry of snarling and biting. Then they had backed away from one another. One of the beasts looked up from the knapsack, and then it stepped over it, toward Brenner.

Brenner took another step back.

He raised the stick.

He looked into a yawning maw and thrust the stick at it. It tore into the side of the beast’s face and it drew back.

Brenner spun about. Another animal was quite near now. He struck down with the stick, slashing the beast across the nose and muzzle. Another approached and he jabbed out with the stick. It put up its paw, as though to fend it away. But Brenner had neither managed to touch the animal, nor had it touched the stick.

Brenner turned about and, crying out, thrust at another beast, which seized the stick in its jaws.

Brenner could not pull the stick from its jaws.

The beast gripped it near the end, that end emerging from the right side of its jaws.

Brenner pulled at the stick. He backed away. Forward was dragged the beast. The weight of the beast, which seemed fastened to the stick, was some seventy to eighty Commonworld pounds. It looked at Brenner with its left eye. Its jaws moved up an inch on the stick, and then, opening and closing, another inch, toward his hand. Brenner released the stick, and the stick, still gripped in the beast’s mouth, flew to the side, the animal turning fully about with it.

Brenner then turned and ran.

The animals hung about him, a few yards back, a few yards to the side, running with him, always leaving an open space before him. This action on Brenner’s part, not standing in one place, or not yet doing so, and moving, was familiar, and comprehensible, to them. It returned their world to its normal form. Before, when Brenner had seemed at bay, they had not been fully certain as to how to proceed. It was too early for the attack. It was too early for the kill, for the feeding. The movements of the thing were not erratic. It was not stumbling. It was not panting. It was not exhausted. It had not yet fallen, unable to move, its lungs sucking in air, its eyes wild, waiting for the fangs. But now things were as they should be. They padded along with Brenner. Tenacity and stamina were features of their life form. When it slowed down they would snarl and bite at its heels. They would try to keep it moving. They would try, even, after it had run further, to guide it back toward the den, that they might be nearer home when the kill was made.

This thing, they thought, is strange, as it has only two legs. But it does run. Not well. But it runs.

Too, it was strange, they thought, as it was already gasping.

This was not like the small, horned ones, the leaping ones, whose stamina almost matched their own, whose fleet, bounding gait was so difficult to match, which so often eluded them in the forests, the scents mixing with so many others. No, this chase would be short.

Brenner stumbled and he felt his leg slashed with teeth. Crying out, he rose to his feet, his trousers torn, his leg wet with blood and saliva. He ran on. His heart was pounding. It seemed he could not breathe. In his terror he was only vaguely aware of the pain in his body. It was like someone else was in agony. He struck into a tree. He saw another white stone. He ran toward it. I am going to Company Station, thought Brenner, wildly. I am going toward Company Station! I will see the gate! I will see the fence! But he knew, too, that he was days from Company Station.

Yes, it is nearly time, they thought, were they capable of such thoughts. But it has not lasted very long. This is a strange runner. It is too slow. It is no wonder there are so few of these in the forest.

Brenner spun about, his legs buckling. Things began to go black.

He began to sob and cry, and gasp for breath.

Then he found himself backed against an outcropping of rock.

Yes, there were seven of them. He could see that now. He counted them.

There was nowhere to run.

He covered his face with his arms and crouched down.

Yes, they thought, it is now time. And each thought, I must not delay, there are the others!

Brenner lifted his head from his folded arms, after a time.

He had not felt the charge, the rending, the tearing.

He looked about himself. There was no sign of the beasts. They had melted away, back into the shadows, through the trees, disappearing in the darkness.

It was very quiet.

He stepped away from the rock outcropping. He peered into the darkness. He turned about, and screamed.

