"Yes."
"And yet you are not satisfied with what has been told you?"
"No." Dumarest met her eyes. "If I am to be efficient I need to know what dangers to anticipate. This enterprise you propose, what is it's purpose? To hunt? To map a region? To trade? To search for minerals?" The pale gray orbs did not flicker. "What?"
"Does it make a difference?"
"It could." Dumarest looked at the scattered maps, the scrolls, the moldering books. "How many will be on this expedition?"
"We two, the guide and yourself if you agree to join us."
"A small party."
"But large enough," snapped Jalch harshly. "Sister, let me explain." His hand touched a scroll, moved to a book, lingered on the statuette. "We are chasing a legend," he said abruptly. "Shajok is an old world and must have been settled many times. In the mountains are valleys which could hold the remnants of previous cultures. One of them could be the life that was native to this planet in ages past. From what I have been able to discover they were unique. You have seen the pennons?"
Dumarest nodded.
"You know their purpose?"
"A warning."
"The product of imagination-or so most insist. And yet, should they signal the ceasing of the wind there would be panic." Jalch moved restlessly about the room. "Why should that be if there is no danger? Superstition? I think not. The product, perhaps, of myths enlarged by active fears. Yet, each myth holds within itself the core of truth. Once there was a real danger. Once men were strangers here and had to fight in order to survive. The original people could still exist. If they do I hope to find them."
"The Original People?"
"The natives of this world." Pages rustled as Jalch opened a book. "Look at this, a report made by Captain Bramh centuries ago. He made an emergency landing close to the mountains and lost two-thirds of his crew to something he failed to describe. A local phenomenon he called it, which caused them to desert. And here, an item culled from the secret archives of Langousta. A ship which was forced to land on Shajok. A distress signal was picked up and a rescue operation mounted. They discovered the wreck, but found no trace of the crew and passengers it had carried. A mystery. Even the log was incomplete, food on the tables, everything as it should be, but of the people-nothing."
A book fell, a scroll rolled to the floor, a paper traced with lines of faded color was unrolled.
"And here, more proof if more were needed. A priest of the Hyarch sect was summoned to the bedside of a dying man. Under the seal of secrecy he was told of Shajok and the thing the man had found there. A form of life which-tell me, have you ever heard of the Kheld?"
Dumarest shook his head.
"A supposed creature of legend, the ancient writings mention them often. Things of strange powers and peculiar abilities. They have many names and have been recorded many times. Intangible life-forms which can grant powers beyond imagination to their owners. A name, and names change, but the basics remain. Here, on Shajok, we could find the Kheld."
Jalch moved towards the window, stood looking out at the bright pennons straining at their poles, his face traversed with bars of shadow.
"The Kheld," he whispered. "The Kheld!"
Iduna said quietly, "Earl, do you understand?"
A madman or a man obsessed, certainly not a man wholly sane. Jalch Moore had taken the stuff of rumor and built it into an imagined fact. Fragments of legend whispered in taverns and enhanced with the telling. Like the myths of vast accumulations of wealth to be found in hidden places, the deposited treasures of dying races, of imaginary pirates, of votive offerings.
Dumarest had heard them by the score-but this was something new. The mysterious beings which would grant to a man they acknowledged as their master the absolute fulfillment of his dreams and ambitions. And Jalch hoped to find them on Shajok.
A paranoid-that much was obvious from his use of the lie-detector. A mystic in his fashion, a primitive in his application of the crude ritual of the thrown dagger. Yet, he had money and equipment, and the urge to explore the hidden places of the mountains. The valleys, in one of which could be those whom Dumarest sought. The place from which Leon had come.
Nerth. A commune, perhaps, of the Original People. A chance he couldn't afford to miss.
* * * * *
They left two hours before dusk, lifting high and riding the wind, the note of the engine a soft purr as it fed power to the anti-gravity units incorporated in the body of the raft. It was a small, general purpose vehicle, the controls protected by a transparent canopy, the body open to the sky. A thing used to transport vats of ulumen oil, the structure redolent of the exotic perfume.
Jalch Moore handled the controls, the guide at his side, pointing at times to the mountains looming ahead. Dumarest sat in the open body, cramped by the bales of supplies and equipment, the woman at his side.
Without looking at her he asked, "What are you, his nurse?"
"His sister."
"I didn't ask your relationship. How long has he been insane?"
"Is he?" She moved to sit before him. The setting sun threw long streamers of light across the sky, their reflections catching her eyes and accentuating their color. "He has a dream, a conviction, and who are you to say that he is wrong? A man who claims to come from a mythical world. Earth!" She made the word an expression of contempt.
"I did not lie and you know it."
"Because of the instrument used by my brother?" Her shrug emphasized the shape beneath the masculine tunic. "It would have registered the same, no matter what you had said. We had waited too long, Jalch was getting too strained. A word misplaced, a doubt, and you would have been rejected. Another failure-and I did not want to see him disappointed again."
"So you fixed the detector. Was that wise?"
"You think I fear you, or any man?" Iduna smiled, white teeth flashing between the parted lips. "Or that I need a machine in order to determine character?"
"No," he admitted. "But your brother-"
"Could be wrong, I admit it. But, then again, he could be right. The pennons are there for a reason. There could be an unusual life-form still existing in the mountains. It could be what Jalch suspects. The old records could have told the basic truth. Legends," she mused. "How quickly they are built. A hero who has killed a handful of men is credited with a hundred, a thousand, a hundred thousand. A woman notorious for her passion has her prowess enhanced to ridiculous proportions. Old cities claimed to be veritable paradises have become, on inspection, the yearnings of lonely men. And yet the hero was real, the woman also, the cities exist. Are we to discount them because of exaggeration?"
"No, but equally, we need not consider them as true. There are other explanations."
"Such as?"
"Let us discuss what we know. The town could have once faced actual enemies, the construction of the houses proved that. Strong, squat, narrow windows which can be sealed with shutters. The pennons?" Dumarest gestured towards the mountains. "A simple warning system. Volcanic activity could have produced fumaroles, spilling a lethal vapor. A steady wind would have prevented it from reaching the city and plains. If there had been eruptions there could have been hot ashes, a reason for sealing the windows. Once indoors, the population would have been protected."
"And if there were no volcanoes?" Her eyes were steady on his own. "What then?"
"A native form of life, perhaps. Predatory birds attacking in swarms. Again the wind would have kept them at bay, the houses given protection."
"Neat," she commented. "You have an agile mind, Earl. Without any supporting evidence, whatsoever, you have provided two explanations for what you have seen."
"And your brother a third."
"No, his is the same as your second one. You differ only as to the nature of the assumed threat. Birds or Kheld, basically they are the same. And you forget the reports, the beliefs held by the inhabitants of the town. A fear of something handed down by generations. They have forgotten, but it could still exist."
He said, bluntly, "Do you believe in the Kheld?"
Her silence was answer enough. Dumarest looked at the sky, the mountains ahead. Already the foothills were thick with shadow, only the peaks retaining a sparkling brightness. The wind, steady until now, had fallen a little. Soon they would be flying into the dangers Kinabalu had mentioned, the upward gusts, the vagaries, the atmospheric turmoil.
Dumarest rose, moved carefully towards the two men at the controls. The raft, small, slow, heavily loaded, was unstable.