you raise your sword to me in anger?"
Startled, Tyi stepped back. "Neq! I mistook you for—
someone else. But he is dead. I must be overtired. I do
not raise my sword to you."
Mutually shaken, they retreated from each other. How
could such a confusion have come about? Had the glocken-
spiel not sounded, they might easily have fought, and
Tyi could have slain him unwittingly. What irony, when
they had not yet even encountered the menace of the
forest!
Another shape approached him, stealthily. But Neq
was far too experienced to be caught unawares. This was
not Tyi—it was not even male!
Neqa! Blonde Miss Smith, the crazy woman! He ran to
embrace her.
"Minos!" she cried. She was naked; her bosom heaved
in outline as she brought up her sticks.
Sticks? That could not be Neqa! It had to be—Vara.
Coming to kill him. Coming for her vengeance.
But she dropped her weapon again. "I may not resist
you, Minos. Come, spit me on your monstrous member.
Only let Var go." And she spread her arms in a kind of
invitation.
What was happening to her, to him, to Tyi? Neq bad
fancied Neqa before him; now Vara fancied Var. Or
Minos, whoever he was. And Tyi had attacked. . . .
Neq retreated, trying to straighten it out, but confused
images continued to spin in his brain. The standing trees
seemed menacing, the river was a giant snake, the dark-
ness itself was suffocating. He felt the urge to fight, to
kill, to destroy.
Now Tyi was coming again, bearing his sticks. Vara
too. Neq got out of the way with almost pusillanimous
haste, not liking this situation at all. Tyi might have his
grudges and Vara might have reason to kill him, but this
was not proper and certainly not normal for either.
Tyi met Vara. "Get out of my camp, you slut!" Tyi
cried, raising his sticks.
"No, Bob, no!" she screamed, retreating but keeping
her face to him. "Touch me and I kill you!"
They were about to fight each other—and Neq's status
was not the issue! They were like demons, prowling about.
each other in the night, too cautious to strike until the
blow could be lethal. Like outlaws, killers of Neqa. . . .
Neq charged, his sword whistling. Death to them both!
But he did what he never did: snagged his foot in a
ground-vine and crashed down ignominiously. The dirt
and leaves of the forest floor ground into his face, and the
glockenspiel jangled again—an incongruous burst of sound.
Neq rolled over and spat out mud. His body had been
humbled, but for the moment his mind was clear. These
were the ghosts! These maddened people, seeing visions
and attacking each other! That was the death that lurked
in this forest!
The fragrance of the night-bloomers came again, an-
esthetizing his nostrils with its splendor. Like alcohol,
the fumes altered his perspective, made the real unreal,
the unreal real....
There was killing to be done. The spooks were almost
upon him. Neq lurched up, flung himself down the steep
bank, into the black water of the river. The shock of cold
brought his brain to full clarity again.
There was death here, all right. Death from the spirits.
Vapor spirits—windblown alcohol that evoked the kill-
passions. A gaseous murderer who left no footprint, no
scar. The haunt of the forest. He knew it for what it was,
now—yet it could not be avoided. A man had to breathe!
Physical shocks could abate it only temporarily; already
that insidious fragrance was seeping through his nose and
into his lung and on to his brain, modifying his percep-
tion. substituting more evocative images. . . .
The sword could not battle this! Only an unarmed
man, alone, could hope to survive. And what man would
enter this forest that way?
Neq looked at his glistening glockenspiel, the metal
glowing faintly in the moonlight. Already it was waver-
ing into the sword again. But it was a ghost sword; his
real sword was dead. The ghost-sword could deliver him
only into death, for he would be weaponless without be-
lieving it.
. Suddenly he felt lonely. His existence had never seemed
so futile.
He tapped the sword, finding the bells of the glocken-
spiel by touch and sound. That was one way to keep
reminding himself that what he saw was false. He began
to pick out a tune, there in the water—the water that
seemed like rich warm blood—and the notes were lovely
and clear. They expanded to form a melody, each note
bearing its private animation but the theme expanding to
encompass the world. The tune was marching; each beat
was a bright foot. He saw them treading into the sky.
JHe sang:
"You must walk this lonesome valley
You have to walk it by yourself!
Oh, nobody else can walk it for you ..."
The melody took hold of him compellingly, carried him
up out of the river, gave him a glorious and sad strength.