On the rocks, above his head, not yards from where he had been, he saw a gigantic, terrible shape, a huge, monstrous, sinuous, catlike form. It was not so unlike the stealthy one which had seized Archimedes, except in its dimensions. It was sitting back on its haunches. Its broad head, with its sharp, erected ears, must have been twenty feet above the rocky level on which it sat. Brenner, with his arms outstretched, could not have begun to measure the span of its chest. Its eyes, which were large, were separated by some eighteen Commonworld inches. They were set forward on the face. It doubtless had excellent binocular vision. Its pupils were black, large and round. The creature seemed excellently adapted for night vision. Such eyes would not need the feeble aid of the lantern fruit. They would have served in darker, more terrible places. Yes, it was not unlike the stealthy one Brenner had seen, that on which Rodriguez had fired, missing his shot as the creature, alarmed, had leaped away. It, too, clear in all its lineaments, in the lithe, beautiful, savage form, was a predator. That it would live by killing, and the death of the slower, the weaker, the less clever, the less fierce, was visible in every inch of its frightening beauty. It was terrible in a way that was beyond ruthlessness or cruelty. It was terrible in a simple, natural way, as lightning is terrible, or fire, or storms. It, like the stealthy one, was a product of evolution, and the coming of kings and terrors, a product of what was to be fed upon and what must be done to obtain it, of how cunning one must be, how secret, how swift, how terrible. It, like the stealthy one, was a handiwork of nature, of nature in all its merciless innocence, and yet, it seemed, of a nature more terrible than that which, over thousands of years, had fashioned the sinews of the stealthy one. Brenner shuddered to conceive the nature that might produce such a shape, and being. This, thought Brenner, is that which is first in the forest. Here, in this world, this majestic horror is king. The smaller beasts, the humped, crested ones, the pack, had slunk away. They did not do contest with one such as this. With one such as this they would dispute nothing.

I am dead, thought Brenner. But he was awed, as well. Better, thought he, to be eaten by this, to serve such a king, than to die beneath the jaws of the pack, to be torn to pieces by the small ones, to die of a hundred wounds, to feel the lacerations of tinier, fouler teeth, to expire choking in fetid breath.

Brenner looked up at the beast above him. “I salute you,” he cried, lifting his hand to the beast. “I await you!” He tore open his shirt.

The beast looked down upon him.

“Kill me,” invited Brenner.

The beast did not move.

Brenner, in the ensuing interim, suddenly became very much aware of the pain in his body, of the soreness in his leg, where it had been bitten, of the blood in his boot, of how he was breathing heavily, of how his heart was pounding.

“Kill me!” called Brenner.

The beast turned its head to one side, and licked at the fur on its left shoulder.

The others disturbed it, thought Brenner suddenly. Its lair is about. It came out to see what was occurring. It may not be hungry. It may not recognize in me anything that it is accustomed to preying upon!

Brenner’s resignation to death, and the perhaps somewhat hysterical bravado which he had managed to muster up, perhaps somewhat belatedly, to face it, suddenly evaporated.

He took a step backward, and then another step.

At this point the beast looked up, observing him, and Brenner stopped.

They faced one another for a time, Brenner not knowing what to do. The best thing, he knew, was not to make eye contact. But that had occurred. Many encounters with predators, particularly with ones which were not hunting, were avoided by so simple an expedient as both turning about, each as though they had not seen the other, and going their own ways. Also, he must not approach within a certain critical distance. But he had already discovered the presence of the beast within what must surely count as a critical distance, that distance within which the beast is provoked to action, either to turn and flee or, in the case of one such as this, more likely, to charge. But Brenner had not been approaching it. That was a point. Indeed, he had drawn back a little.

Brenner stood very still.

Suddenly the beast put down its head a little, and hunched its shoulders, and snarled. That sound raised the hair on the back of Brenner’s neck.

Wise or not, Brenner then began to back rapidly away.

It just awakened, it is hungry, thought Brenner, in misery. Then, although it was surely not wise, he turned about, and ran. The foolishness of this, however, for flight tends to elicit pursuit, occurred almost immediately to him, and, miserable, he stopped, and turned about.

His heart sank as he saw the beast lightly, with a swiftness, and agility, and grace, that was odd in so large an animal, descend from the rock.

Brenner turned about and fled through the trees.

It was doubtless not wise, but sometimes one’s body makes such decisions for one, not taking the time to weigh the pros and cons involved. Reflection is often useful, and is doubtless to be accorded great respect. In certain cases, however, as when it betrays the animal, it can be the road to misery or death. Some ten minutes later Brenner, gasping, caught hold of a tree, to keep from falling, and looked about himself.

