The upward gesture of that muffled head drew Farree's sight even though he felt as if he must be fastened there, easy food for the killing. The ceiling of this great hall was again silver—but it was a setting for something else. There depended a huge crystal on a single chain, as Farree had seen in miniature made into amulets favored by those who believed in the power of luck. This one was divided into three points—the two on the sides jutting out from the middle one as branches might grow from the trunk of a great tree.
Rainbows of light not unlike those imprisoned in Maelen's fingers played along its surface, and there were flashes from the pointed tips of the three branches. Inside Farree there was a sudden mighty surge of feeling. What had filled him on the hillocks of the valley—that sensation that he was a part of something he did not understand, that ignorantly he might lose that which none could control, was back a hundredfold.
"Atra!" He had certainly never spoken that. It was only a reaching thought which made him try to raise hands pleadingly to that triune of crystal.
"Here!" The woman's voice arose in what was close to a shout. "One of the blood here!" She ran forward before Farree could attempt to move and swung her hand as if she would seize him. He saw the flash of fingers close to his eyes but he felt nothing. So real had this all seemed that he could not believe for a moment that he was NOT there.
"Not Atra—" The man joined her again. He had reversed the sword which he held and was now prodding with the hilt, passing through the very space Farree seemed to occupy.
"No." The woman's hand had fallen by her side. "If it is not Atra—then who would be so spying? None else has been captured alive by the death dwellers.
"And none of those has the inner power to enable them to come here!" the woman added. "Who else or"—now her expression changed from one of astonishment and wonder to a smooth mask in which only her eyes seemed alive. Yellow those were like the ones which Farree faced when confronting a mirror—"has there perhaps been some greater folly—some attempt to bring forth Atra? Someone of the Icarkin may have gone against the oath. A second capture—"
"So oaths do not hold you flutterers—" one of the small men growled. "Are you then foresworn?"
"Aye," his mate echoed. "Is not Atra of the High Blood? Mighty close do you stick together, you flitterers! Did they not set the trap with her as bait as speedily as she fell into their hands? These 'men' are not fools and they are all sick with greed. If they have caught another such as Atra and set him or her to watching– Did not Sorwin here say that they may have new weapons to bring against us? You!" He swung his head toward Farree or towards where Farree would be if he had invaded this centermost defense in person. "By rock and rap, by thunderclap, by sword and stone, and voice alone—"
"By heart and eye," intoned his fellow, "earth and sky."
"Show you must!" Beast Mask's voice, more than half snarl, ended the chant.
It was as if he were one of the candles' flames on the crests of the hummocks back in the valley; Farree felt a pull from one side to another. He might be clasped in giant hands and so shaken back and forth—
Shaken back and forth. There was no more hall of silver and crystal—no more winged ones, no dwarfish workers of spells, no beast-headed monstrosity. Instead it was as dark as if a cloak had been flung over him. Then Farree opened his eyes.
He lay on his hammock in the ship and he was blinking into the eyes of Maelen, who was regarding him with concern. Behind her stood Vorlund, and the taller Zacanthan was in the doorway of the cabin. Under one of Farree's hands there was movement and he felt the well-known contour of Togger's spiky body. Dreaming—he must have been dreaming! Only the memory of all he had seen and heard remained as clear as the ceiling crystals of his vision.
"You have been—elsewhere." It was Maelen who spoke, and she did not ask a question, she stated a fact.
Farree licked dry lips. Part of him was still Farree the outcast of the Limits who had been given new life and hope, but another part was stirring into wakefulness, an awareness which was born in the familiar pain within his skull.
"Under the crystal—" That part of the memory suddenly seemed the most important. "They—they have fear—of us– No," he corrected himself, "of men." For the first time another thought came into his mind and with it a spurt of excitement. "Great One," he spoke directly to the Zacanthan, "are we—men?"
Zoror blinked. "Each of us has a name for our own kind, a measurement against which we rank others. 'Men– women'—to a fellow of my blood I am 'man.' To other Thassa"—now he nodded to Maelen—"she is 'woman.' To Thassa and perhaps Terran also, because he held once Terran identity to come by chance and fate within a Thassa body, Krip here is 'man' to those two species. Yes, to ourselves, our kind are 'man—woman.' What we may be to others—" He stroked his jaw with a taloned finger. "To those others we may be different. Extees is one word that is used. We have intelligence in common, and perhaps some extra natural gifts of mind or body—but we are not 'man—woman' in one meaning of the word with each other and his or her kin."
He was right, Farree knew. Here was a Zacanthan, two of the Thassa, and he who really did not know what he was. They were working for a common purpose but they were not a common species—'men—women' by some measurements– that used by those who pioneered in space.
"They fear, I think," he said slowly, "some like those of the Limits. But perhaps we can find an understanding—"
"With whom?" asked Maelen. "Little brother, where have you traveled this night?"
Chapter Ten
Trying hard to make with words a picture of what he had seen, Farree outlined all which had happened in that dream that was not a dream; but he knew not what else to call it.
"Ah." Zoror was the first to break silence when he had finished. "Here then also are several different races. There are the winged ones, the small ones without those pinions, and this one who wears a beast head. Tell me again, little brother, the manner of the mask that one wore."
Once more Farree repeated his description of that figure. Maelen and Vorlund were looking at him intently as if they hoped in some way to enter his memory and view that scene for themselves. But Zoror was nodding as if some bit of unexpected knowledge had suddenly fallen into his hands.
"Swine—" He said when Farree was finished. "Another of the legends come into life for us. You speak of an animal which was known to the People we seek—one the keeping of such they reckoned part of material wealth. Perhaps this masked one was a—" Then he frowned. "But Zargo said in his twin worlds research that this was a matter of women's religion and that a priestess would play herder—though his authorities were few and very obscure."
Farree thought again of the masked figure. A woman—or anyway female? That one's voice had sounded harsh and low pitched. However, it was also certain that the masked one was not of the same blood as those whom he might call kin—it, or he or she, was wingless.
"We can take it," Vorlund said sharply when Zoror's words trailed into silence, "that there is another ship downed here somewhere. And that the crew or owner has captured one of the winged people and is using her as bait."