"We must walk this lonesome valley—"
Shapes came at him, male and female . . . but the
music daunted them. Like a cordon of warriors, the band
of notes swept back the opposition, softened its determi-
nation. He sang and sang, more wonderfully than ever
before.
"We have to walk it by ourselves
Oh, nobody else can walk it for us ..."
Then, hesitatingly, the shapes joined in.
"We have to walk it by ourselves ..."
With burgeoning confidence Neq started another se-
quence, marching down along the path while his body
dripped wet water and the others followed.
"Takes a worried man
To sing a worried song!"
and the ghost-echo agreed, and they sang together, louder.
"It takes a worried man
To sing a worried song!
I'm worried now,
But I wont be worried long!"
Victoriously, Neq continued, throwing new forces of
song and music into the fray as the old troops lost then-
potency against the ghost-fragrance. On down the path,
through the dark forest, singlemindedly dispelling the in-
sidious fumes with voice and instrument, leading the cap-
tive shapes out of the lonesome valley.
Then it was done. Embarrassed, Neq broke off his sing-
ing, finding his voice hoarse. They had walked and sang
for hours. Tyi and Vara were there, shaking their heads
as though waking from nightmare.
Dawn was coming.
"Stay clear of the tribesmen," Tyi said. "Let them think
we are dead, or they may kill us to preserve their secret.
We'll sleep in the forest today."
"The haunted forest?" Vara demanded nervously.
"It is safe by day. We shall want to visit it again by
night."
Again!" Neq was incredulous. "We nearly killed each
other there! The ghosts—"
"You spared us that," Tyi said.
"Your weapon van-
quished them and brought us out. But our conquest is not
complete until we know what causes the effect, and why
the outlaw tribe chooses to sacrifice ignorant strangers to
it. Surely they know; they can not be so stupid as to
spend their lives adjacent to it and not fathom the mystery.
I have never fled from an enemy—or left a potential
enemy behind me."
He was right. An enemy neglected was doubly danger-
ous. 'The flowers," Neq said. "Night bloomers."
Tyi removed his weapons. "Sticks to you," he said to
Vara. "Sword to you, Neq."
Neq could not hold the sword effectively in his claw,
but he understood what Tyi was doing.
Tyi went to a hanging vine and plucked a closed bud.
He pulled it open and put it to his-'nose. He sniffed.
"Faint—not the same." He sniffed again, deeply. Then a
third time.
His manner changed. His eyes widened, then narrowed.
His hand went for his sword.
Then he grinned and dropped the flower. "This is it!"
he cried. "I'm high on it now—but I know what it is.
Don't come near me—"
They knew what he meant. The weak, temporary day-
light effect of one bud might not overcome a forewarned
man, any more than an ounce of alcohol would. But the
massed fragrance of thousands of blooms, in the flush of
their strength, building up all night long—that would be
another matter.
"I don't think we'd better stay the night," Vara said. "It
fuels our passions...."
Yes. And there was already a matter of death-vengeance
between them.
Tyi went down to the river and dunked his head. He
came back dripping but triumphant. "We know the haunt
now!"
"We still have to breathe at night," Neq said, returning
the sword. "We got through once, but it would be fool-
hardy to risk it again."
Tyi considered. "Yes. I knew what it was doing to me,
just now, but I didn't care. If I had had my weapons—"
"It was the same with me last night," Neq admitted.
"But all I had was song."
"The flower is the weapon," Tyi said. "One that would
bring down a tribe. If others knew of it, it would be
planted everywhere. We must make it ours."
Vara rubbed her eyes. None of them had slept yet, and
the tribesmen could soon appear. Tyi was probably cor-
rect: the tribe had more interest in maintaining the secret
of the forest than in exposing it. Dead men would spread
its reputation, and prevent other tribes from moving in
on the good hunting preserve. Naturally only strangers
would be sacrificed. It was time to hide and sleep.
Tyi nodded. "We'll make a baffle by the water, under
the bank, and sleep together without posting guard. If
they find us, we'll stall until dusk—or dive into the river."
The tribesmen were either too confident or too stupid
to search thoroughly. No one found them. Refreshed, the
three walked to the southern fringe as the blooms opened.
No tribesmen stood guard, understandably.
"If light makes them close . . ." Tyi murmured.