He was lost, of course, but, more importantly, from his point of view, was still alive. If one is not alive, it is not of great importance, after all, whether one is lost or not.

It did not follow me, thought Brenner. It is not hunting me. To be sure, it had descended from the rock. It might be about, somewhere.

It was rationally reassuring to Brenner that it had not brought him down already. Surely anything like that could outrun him, indeed, overtake him in a few bounds, and, too, it could presumably follow his scent, fresh as it was, if it were so inclined.

Whereas these reflections might have brought comfort to a fully rational mind, it must be conceded that Brenner, exhausted, frightened, lost in the dark, only recently having escaped from savage beasts, and having just encountered another, did not fully appreciate their weight.

That his trepidation might not be ill-founded was surely suggested, too, by what occurred almost immediately.

He had scarcely made his best judgment as to the direction of Company Station and started in that direction when, some forty yards ahead, amongst the trees, in the dim light of lantern fruit, he saw the form of the gigantic, catlike animal. It was standing. It must have been some fourteen feet high at the shoulder. It then growled. That sound, low and rumbling, seemed to come from deep within it. In its undulations, it was almost as if it were moving, rapidly crawling, toward him through the trees.

Brenner turned about, hurrying in the opposite direction. For a time the beast was behind him. Once Brenner picked up a rock and hurled it at the beast. He did not manage to strike it, which was perhaps just as well. Brenner also picked up another branch and tore away smaller branches and leaves from it. It might serve as a weapon. He wished he had the electric match which had been in his knapsack. He might then have managed to light some dried branch, and use it to thrust at the animal, if it approached too closely. To be sure, it may never have seen fire. Still it might not care to approach a light so bright, one contrasting so intensely with the darkness, one perhaps actually painful to look at, in its vision’s current dark-adjustment. Too, it might find the heat unpleasant, and an actual burn, particularly a severe one, would surely teach it quickly enough the menace, the power, of that bright, flickering stranger in its kingdom.

Then it seemed the beast was gone.

Perhaps it did not wish to risk being struck by the stick.

Perhaps it had lost interest in Brenner.

Perhaps it had been by coincidence that their paths had for a time been conjoined.

There were trails, of course, in the forest. Brenner might have been on one.

Brenner continued on his way. But now, no longer did he thrash through the brush, looking wildly back, plunging into shadows, witlessly toward anything that might be in the darkness. Now he moved with care. He frequently sought cover. He held the stick ready. He stopped often to listen, for little things, mostly, such as the resistances of dried leaves to the tread of soft paws, a breathing not his own. He stopped once, to look at his leg. It was no longer bleeding. He wrapped a kerchief about the wound, to protect it, but it would slip, and he ended, after a time, by thrusting it back in his pocket. He began to regret the loss of the knapsack, with its food. He became aware of how cold it was in the forest now, at night. He frequently looked behind himself. He saw no sign of the animal.

He suddenly became haunted by a new fear. That he might be moving in a circle. The two legs of one of those of Brenner’s species are seldom of precisely the same length. Accordingly, if a pace is not measured, if it is not trained, so to speak, there will be a tendency to move ever so slightly, over a great distance, to one side or the other. Over miles this tendency can describe circles, which remain circles, of course, whether they be five or fifty miles in diameter.

Brenner peered upward at stars. It must be hours before sunrise.

Perhaps he should wait until morning.

Suddenly, reflecting the light of a lantern fruit, he saw, like ignited, heated copper, like lamps suddenly illuminated, the eyes of the beast, not more than ten yards away, in his path. It was crouched down, like a small house, its belly no more than a foot from the leaves, its head even lower, the jaws almost at the ground. He saw its tail move behind it, a sudden, nervous movement.

Brenner turned about and began moving away from it, looking back over his shoulder. He saw it move forward a few feet, quickly, then stop, then move forward again.

Suddenly Brenner saw a white stone, and another beyond that.

