means sharing thesentence. The penalty will not be lightened only because you did notinvent the heresy."
There was a long silence.
Honath swallowed hard. The courage and the faith in that silence madehim feel smaller and more helpless than ever. He realized suddenly thatthe other three would have kept that silence, even without Seth'sdefection to stiffen their spines. He wondered if he could have done so.
"Then we pronounce the sentence," the Spokesman said. "You are one andall condemned to one thousand days in Hell."
There was a concerted gasp from around the edges of the arena, where,without Honath's having noticed it before, a silent crowd had gathered.He did not wonder at the sound. The sentence was the longest in thehistory of the tribe.
Not that it really meant anything. No one had ever come back from aslittle as one hundred days in Hell. No one had ever come back from Hellat all.
"Unlash the Elevator. All shall go together."
* * * * *
The basket swayed. The last of the attic world that Honath saw was acircle of faces, not too close to the gap in the vine web, peering downafter them. Then the basket fell another few yards to the next turn ofthe windlass and the faces vanished.
Seth was weeping in the bottom of the Elevator, curled up into a tightball, the end of his tail wrapped around his nose and eyes. No one elsecould make a sound, least of Honath.
The gloom closed around them. It seemed extraordinarily still. Theoccasional harsh screams of a lizard-bird somehow distended the silencewithout breaking it. The light that filtered down into the long aislesbetween the trees seemed to be absorbed in a blue-green haze throughwhich the lianas wove their long curved lines. The columns oftree-trunks, the pillars of the world, stood all around them, toodistant in the dim light to allow them to gauge their speed of descent.Only the irregular plunges of the basket proved that it was even inmotion any longer, though it swayed laterally in a complex, overlappingseries of figure-eights.
Then the basket lurched downward once more, brought up short, and tippedsidewise, tumbling them all against the hard cane. Mathild cried out ina thin voice, and Seth uncurled almost instantly, clawing for ahandhold. Another lurch, and the Elevator lay down on its side and wasstill.
They were in Hell.
Cautiously, Honath began to climb out, picking his way over the longthorns on the basket's rim. After a moment, Charl the Reader followed,and then Alaskon took Mathild firmly by the hand and led her out ontothe surface. The footing was wet and spongy, yet not at all resilient,and it felt cold; Honath's toes curled involuntarily.
"Come on, Seth," Charl said in a hushed voice. "They won't haul it backup until we're all out. You know that."
Alaskon looked around into the chilly mists. "Yes," he said. "And we'llneed a needlesmith down here. With good tools, there's just a chance--"
Seth's eyes had been darting back and forth from one to the other. Witha sudden chattering scream, he bounded out of the bottom of the basket,soaring over their heads in a long, flat leap and struck the high kneeat the base of the nearest tree, an immense fan palm. As he hit, hislegs doubled under him, and almost in the same motion he seemed torocket straight up into the murky air.
Gaping, Honath looked up after him. The young needlesmith had timed hiscourse to the split second. He was already darting up the rope fromwhich the Elevator was suspended. He did not even bother to look back.
After a moment, the basket tipped upright. The impact of Seth's weighthitting the rope evidently had been taken by the windlass team to meanthat the condemned people were all out on the surface; a twitch on therope was the usual signal. The basket began to rise, hobbling anddancing. Its speed of ascent, added to Seth's took his racing, dwindlingfigure out of sight quickly. After a while, the basket was gone, too.
"He'll never get to the top," Mathild whispered. "It's too far, and he'sgoing too fast. He'll lose strength and fall."
"I don't think so," Alaskon said heavily. "He's agile and strong. Ifanyone could make it, he could."
"They'll kill him if he does."
"Of course they will," Alaskon said, shrugging.
"I won't miss him," Honath said.
"No more will I. But we could use some sharp needles down here, Honath.Now we'll have to plan to make our own--if we can identify the differentwoods, down here where there aren't any leaves to help us tell themapart."
Honath looked at the navigator curiously. Seth's bolt for the sky haddistracted him from the realization that the basket, too, was gone, butnow that desolate fact hit home. "You actually plan to stay alive inHell, don't you, Alaskon?"