Neq jumped. Tyi was leading the way directly to a
large group of the opening flowers! "Careful—moonlight
didn't stop them last night."
"Maybe it did," Vara said. "Maybe that's why we got
through. We got only part of the effect. . . ."
"Stand upwind," Tyi said. He brought out his light. It
was a small kerosene lantern with a circular wick and
adjustable mantle, and it had a spark-striker attachment.
It had been cumbersome to carry, and Tyi had seldom
used it before, preferring his own night vision. He had
never been one to travel unprepared, however.
He ignited the lantern, adjusted it for maximum bril-
liance, and brought it near the vine. There was a reflector,
so that a surprising amount of illumination was concen-
trated in that vicinity.
Slowly the flowers closed.
"If light seals them, darkness must open them," Tyi
said. "If we carried a vine with us—"
"It would die," Neq said, leary of the notion.
"A growing vine, with its earth. Set in a box with this
light."
"A weapon!" Vara exclaimed, catching on. "Cover it by
day, leave it among enemies...."
Tyi nodded. "Pick it up when they are dead. Turn on
the light. Travel on."
"A counter-ambush," Vara finished, her eyes seeming to
More killing, Neq thought. No end to it, whether with
sword or flower. Yet the plan had merit. "This is a fringe
zone. Will it grow beyond this forest?"
"Delicate mutation," Vara said excitedly. "Needs the
right temperature, water, soil, shade—"
"We'll find out," Tyi said. "Man has tamed plants be-
fore."
The two of them hastened to dig up an appropriate
sample and fix its enclosure. Neq had qualms, however.
Any oversight, and the flowers could wipe out their little
party. This was an uncertain ally. ^
' "Var was self-sacrificing," Vara said. "He always helped
me, even when I was pretending to be a boy. When we
slept in the snows and I was stung by a badlands worm,
be carried me back to the only hostel though his own
ankle had been turned. And he fought to preserve my rest,
though he was not then fit for the circle. He was ex-
hausted and his foot was swollen—"
Neq had to listen. This was the man he had killed. He
could not restore what he had taken without first com-
prehending her loss. He understood what she was doing:
Tyi had stopped her from attacking him with the sticks,
so now she turned to words. Her voiced memories were
terrible because they brought a dead man back to life,
multiplying Var's greatness and the agony of his demise.
Her verbal campaign was calculated, and he knew it,
but still it hurt him. He had no legitimate defense. He
had killed her husband, the man who should have been
his friend, and now could never be.
Sometimes when she said Var he heard Neqa. Neq him-
self had become Yod: slayer of the innocent.
It worked. The vine prospered under Tyi's care, and a
minimum flame in the lantern kept the narcotic flowers
closed. But normally they set the plant down some dis-
tance from their night camp and let it bloom, so that its
natural cycle would not be unduly disrupted. They had
no concern about animals bothering it; the fragrance was
defense enough. A mile's separation seemed more than
sufficient—less than a mile when the wind was sure—
though upon occasion they smelled the faint perfume and
felt a token enhancement of animal passion.
They did encounter another ambush, as such things
were too common in this post-crazy world. They managed
to barricade themselves defensively for an hour, using
Tyi's gun to keep the outlaws at bay, while the covered
vine slowly opened its flowers and poured its
essence forth
through vents in the box. Neq sang and played his glocken-
spiel when he felt the effect, confining himself to songs of
solidarity and justice while the fragrance wafted into the
afternoon air. Tyi and Vara joined him, laying their
weapons on the ground under their feet, out of sight of
the enemy. The ambushers laughed, thinking the whole
show ludicrous.
Then the enemy warriors fell to quarreling among them-
selves. The fumes had spread. They were not strong, but
the ambushers were aggressive and unsuspecting. Tyi un-
covered the vine to let in daylight, for they had to be
free of the effect themselves before moving out. They
were on guard against their own raw emotions, but there
was no sense taking chances.
The ambushers were in disarray, not comprehending
the reason. The strong passions of men driven to out-
lawry had been sufficient. Once the conflict started, it fed
on itself.
Neq made the mistake of singing a love song. He be-
came acutely conscious of Vara next to him, almost six-
teen and at the height of her womanhood. He became
sexually excited, not caring what else had passed between
them. But Tyi was there, and in the sudden fierce resent-
ment of the man's interfering presence Neq realized the
danger and forced himself to shift songs. Love Vara?