He had apparently passed between the stones, not realizing it. His heart leaped. He had come again to the trail of stones! There was no mistaking the stone, or the one beyond it, whitish in the woods, like a pale, softly glowing hemisphere. But the beast was behind him. How ironic it was, to have found once more, even by accident, the well-marked road to Company Station, to the fence, to the gate, to safety, only to furnish upon it a repast for a brute!

Brenner put down his stick, and picked up the stone. It must weigh some five Commonworld pounds. It was a not inconsiderable missile. Surely it might bruise even a monster such as threatened him. But, after a time, as the beast had half circled him, but did not attack, he put it down. He picked up his stick and advanced to the next stone. The beast remained where it had been. It was not difficult to see the next stone, and Brenner proceeded to it. The beast was now well back. Brenner eagerly proceeded to the next stone, and then the next.

If it is going to attack, thought Brenner, why does it not do so? But then, too, Brenner was in no hurry that it should come to some firm decision on the matter, particularly one which might be affirmative.

After a time the beast was nowhere in sight.

It is gone, thought Brenner. I hope it is gone.

Brenner was not following the same stones he had followed earlier in the afternoon and evening. I mention that in case the reader might suspect that in his understandable disorientation in the forest, he might, in confusion, be following his own backtrail. This was a possibility, of course, of which Brenner, after a time, was well aware. But these stones, he satisfied himself, were not the ones he had originally followed. The terrain was different. He had passed numerous objects earlier, certain rock formations, particular fallen trees, and such, which he would have recognized, had he met them again. He was quite confident that he was on his way to Company Station, until, later, looking upward through a gap in the trees, he noted a constellation which, by all rights, should have been behind him, not before him. He was then less sure of his direction. Still he was quite sure that he was not following the same stones he had followed earlier in the afternoon and evening. That could not be the case. Things were not the same at all. His uneasy ruminations were interrupted when, ahead of him, through the trees, far off, he saw two small, flickering lights, torches. In moments he came through the trees to the edge of a broad clearing. The lights were indeed torches, one mounted on each side of the gate in the palisade, that encircling the Pon village.

Confused, Brenner stumbled into the clearing.

It was not at all the custom of the Pons to set torches by the gate.

He slowly approached the gate, in consternation. He realized then that stones had been moved. The path which had once led to Company Station now described a loop, a large one, leading back to the village.

He turned about, suddenly.

Perhaps it was suspicion, or fear, or a sense of prudence, suddenly recollected, or perhaps a tiny, subliminal cue, not even consciously registered, but he had turned about, suddenly.

He could see it, a looming shadow, dark against dark, amongst the trees.

It was still with him!

It had followed him!

His astonishment, his perplexity, his frustration, his fury at finding himself once more before the village, dissipated, like dust in a gust of wind, before what was behind him.

He began to run toward the gate.

Rodriguez would be within. Rodriguez had the rifle. He had seen it blast a tree, felling it in an explosion of fire.

“Help!” he called. “Help!”

He looked behind himself, wildly.

The beast had emerged from the trees. He could see it now, the blackness in the clearing, blocking the darknesses of trees behind it.

He had little doubt it could bring him down before he could reach the gate. And it seemed not unlikely that it might decide to do so, before he could reach the security of the palisade. Surely, even in that simple, brute brain, in that small, dark, instinctual surrogate of rationality, it might sense that the palisade might constitute a barrier, that behind it what it had followed for so long might obtain immunity, or refuge. Understanding it must act, or risk the loss of what it had followed for so long, would it not now act, bounding forward with graceful, precipitate violence? Brenner ran madly toward the gate.

“Help!” he cried. “Rodriguez! Rodriguez!”

There were torches out, two of them, one set on either side of the gate. That was not usual with the Pons.

“Help!” cried Brenner.

There was something heaped, large, before the gate.

“Help! Help, Rodriguez!” screamed Brenner, running across the clearing.

To Brenner the gate, the palisade, represented safety and security. He did not consider that the frail, wretched palings of the tiny village would not be likely to constitute a very formidable obstacle to what was behind him.

“Allan! Allan!” cried a voice, from within the palisade.