"Certainly," Alaskon said calmly. "This is no more Hell than--upthere--is Heaven. It's the surface of the planet, no more, no less. Wecan stay alive if we don't panic. Were you just going to sit here untilthe furies came for you, Honath?"
"I hadn't thought much about it," Honath confessed. "But if there is anychance that Seth will lose his grip on that rope--before he reaches thetop and they stab him--shouldn't we wait and see if we can catch him? Hecan't weigh more than 35 pounds. Maybe we could contrive some sort of anet--"
"He'd just break our bones along with his," Charl said. "I'm for gettingout of here as fast as possible."
"What for? Do you know a better place?"
"No, but whether this is Hell or not, there are demons down here. We'veall seen them from up above. They must know that the Elevator alwayslands here and empties out free food. This must be a feeding-ground forthem--"
He had not quite finished speaking when the branches began to sigh andtoss, far above. A gust of stinging droplets poured along the blue airand thunder rumbled. Mathild whimpered.
"It's only a squall coming up," Honath said. But the words came out in aseries of short croaks. As the wind had moved through the trees, Honathhad automatically flexed his knees and put his arms out for handholds,awaiting the long wave of response to pass through the ground beneathhim. But nothing happened. The surface under his feet remained stolidlywhere it was, flexing not a fraction of an inch in any direction. Andthere was nothing nearby for his hands to grasp.
He staggered, trying to compensate for the failure of the ground tomove. At the same moment another gust of wind blew through the aisles, alittle stronger than the first, and calling insistently for a newadjustment of his body to the waves which would be passing among thetreetops. Again the squashy surface beneath him refused to respond. Thefamiliar give-and-take of the vine-web to the winds, a part of his worldas accustomed as the winds themselves, was gone.
Honath was forced to sit down, feeling distinctly ill. The damp, coolearth under his furless buttocks was unpleasant, but he could not haveremained standing any longer without losing his meagre prisoner'sbreakfast. One grappling hand caught hold of the ridged, gritting stemsof a clump of horsetail, but the contact failed to allay the uneasiness.
The others seemed to be bearing it no better than Honath. Mathild inparticular was rocking dizzily, her lips compressed, her hands claspedto her delicate ears.
Dizziness. It was unheard of up above, except among those who hadsuffered grave head injuries or were otherwise very ill. But on themotionless ground of Hell, it was evidently going to be with themconstantly.
Charl squatted, swallowing convulsively. "I--I can't stand," he moaned.
"Nonsense!" Alaskon said, though he had remained standing only byclinging to the huge, mud-colored bulb of a cycadella. "It's just adisturbance of our sense of balance. We'll get used to it."
"We'd better," Honath said, relinquishing his grip on the horsetails bya sheer act of will. "I think Charl's right about this being afeeding-ground, Alaskon. I hear something moving around in the ferns.And if this rain lasts long, the water will rise here, too. I've seensilver flashes from down here many a time after heavy rains."
"That's right," Mathild said, her voice subdued. "The base of thefan-palm grove always floods. That's why the treetops are lower there."
The wind seemed to have let up
a little, though the rain was stillfalling. Alaskon stood up tentatively and looked around.
"Then let's move on," he said. "If we try to keep under cover until weget to higher ground--"
A faint crackling sound, high above his head, interrupted him. It gotlouder. Feeling a sudden spasm of pure fear, Honath looked up.
Nothing could be seen for an instant but the far-away curtain ofbranches and fern fronds. Then, with shocking suddenness, somethingplummeted through the blue-green roof and came tumbling toward them. Itwas a man, twisting and tumbling through the air with grotesqueslowness, like a child turning in its sleep. They scattered.
The body hit the ground with a sodden thump, but there were sharpovertones to the sound, like the bursting of a gourd. For a momentnobody moved. Then Honath crept forward.
It had been Seth, as Honath had realized the moment the figurine hadburst through the branches far above. But it had not been the fall thathad killed him. He had been run through by at least a dozenneedles--some of them, beyond doubt, tools from his own shop, theirpoints edged hair-fine by his own precious strops of leatherwood-bark.
There would be no reprieve from above. The sentence was one thousanddays. This burst and broken huddle of fur was the only alternative.
