He noted that the buffer were moving at a fast, steady trot, not panicky, but alerted, as if some danger were coming but as yet was not too close. The two wolves he had seen earlier were most unlikely to have caused this feeling, and he wondered again what had. Sitting up, he broke the trance and looked down at his left hand. Clenched in his fist were two of the forty small symbols which he had scattered about the shallow, dish-shaped board. He opened his own hand and saw another hand in miniature, the tiny, carved Hand, which signified “friendship.” He dropped it back in the dish and looked at the other symbol. It was the miniature wooden Fishhook. He dropped that in, too, and emptied the pieces into their leather pouch while considering. His subconscious precognition had found a curious combination, which needed thought. The Fishhook had several meanings. One was “concealed danger.” Another was “concealed meaning,” or, by extension, a puzzle. In conjunction with the open hand, one meaning could be “a friend approaches with a riddle.” Another might well be “beware of a seeming friend who means you ill.” It had, curiously, nothing to do with either fish or fishing.
With only forty symbols, the precognition markers were often obscure. But as was pointed out to every beginning student, if they saved your life, or someone else’s life, even once, they were certainly worth it, were they not? And a good, sensitive man or woman could do a lot with them. Hiero regarded his own ability in this particular area as only about average, not anywhere near up to his ability to use animal eyes as a concealed spyglass. But he had been helped by the markers before and he always felt better for having used them.
As he was repacking the saddlebag, the morse, who still remained on guard, snorted suddenly. Hiero turned, his heavy blade drawn out over his left shoulder and in a ward position as if by magic. Only then he saw the small bear.
Bears had changed over the millennia like everything else, that is, all bears had changed in some ways. This was a black bear, and a twentieth-century zoologist would have seen nothing odd about its body at first glance, except a larger and more rounded forehead. If he had looked, not at, but into, the eyes, more might have been glimpsed. Bears were never stupid; now they were, unevenly perhaps, approaching non-animal levels. It was alone, Hiero saw, and nothing else was around.
The bear looked about half-grown and stood on its hind legs, front paws hanging limp in front of it. It might weigh a hundred and fifty pounds, Hiero thought. It might weigh somewhat more and not be half-grown at all, but a new type altogether. His mind probed at the animal, and he kept his guard up. The thought he got in return was strong.
Friend—human friend—food (a plea). Friend—help—danger (a feeling of heat). Friend—bear (himself—identity feeling)—help—danger. This was surprisingly vibrant and clear. Hiero was used to conversing with wild things, although with an effort, but this animal had almost the power of a trained human. What a lot there was in the world!
As the man lowered his short sword and relaxed, the bear settled on its haunches also. Hiero sent a thought at Klootz and told him to stay on guard, noting in passing that the big bull seemed to feel the bear was harmless.
Reaching into his saddlebags, Hiero brought out some dried, pressed pemeekan. The ancient travel food of the North, animal fat, maple sugar, and dried berries pressed into a cake, still kept its old name unchanged. As he broke off a piece and threw it to the bear, Hiero sent another thought.
Who/what are you? What/who brings danger?
The bear caught the pemeekan between his paws in a very human gesture and snapped it up in one bite. His thoughts were confused for a moment, then cleared up.
Food (good/satisfying)—more? Bad things come—hunt—hunt humans, animals—hunt
There was a last blurred thought which the man realized was the bear giving his own name. It was unpronounceable, but Gorm was a fairly close approximation. Under the clear and obvious thoughts, Hiero learned more. Gorm was a young bear, only about three years old, and relatively new to this area, having come from the East. But the danger was real, and it was closing in on all sides as they stood there. For a briefly glimpsed instant, through the bear’s mind, Hiero caught a flash of utter, cold malignity, an impression of something bloated and soft in a secret place, spinning a web of terror throughout the forest. The bear had shown him this deliberately, he now saw, to impress upon him the danger. Lee-mutes, the Unclean! Nothing else caused such horror and hatred in normal man or beast. Beside him, Klootz snorted and stamped a great forehoof. He had caught a good deal of what had passed between the two and didn’t like it.
Hiero turned and finished packing, his back to Gorm. He was convinced there was no danger from the half-grown cub and that the bear was both frightened himself and anxious to be of help. Civilized men seldom hunted bears any longer, and the old enmity of pioneer and bruin no longer existed.
Swinging up into his high saddle, the man sent a thought of inquiry to the animal on the ground. Where?
Follow—safety—danger first—slow—follow, came the answer as Gorm dropped to all fours and scuttled away from the clearing. Without even being urged, Klootz swung in his wake, maintaining a pace which kept him about fifteen feet to the rear. The fact that the morse trusted the young bear was a major factor in Hiero’s own decision to do so. The morse stock was bred for alertness as well as strength and skill, and their mental watchdog capabilities were considered quite as important as their physical qualities.
They went south, back the way Klootz had come, and soon recrossed the road. Here, the bear did something which made Hiero blink. Signaling them to stop, Gorm recrossed the dirt track and then dragged himself back by his front legs, his fat rear end obliterating Klootz’s broad tracks! Only the passage of the buffer herd and a smeared place now showed on the dust of the road.
Follow (Gorm)—walk hard ground (quietly)—not leave mark, came the thought. Following it, there came one more: Not speak—watch (me) only—others listen (for)—speak—danger.
Hiero nodded to himself. The bear was indeed clever, very clever. There must be a nest of Leemutes or some center or other nearby. If mind speech was used, it might well be picked up and some terror or other be sent on their tracks. He remembered that flash of shuddersome, gelid hatred the bear had shown him, and a tingle ran down his spine.