The gate of the palisade opened a crack and Rodriguez emerged. Brenner was illuminated in the blaze of the electric torch in Rodriguez’ hand. He had it in his left hand. In his right was the rifle.

“Aagh!” cried Brenner, falling against the thing heaped before the gate, some yards in front of it. It was stiff, and covered with fur. It lay oddly.

Rodriguez was then behind him. “Ai!” cried Rodriguez, looking out. Then, in the clearing, the light of the electric torch shone on the hideous monster. It backed away two or three yards, and then sat back, on its haunches.

“Aii,” repeated Rodriguez, himself backing away.

“It is the same thing that did this, I am sure,” said Rodriguez.

Brenner, shuddering, pushed back from the carcass lying heaped before the gate, and, unsteadily, stood. He then went around the carcass, and backed a step or two toward the gate.

“Rodriguez, come back!” said Brenner, hoarsely.

But Rodriguez, on the other side of the carcass, was standing there, very quietly, looking up at the thing some yards away. He flashed the torch about it.

It snarled.

“Come back!” begged Brenner.

“It is incredible!” marveled Rodriguez.

“Come back,” said Brenner.

“Magnificent!” said Rodriguez.

Something of the beast, though it was several yards from the gate, on the other side of the carcass, could be made out in the torchlight The play of Rodriguez’ electric torch made its hide seem pale, almost whitish, in the darting pools of light. Brenner conjectured that the beast’s hide, if seen in good light, would be a variegated pattern of tans and browns. Such a coloration, against a mixed background, tends to obscure outlines. It also blends in well with lights and shadows. Too, on the flanks, it was marked with broad, vertical, darkish bars. These, too, Brenner thought, might make it difficult to detect, particularly against a forested background, particularly at dusk. If the animal were absolutely still, Brenner had the uneasy feeling that one might look directly at it, some yards away, and not see it.

The ears of the beast were erected.

It had a broad, feline head.

“It is magnificent!” said Rodriguez.

Brenner wondered at what might be the nature of the consciousness of such a thing.

Brenner could hear the jabbering of Pons behind the palings.

Rodriguez, keeping his eyes mainly on the beast, backed around the carcass and joined Brenner before the gate.

“We set out the torches for you,” said Rodriguez.

“You expected me back?” said Brenner.

“The Pons did,” said Rodriguez. “They assured me you would be all right. I have been waiting up all night, by the gate.”

“The stones leading to Company Station have been changed,” said Brenner. “They lead back here.”

“Ah!” said Rodriguez.

“We are prisoners,” said Brenner.

“It doesn’t matter,” said Rodriguez, looking out at the beast.

“What do you mean?” asked Brenner.

“Look!” said Rodriguez, flashing the light on the carcass that lay before the gate. It was very large, and tawny. Its head was twisted to one side, the jaws open, revealing fangs, and lay there, beside the body, as though it had been left there, by accident. The vertebrae of the neck had been bitten through. It was not a complete carcass, as portions of it had been eaten.

“Surely you recognize it?” asked Rodriguez.

He flashed the torch on the head of the carcass, where, on the forehead, above the eyes, was a white, starlike blaze.

“It is the beast that killed Archimedes,” said Brenner, stupefied.

“Back away,” said Rodriguez, quickly, whispering.

The huge thing which had followed Brenner approached the carcass, and put its nose down to it, and moving its head, turned the carcass a little.

“Yes!” said Rodriguez. “And it was brought to the gate this evening, after you had left, carried limp in the mouth of that beast, as easily as a bask cat might carry its kitten. He deposited it there. He left it there. He left it there!”

The hair on the back of Brenner’s neck rose.

“You understand what this means?” asked Rodriguez.

“No!” said Brenner.

“This is an incredible discovery,” said Rodriguez.

“We are prisoners here,” said Brenner.

“It does not matter,” said Rodriguez. “That is not important now.”

“It is going to eat it now?” asked Brenner.

But the gigantic feline had now lifted its head away from the carcass.

“No, it is not fresh now,” said Rodriguez. “He will leave it for others. When they come we had best be within the gate.”

