Jugrid and his daughter, however, seemed to possess an infallible sense of direction, and impatiently took the lead, demanding that the Shondakorian boy keep up with them. The youth, reared in the city and unaccustomed to the way of the jungle, found it difficult to believe that either Ylana or her father knew where they were going in such darkness.
A moment’s reflection might have reminded Tomar that the folk of Jugrid’s tribe subsisted entirely upon the hunt, and that hunters had no choice but to search the jungle for game during the hours of darkness, for at that time such game as dwelt upon this plateau was awake and abroad. Hence he should have guessed that Ylana and Jugrid knew every twist and turn of these paths as they knew the contours of their own cavernous home.
Even a chief and his daughter were not so privileged as to leave the hunting of game to others. Every member of the tribe, save for the Elders and children, customarily shared the duties of the hunt according to a rigid schedule.
Stumbling along behind them, Tomar felt himself remarkably clumsy and useless. Unseen roots caught his feet and sent him stumbling; dangling vines and lianas brushed against his face or on occasion tightened about his neck like a hangman’s noose. More than once he went blundering headlong into a tree trunk, unseen in the dark, or strayed from the path to find himself caught up in thick, thorny-leafed bushes.
At length, even Jugrid realized the impossibility of attempting to continue their flight through the darkness of the jungle aisles, encumbered as they were by one unused to such surroundings.
“We may as well pause for the night here,” he said to his daughter, “and seek safety in the branches above until day. Your friend is making enough commotion to rouse half the jungle. If any of Xangan’s men are already on our trail, the noise he is making will draw them to our position unerringly. Besides, he is slowing us down.”
Tomar flushed uncomfortably, hearing this exchange, and was suddenly grateful for the darkness, which meant that his companions could not see him blushing like a girl.
“But, Father, have we come far enough into the jungle?” protested Ylana. “They will hunt us with othodes, surely, once they discover that we have managed to escape from the prison-cave. And we have only been traveling for a half an hour, no more…”
Jugrid shook his head.
“It will be morning, at least, before any of Xangan’s men are likely to find that we have gotten away,” he said.
“How can you be certain of that?” asked the girl, dubiously.
“When Fanga replaced Thadron on guard duty before the cave wherein we were imprisoned,” Jugrid explained, “I recall that he said that he would be there until dawn. Even then it will probably take that clumsy oaf, Xangan, some time to organize a searching-party. It was always his way to waste half the day with bluff and swagger and loud boasting, before getting down to an attempt to accomplish anything. And we shall be up and away an hour before day. Come now, let us rest while we can. We have nothing to fear from pursuit until day has come.”
Such confidence was certainly reassuring. Ylana gave a shrug of her slim, bare shoulders, and began to climb into the nearest tree. Jugrid followed after. Springing lightly into the air for all his bulk, the big man reached up, grasped a heavy bough, and swung himself up into the foliage with a supple grace that would have shamed an acrobat.
And there was nothing else for Tomar to do but follow their example. Alas, even in this, the boy felt himself to be woefully clumsy and useless. The first tree he tried to climb he fell out of, landing on his shoulders with a resounding thump that knocked the wind out of him and left him puffing and blowing like a beached whale.
“Not that way, you stumble-footed lump!” Ylana snapped. “This way! Grasp the branch in both hands and lever yourself up until you have a footing. Then find a comfortable crotch or a branch broad enough to stretch out upon, and settle down for sleep.”
The boy tried to do as she suggested, but his sandals slipped on the bark and, unable to see in the dark, he bumped his head painfully on the branch above.
Eventually, with much effort and difficulty, Tomar found himself about fifteen feet aloft, clinging with both arms to the main trunk while seated on a broad branch which reached out horizontally, with his legs dangling down to either side.
He was secure enough, but could not imagine relaxing his hold enough to be able to fall asleep. Surely, the moment he had succeeded in nodding off, he would fall out of the tree and crack his skull.
“Oh, by the Cold Moon!” cursed Ylana, exasperatedly, after the boy had falteringly explained the cause of his trepidations in response to her query. “If that’s what’s worrying you, take off your baldric and tie yourself to the branch with it. Now hush up and let’s get what little sleep we can, in what remains, of the night!”
Shamefaced that this notion had not occurred to him, Tomar did as she suggested, looping the baldric of his swordbelt about the base of the branch, he discovered it did indeed hold him securely in place.
He lay upon his back, the belt fitting snugly under his arms, and tried to compose himself for sleep. If you have ever had to try to sleep in a tree, you may perhaps have some idea of how difficult it was for Tomar to do so.
In the first place, he could not roll over onto his side, as the swordbelt was too tight for that, and if he did so he might well drop right off the branch. Then again, the coarse bark rasped harshly against the skin of his legs and arms, and the hard wood made a flat and stony pillow. Every position in which he tried to put his head turned out after a few minutes to be an uncomfortable one.
Beyond these purely physical discomforts, there were a host of others that might be considered to fall into the category of the imaginary. These were occasioned by the fact that the jungle night was alive with noises, each of which seemed to whisper the stealthy approach of a host of creeping monsters, preparing to pounce on a juicy morseclass="underline" himself.
The branches creaked, rubbing together. Dead leaves rustled; boughs of the underbrush crackled, as if giving way before the sliding bulk of a crouching predator. Small creatures scurried, pattering through the grass, giving vent to small, shrill squeaks. Distantly, there sounded the heavy, coughing grunt of the big brutes. And once, at least, he heard the thunderous growl of challenge, followed by the noise of huge bodies thrashing in combat.
Once there was a sharp, unearthly screech that lifted the hairs on young Tomar’s nape and chilled his blood. He lay there frozen, utterly awake, his heart thudding painfully against his ribs, while the screech died slowly in sobbing murmurs.
And another time something passed through the up. per boughs of the tree he had picked as for his bedchamber. The boy had no idea what it might be, but the branches bent beneath its gliding weight and its eyes glowed like green moons through the dense gloom surrounding him.
Globules of cold perspiration burst out on his brow and neck, and the palms of his hands were clammy as he lay staring up into those fierce and lambent eyes burning like green flames.
They vanished; branches creaked; all was still.
And Tomar began to breathe again.
And somehow, finally, he fell to sleep.
HIS dreams were fitful and troubled and obscure, dreams of running and hiding from that which pursued him, some monstrous and hulking prowler of the jungle night.
Sometimes it was a deltagar which chased him through interminable vistas of savage jungle. Then again, the dream would melt and shift and change and it would be a massive vastodon which lumbered after him, angry little pig-eyes redly gleaming through the murk, cruel tusks flashing and chomping. At times the dream would change, and it would be a gigantic hopping karkadan which hunted him through the jungle aisles.