Lin Carter - Down to a Sunless Sea (2 page)

Brant said nothing, but grinned inwardly. The Earthsider colonist who tried to bed this wench would find a knife between his ribs before he got her thighs apart, he knew. But, after all, what else was there for the two women to do? It is hard enough for a man, even a warrior, to be
aoudh
—an outcast. It was even harder for a woman.

But he was not going back to the colony at Solis Lacus yet, not for another month, at least, and he said as much. And there was not another Earthsider colony in these southerly parts between here and the Pole.

Zuarra took the news stolidly.

"We will cook for you and clean for you and gather plants for water, and guard you while you sleep," she said in her husky, deep-throated voice. "But we will not open our thighs for you, neither my 'sister' nor myself."

Brant felt his temper rise at that cold, flat, level statement. He had been too long without a woman, and this one was damnably attractive in a lean, boyish sort of way. But he had his pride, too, and it was as fierce as was Zuarra's.

"I have not asked you to," he grated, meeting her eye to eye. "Nor shall I."

"Then we understand each other, O Brant," she said

tonelessly. He nodded, and turned his back to finish saddling

the reptile.

The last thing he needed was to have two helpless women on his hands, and women, too, that he could not go to bed with. But he clamped his lips over a growled curse. What could he do? He couldn't just leave them here to die.

His had been a hard life, had Brant's, since the courts sent him to Mars, to the penal colony at Trivium Charontis. Since working his way to freedom, he had run guns to the High Clan princes, and sold them liquor and forbidden tobacco, and peddled narcotics to the soft, timid Earthsider clerks and stenographers. He had killed a man more than once; he had cheated at cards; he had stolen.

But he had never treated a woman harshly or unjustly. It was not in him, for a certain rude chivalry flickered in his soul.

He would not betray the best that was within him now.

They rode east, into the Argyre, with the women taking turns in the saddle while he plodded along, leading the loper.

He had no way of knowing it, but he had already taken the first few steps toward the most fantastic adventure any man had ever lived. . . .

The sky above them was clear, grape-purple, with a few long, thin ribbons of pink cloud-vapor high and to the west. The sun was a small, dull, hard disc of yellow-white fire to the east.

They kept to the high country, to the top of the level rock plateau, with Suoli riding astride the loper, as she was the weakest of the three. Brant and Zuarra strode afoot, alternately leading the reptile by the loop of the reins.

After a time, the loose robe entangling her legs, making her stumble, she swore, removed the garment, and went forward naked. Brant dropped back behind her a little, admiring her long-legged, tireless stride and watching the roll of her firm buttocks as she led the way.

She was damnably desirable, and in the beauty of her nakedness she struck fire in his loins. But he neither said nor did aught to let her know it. He had enough trouble on his
hands just then, without aggravating this tawny wildcat of a woman.

After some hours, they came to a deep, narrow ravine in the level tableland, where fat-leaved plants grew. These the women gathered for the pressure-still, while Brant clambered from ledge to ledge, hunting. Erelong, he found a fat, tangerine-colored reptile whose flesh he knew from experience to be edible, and slew it with a bolt from his power gun, the dial set to needle-beam.

While the women skinned and disemboweled the kill, Brant searched the Colonial Administration Survey charts he carried to seek some sort of haven against the bitter cold of night. They could not be lucky enough to find another dead city, he knew, and this was dangerous country. Predatory reptiles called rock dragons made their lairs in crevices such as these. Customarily, they hunted and fed on the same sort of plump, harmless lizards as the one Brant had just slain; but they were not averse to the taste of manflesh, either.

They rested for a time, and Brant fed more plant fiber to the loper, while the women cooked the steaks and chops they had trimmed from the carcass of the lizard in the portable cooker. That night they would feast, he knew.

He stood and watched them as they worked together, squatting on their heels, hands moving with practiced skill, and he wondered what their story might be.

It had not been for naught that two such women, young, each attractive in different ways, both of child-bearing age, had been staked out to die a slow, lingering death from thirst and starvation, he knew.

But he also knew better than to ask.

They rode on, as the distant sun declined in the west and the sky darkened to deep purple. Brant had found a haven on the Survey map, a mound of broken rocks believed to have been the burial mound of an ancient king, since it was obviously of artificial origin. When they reached it by late afternoon or early evening, he unpacked the small tents of heat-retaining plastic he had brought along for himself and the loper in case they rode into the polar wastes. One of these
he set up for himself, the other for the women. The loper he tethered to a boulder, and fed the creature on the remainder of the fibre.

They shared the meal, seated on opposite sides of the fire. It was not wood they burned, of course, since Mars has nothing in the way of trees, but a colorless, aromatic oil in a flat pan. This fluid provided both warmth and light.

The fresh-cooked meat tasted good, after a diet of canned goods. The steaks were succulent and juicy and broiled to perfection. But when he complimented Zuarra on her culinary skills, she shot him a level, contemptuous glance and her mouth twisted sardonically, saying nothing. It was as if, by praising her skills as a woman, he had somehow insulted her.

Brant shrugged irritably, and devoured his meat. Let them have their secrets, he thought to himself.

The sky darkened and became ablaze with stars. These were bright, hard, unwinking, unlike the stars that shone in earthly skies, because the air of Mars is thin.

It became distinctly colder, and the women donned their borrowed robes.

Before long, they sought their tents, but not to sleep, as it chanced.

Brant tossed and turned in his bedroll. Although the long day's journey had wearied him, his mind was too active for him to fall asleep easily.

After a time, feeling the need to relieve himself, he rose, unseamed the tent, and crawled out under the stars.

Seeking a crevice into which to urinate, he chanced to pass the tent wherein the women lay. And as he approached he heard odd sounds from within—whispers, moans, gasping sighs.