Brenner recalled what might be the nature of some of the others. He shuddered.

“Come inside now,” said Rodriguez.

Brenner regarded the gigantic, catlike beast. It was sitting behind the carcass, back on its haunches.

Come along,” said Rodriguez.

“I encountered it in the forest,” said Brenner.

“I do not think that that was an accident,” said Rodriguez.

Brenner looked at him, puzzled.

“We are going to the temple,” said Rodriguez. “I have had enough of the secrecy of these Pons.”

“I do not understand,” said Brenner.

“I will show you what I mean,” said Rodriguez, elatedly. “I shall show you what must be the case!”

Rodriguez took down the torches from beside the gate. He thrust them into the hands of Pons.

“Let us get the gate closed!” he said.

Brenner looked once more at the gigantic, catlike beast, sitting there. Now that the torches had been moved, and Rodriguez’ light was no longer playing upon it, he could see only its outline against the sky, the erected ears, the broad feline head.

“Come inside!” said Rodriguez.

“It seems almost tame,” said Brenner.

“It is not tame,” said Rodriguez.

In a moment Brenner was inside the gate. He still clung to the stick he had carried in the forest. Now, inside the palisade, he realized how futile a weapon it would have been.

Several Pons swung shut the gate.

“Greetings,” said several Pons to Brenner. But they did not touch him. Pons did very little touching.

The bars, the bottom one with handles, the top with poles, which fitted into sockets, were slid in place, these blocking the gate from opening.

Brenner pressed himself against the lower bar and strained his eyes, looking out, through the palings of the gate.

Rodriguez joined him at the gate and shone his torch through. It illuminated the carcass outside the gate, but nothing else, but a part of the clearing.

“It’s gone,” said Brenner.

Rodriguez slung the rifle, disguised as an optical instrument, over his shoulder.

“It’s gone,” said Brenner.

“Come along,” said Rodriguez, and strode away, toward the center of the village. Brenner struggled to keep up with him. At the center of the village Rodriguez did not turn left to their hut, but made rather a quarter right toward the northeast part of the village. In moments they had come to the entrance of the temple. As it might be recalled, this was a long, narrow building of wood, much of which had earth banked about it. It had a painted, carved, ornate entrance, with wooden side pillars. A Pon was near the entrance.

“Rodriguez,” said Brenner. “This portal, the long axis of the temple. It is aligned with the string, with the platform near the cliffs!”

“Of course,” said Rodriguez. “Have you just noticed that?”

The Pon quickly placed himself before Rodriguez but Rodriguez, with one hand, brushed it aside. When it returned, to renew its protest, he seized it by the back of the neck and threw it a dozen feet to the side. Brenner, quite other than he would have been earlier, did not object.

“Come along!” said Rodriguez, eagerly.

Together, they entered the temple. There was no light within it. Rodriguez” torch illumined their way.

“There is little here,” said Brenner, following Rodriguez through a corridor.

Rodriguez’ light flashed here and there, revealing only heavy wooden walls.

“There will be something here,” said Rodriguez, grimly.

“The ceiling is high,” said Brenner.

“That gods may better walk here,” laughed Rodriguez.

This did not much reassure Brenner. Their footing seemed now to descend.

Rodriguez pressed on, the light darting about.

It was not unusual, of course, for the architecture of temples, with vistas, spacious expanses and lofty heights, to contrast vividly with that of lesser places. How often temples rose grandly above the hovels of the faithful.

“There is not much art here,” said Brenner.

“What do you expect of monkeys?” asked Rodriguez.

“There is some carving outside,” said Brenner.

“The corridor is widening,” said Rodriguez. “We are coming to some sort of room, or hall.”

They were now well underground, and probably well beyond the palisade.

They stopped before a large, rectangular portal, now closed, access to which would be obtained by means of two doors, each mounted on its wooden hinges; the interior edges of these doors, when closed, as now, would meet in the middle, and, when open, would swing to a side. These doors with their side pillars, and lintel, were carved, and painted, largely purple and yellow.

Beside the two doors were torches, unlit, one on each side.

