"Yes . . ." But there were many kinds of madness. And was the City really so different? In some ways the Clay seemed far healthier. There, at least, they dreamed. Up above, in the glare of that eternal artificial light, they had forgotten how to dream. Or when they did, their dreams were pale and powerless; had shrunk to a ghostly insubstan-tiality, worn down by the relentless onslaught of a thousand cheap illusions, ten thousand bright distractions.
One needed darkness. One needed the respite of dream. Else life was but a mechanism.
He shivered, Shakespeare's words coming suddenly to mind. If I must die, 1 wiU encounter darkness as a bride, And hug it in mine arms.
Meg turned to him, suddenly impatient. "Why don't they come? What are they waiting for? I thought you said they'd come when it was dark."
"Soon," he said, soothing her, his good hand reaching out to touch and hold her cheek. "They'll come here soon." And even as he said it he heard the insect buzz of voices in the earpiece, the gruff sound of Tewl giving his instructions.
"Wait," he said, his hand going to her shoulder and squeezing it. "At last. They're coming out."
Moving past her, he jumped up onto the wall and, spreading his arms, leapt out into the darkness as if embracing it, landing in the long grass a dozen feet below.
"Come on!" he called, turning to her, his moonlit face alive with a strange excitement. "Quickly now!" And, turning away, he began to run full tilt down the steep slope of the meadow, heading for the seal.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Nature Red in Tooth and Claw
HE watched them come out from the darkness, a dozen tiny, hunched figures, running across the short grass to the creek, their naked bodies silvered by the moonlight, two crudely fashioned longboats carried between them.
As they ran, they glanced up fearfully at the bright circle of the moon, astonished to find it there, and, gritting their teeth, fought down the urge to flee from its all-seeing glare.
They set the boats down at the water's edge, then crouched, huddled close together in the space between the canoes, staring back at the hole. A full minute passed and then a second, larger wave of Clay-men emerged, slowly, hesitantly, looking anxiously about them at the silvered darkness of the valley. Some turned and tried to flee, back into the dark, but one of their number stood before the hole, a dagger in one hand, a whip in the other.
"There," Ben said softly, pointing him out to Meg, who was crouched beside him behind the low stonewall, the glasses to her eyes. "That one there. He must be the chief. Look how he's gathering them up. And see, at his waist. There's the handset he was using."
"They're all so ugly," Meg whispered, lowering the glasses. "There's one there has had half his face eaten away. You can see the shape of the skull. And there's another who's got only a stump for an arm."
Her voice fell silent. In the silvered dark below, the Clay-men moved slowly across the open ground between the wall and the creek, their shadowed forms like broken fragments of the darkness.
For a moment the silence was complete. Then, from the center of that shadowy host came the crisp chatter of the handset. Standing toward the back of the group, the chief froze, surprised by the voice at his waist. He twitched, then, looking about him, lifted the handset to his ear, holding it there as if, at any moment, it would bite. All about him, his men had stopped, crouched low, as if to press themselves into the earth. There was a moment's silence, and then the chief answered, his voice low and guttural.
"It's Tewl," Ben whispered, leaning toward his sister, translating what he could hear of the exchange. "He's telling the Clay-men to get a move on. But the chief's not budging. He's saying they didn't know there'd be a moon. It's spooked them. They thought it would be black, like inside. He's telling Tewl his men need time, to get used to it."
"So what's going to happen, Ben? Are they going to attack?"
"Yes. But this makes things tight. It looks like Tewl's boats have set off already. The tide's against them, fortunately. Even so, unless we deal with this end of things quickly, we won't get to the harbor in time."
"In time for what?" she asked, staring at him, curious now.
"For the show," he said, looking back at her, the moon's bright circle reflected clearly in the liquid darkness of his pupils. - "The show?"
"I. . ." Ben fell silent. Down below, the chief had finished talking and had tucked the handset back into his belt. Looking about him, he picked out six of his men, then pointed up the hill toward the cottage.
"A'Uiarthal" he said fiercely, thrusting his hand out once again, as if to emphasize what he was saying. "An chy. Kherdes! Tenna dhe an chy!"
"What is it?" Meg asked, a ripple of fear passing down her spine at the sound of that awful, bestial tongue; at the threat implicit in that thrusting, grasping hand. "What did he say?"
But it was as if Ben hadn't heard her. "Come on," he said, touching her arm. "Quick now. We've work to do." And, ducking down, he turned and started back toward the cottage, his body hunched, his movements almost furtive, mimicking the figures who, even as Meg looked back, peeled off from the main body of the Clay-men and started up the slope toward her.
THEY CAME ON slowly, sniffing the air like dogs, their short, wiry bodies hunched low and twitchingly alert as they approached the cottage. In the shadows of the lower garden they stopped, huddled together, the low growl of their voices carrying to where Meg lay in her perch above the potting shed, watching.
Like a pack, she thought, as one of them—a bull terrier of a man— leaned over one of the others, his head twisted slightly, as if to bite the neck of the creature. Nearby, the rest looked on, making cringing gestures of abasement, like the young wolves she had seen in the film Ben had shown her.
She shivered, her hands trembling as she widened the angle of the shot. It was a wonder they still used language, their gestures were so eloquent. It was just as Ben had said. Their bodies spoke.
Do as I say, the leader seemed to be saying. Don't have any ideas of your own.
She watched the other stoop and lick the creature's hand subserviently, then straighten up, his face filled with a pathetic eagerness.
"Ena. . ." The terrier-man said, pointing at the cottage. "Ena ha ena!"
There was a moment's hesitation, and then they came on again, spreading out as they approached the earth border of the rose garden. Two more steps, she thought, remembering what Ben had said. Two more steps . . .
The whispering began.
At first it was like the wind rustling through the leaves of an ancient, autumnal forest; a dry, soughing noise that seemed half-articulate. Yet if there were words amid that sound, they were as much imagined as discerned. Then, as the noise grew slowly louder, the clear hard shape of words formed from the confusion, like seeds falling to the earth.
"Ofanccw. . ."
The Clay-men froze, half turned toward the sound, their eyes wide with sudden fear.
"Ofancow. . ."
A low moan rose from the dark, huddled shapes on the slope. Yelping, they threw themselves down, burrowing into the earth, as if to merge with the darkness, but the moonlight was unrelenting; it beat down on them mercilessly, pitilessly, forcing them to turn their heads and look back at it.
"Gwelafwhy gans ow onen lagas . . ." the voice whispered, as if from the air itself. "Ow golow lagas dewana why!"
There were barks of fear and whimperings and a long, low moaning that was horrible to hear, like the sound of an animal in pain.
"On; enawy a-vyn podrethes agas eskem..."
At that the whimpering grew frantic. The Clay-men were baying now, in tonnent, their fear so great that Meg could sense it from where she lay; could smell its sharp, distinct odor in the air. Their squat, ugly faces were distorted now, like the faces of the mad she had glimpsed in her brother's sketchbooks. Fear had given way to something else—to some darker, more primeval force.