Curious, he peered through the transparent panel, and the sight that met his eyes made his mouth twist in a cold, wolfish grin. The nude limbs mingling, the hands searching, the wet mouths hungrily feasting, the warm bodies intertwined. ...

Now he knew the crime for which the two had been staked out to die in such a cruel manner. The sin, rather: for to the

High Law the love they shared was deemed unnatural and perverse.

Now he understood the peculiar emphasis which Zuarra placed on the word "sister." He should have guessed it before, but had thought little of it. Well, returning to his tent, now at least he knew exactly why neither of the two wished to "open their thighs" to him.

Oddly enough, he fell asleep instantly, and slept a deep and dreamless sleep till dawn.

The Dragon

They broke their fast that next morning with a frugal meal, for Brant was anxious to conserve the food supplies that remained to them. He could not know when he next would make a kill, for the plateau was bleak and inhospitable to life in any form.

They moved on, ever south, then angling east, for it seemed to Brant that there was a greater chance of finding game on the crumbling edges of the ancient continent, where plants and lizards thrived in the crevices of the cliff.

The women made no objection to this plan, so they went on as they had done the day before, with weak little Suoli riding in the saddle while Brant and Zuarra walked afoot.

Very few words were exchanged between them. Brant was in a surly mood, and neither of the women felt overly communicative. From time to time, as they walked together, Zuarra stole a sidewise glance out of her emerald eyes at the tall Earthsider, but sensed his dour mood, and addressed him seldom.

From time to time, during rest halts, Brant consulted the Survey map. He heartily disliked a journey like this, that had no clear or definite destination. "The farther they wandered into the south, the colder and more barren the land would become. They would have ever increasing difficulty in finding the fat-leafed, knee-high plants that, cooked in the pressure still, would provide them with water and with fodder for the beast.

There was no colony between here and the pole, he knew, and even if they were to chance upon an encampment of the People, they would be as hostile to one of the accursed
f'yagh
as they would to the two outlawed women who rode with him.

A cave in the cliffside, however, would afford them shelter and a certain measure of security. With such a place as their base of operations, he and the women could venture forth to forage for water-plants and for game.

They rode on, into the east.

It was like riding to the edge of the world, the emptiness, the vast and cloudless sky above, where no birds flew. The rocky plateau was sterile and featureless, scoured by the fine sand the wind stirred. There were no vivid colors to break the eye-aching monotony of dull purple sky, dark stone, cinnamon sand. There were no sounds to speak of to relieve the dead silence, just the creak of saddle leather, the padding of the loper's splayed feet, the faint, far moaning of a weary wind.

The women felt it too, and grew restless and uneasy at the silence and the dead land over which they plodded. After a time, little Suoli whimpered plaintively that she was weary of riding in the saddle and that its hard leather was chafing her raw.

"I would rather walk for a time," she whined. Brant shrugged and helped her down. When he offered the seat to the tall woman, she refused it curtly, so Brant climbed astride the beast himself and rode awhile, watching the two women narrowly as they walked along together, side by side, whispering to each other in tones too faint for him to distinguish.

It was a relief to ride in relative comfort after so long afoot. The muscles of calf and thigh ached with fatigue, and the swaying gait of the reptile was comforting. After a little while, Brant dozed, retaining his seat with the automatic responses of one who has spent years in the saddle. The women did not disturb his brief rest, talking in low voices to each other.

Suddenly, Suoli shrilled, pointing into the east, and Brant snapped out of his doze, clawing his power gun from its worn holster. Then he relaxed, muttering a curse, for it was only one of the moons that the little woman had spied low in the sky near the horizon.

He grinned, though. In truth, the twin moons of Mars were a rare sight to see and you could go a year or more without ever glimpsing Deimos or Phobos. The reason for this was simple, for, although both moons ride closer to the surface of their primary than does Earth's satellite, they have a very low albedo—so low as to render them virtually invisible to the eye most of the time. You have to know precisely where to look—and when—in order to see them at all, except by accident.

Now that Suoli's cry of delight and surprise had roused him from his rest, he offered the saddle to Zuarra, but she dismissed the gesture impatiently.

"Ride on and rest further, O Brant," she said in clipped tones. "You are weary, but I am young and strong." Was there a trace of scorn in her voice? Brant shrugged, caring little.

Both women walked wrapped in the burnous-like robes, he noticed, for the air was chill here at the edges of the plateau, bitterly cold, from the air currents which came across the antarctic barrens from the southern pole. Brant thumbed the dial of his heated suit to a higher setting.

In another hour they had come to the very edge of the ancient continent. Here the dry rock was cloven asunder by a thousand narrow crevices, and the footing was treacherous with loose rock. He dismounted and led the loper forward cautiously, testing his footing every few steps.

The problem was, simply, how to get down to the dead sea bottom? They were a hundred yards above the level plains of the dustlands, and a loper is bad at climbing. For a time they skirted the brink, looking for safe ways of descent, and at length they discovered that for which Brant had been watchful—a series of crumbling ledges of rock strata, like a great stair.

They began going down, taking great care, guiding the loper, who hissed and squealed with alarm, not liking the descent very much.

Zuarra clambered down on lithe and limber legs, with the agility of an acrobat, assisting the nervous Suoli from ledge to ledge, while Brant and the loper took up the rear.

He led the restive beast down, cautious step after cautious step, wary of the treacherous ground under his boot heels. Once, eons before, this had been the continental shelf, washed by the waves of one of the lost, age-forgotten oceans of primal Mars. Here and there, between the mineral outcroppings, the Earthsider spied fossil shells, strange and unearthly in their shapings, but unmistakable.