Rodriguez, flicking on a lighter, an electric match, reached up and lit the torch to the right. He then snapped off the electric torch and hooked it on his belt. He then lit the torch to the left.

“Give me a hand here,” said Rodriguez.

Brenner went to one of the two doors of the portal and pushed against it, while Rodriguez pushed against the other. They swung inward.

Within, to one side, they saw a Pon. It seemed frail. Perhaps it was quite old. If so, this was of interest, because most of the Pons seemed neither young nor old. They just seemed Pons. Perhaps the thing in front of them was injured, or diseased. In the village there had seemed to be little, if any evidence, of injury or disease. Perhaps that was because the afflicted were hidden away, perhaps locked away in this very place. It was robed, and a hood muchly concealed its face. It was not more than a yard in height, and would not have weighed more than thirty Commonworld pounds. It put up its hands, in a gesture which was not a threatening one, nor one of prohibition, nor of warning, nor even one which was really defensive. It was more as though it were surprised, and wanted to reach out with its hands, as though to touch, to feel, to investigate.

“Do not be afraid,” said Rodriguez. “Come here.”

The tiny creature approached, its hands outstretched before it.

Rodriguez let it touch his face. Then, with two hands, he put back the hood.

Brenner suppressed a cry of horror.

“Who did this to you?” asked Rodriguez, sternly.

The Pon pulled back.

“Note the scarring about the eye sockets,” said Rodriguez, angrily.

“Yes,” whispered Brenner.

What had been done there had not been accomplished with surgical neatness. Brenner remembered the bones in the clearing, from the preceding afternoon, the cuts on them, the nicks, where the flesh had been scraped from them, perhaps in some unleashed communal madness, some social passion of mindless vengeance, in some holiday of horror. Brenner turned away from the little thing. He did not want to look at it. It was horrifying enough to look upon one of his own species who had been tortured, or mutilated. It seemed somehow additionally pathetic, if only because so pointless, that an animal, a Pon, should have been treated in this fashion.

“They did this to you?” said Rodriguez, bitterly.

The thing shook its head.

“Do not lie to me,” said Rodriguez. “It was done with deliberation.”

The Pon pulled the hood again over its head.

“No!” whispered Rodriguez.

The Pon backed away, a step.

“It did it to itself,” said Rodriguez, shuddering.

“Why?” asked Brenner.

“There could be many reasons,” said Rodriguez.

Rodriguez pointed to one of the torches beside the portal.

“You are going on?” said Brenner.

“Take it,” said Rodriguez. He seized the other.

“What do you expect to find here?” asked Brenner.

“I will show you,” said Rodriguez, the light of the torch moving ahead.

Quickly Brenner followed him.

“There!” said Rodriguez after a moment. “There! See!”

At the end of the large, underground room, they had come to a heavy, broad platform, quite like the one in the open, at the foot of the cliffs. Behind the platform there was a large opening, which might have led into a cavern, or den, or tunnel. What Rodriguez had particularly called Brenner’s attention to was one of two stout posts, set at the front left and right corners of the platform. There had been nothing like these posts at the other platform, the one in the open, by the cliffs. Rodriguez stood at the front, right corner of the platform and lifted his torch. On the top of the post, carved there, painted, very large, indeed., life-size, was the head of an unnaturally huge, terrible beast. The head was broad, and feline. Between the eyes, set rather forward on the head, there were at least eighteen to twenty inches. The iris of the eyes, as the head was painted, was yellow. The pupils were black, narrow and vertical. The eyes had been painted rather in the appearance they might have borne in daylight, rather than at night. Not all features were the same, of course. For example, the head was largely purple, save for the eyes and teeth. Yet, despite such discrepancies, or artistic licenses, there was no mistaking the nature of the beast depicted. It was the same which Brenner had encountered in the forest, that which had followed him to the village. A similar head, carved and painted, surmounted the post at the other front corner of the broad platform. Brenner went and examined it, and then returned to the other side, to rejoin Rodriguez.

“Occasionally I had suspected some such thing,” said Rodriguez, “but then I would dismiss it.”

“What is it?” asked Brenner.

“Look upon the totem of the Pons,” said Rodriguez.