And the first day had barely begun.
* * * * *
They toiled all the rest of the day to reach higher ground. As theystole cautiously closer to the foothills of the Great Range and theground became firmer, they were able to take to the air for shortstretches, but they were no sooner aloft among the willows than thelizard-birds came squalling down on them by the dozens, fighting amongeach other for the privilege of nipping these plump and incrediblyslow-moving monkeys.
No man, no matter how confirmed a free-thinker, could have stood upunder such an onslaught by the creatures he had been taught as a childto think of as his ancestors. The first time it happened, every memberof the party dropped like a pine-cone to the sandy ground and layparalyzed under the nearest cover, until the brindle-feathered,fan-tailed screamers tired of flying in such tight circles and headedfor clearer air. Even after the lizard-birds had given up, they crouchedquietly for a long time, waiting to see what greater demons might havebeen attracted by the commotion.
Luckily, on the higher ground there was much more cover from low-growingshrubs and trees--palmetto, sassafras, several kinds of laurel,magnolia, and a great many sedges. Up here, too, the endless junglebegan to break around the bases of the great pink cliffs. Overhead werewelcome vistas of open sky, sketchily crossed by woven bridges leadingfrom the vine-world to the cliffs themselves. In the intervening columnsof blue air a whole hierarchy of flying creatures ranked themselves,layer by layer. First, the low-flying beetles, bees and two-wingedinsects. Next were the dragonflies which hunted them, some withwingspreads as wide as two feet. Then the lizard-birds, hunting thedragonflies and anything else that could he nipped without fightingback. And at last, far above, the great gliding reptiles coasting alongthe brows of the cliffs, riding the rising currents of air, theirlong-jawed hunger stalking anything that flew--as they sometimes stalkedthe birds of the attic world, and the flying fish along the breast ofthe distant sea.
The party halted in an especially thick clump of sedges. Though the raincontinued to fall, harder than ever, they were all desperately thirsty.They had yet to find a single bromelaid: evidently the tank-plants didnot grow in Hell. Cupping their hands to the weeping sky accumulatedsurprisingly little water; and no puddles large enough to drink fromaccumulated on the sand. But at least, here under the open sky, therewas too much fierce struggle in the air to allow the lizard-birds tocongregate and squall about their hiding place.
The white sun had already set and the red sun's vast arc still bulgedabove the horizon. In the lurid glow the rain looked like blood, and theseamed faces of the pink cliffs had all but vanished. Honath peereddubiously out from under the sedges at the still distant escarpments.
"I don't see how we can hope to climb those," he said, in a low voice."That kind of limestone crumbles as soon as you touch it, otherwise we'dhave had better luck with our war against the cliff tribe."
"We could go around the cliffs," Charl said. "The foothills of the GreatRange aren't very steep. If we could last until we get to them, we couldgo on up into the Range itself."
"To the volcanoes!" Mathild protested. "But nothing can live up there,nothing but the white fire-things. And there are the lava-flows, too,and the choking smoke--"
"Well, we can't climb these cliffs. Honath's quite right," Alaskon said."And we can't climb the Basalt Steppes, either--there's nothing to eatalong them, let alone any water or cover. I don't see what else we cando but try to get up into the foothills."
"Can't we stay here?" Mathild said plaintively.
"No," Honath said, even more gently than he had intended. Mathild's fourwords were, he knew, the most dangerous words in Hell--he knew it quitesurely, because of the imprisoned creature inside him that cried out tosay "Yes" instead. "We have to get out of the country of the demons. Andmaybe--just maybe--if we can cross the Great Range, we can join a tribethat hasn't heard about our being condemned to Hell. There are supposedto be tribes on the other side of the Range, but the cliff people wouldnever let our folk get through to them. That's on our side now."
"That's true," Alaskon said, brightening a little. "And from the top ofthe Range, we could come _down_ into another tribe--instead of trying toclimb up into their village out of Hell. Honath, I think it might work."
"Then we'd better try to sleep right here and now," Charl said. "Itseems safe enough. If we're going to skirt the cliffs and climb thosefoothills, we'll need all the strength we've got left."
Honath was about to protest, but he was suddenly too tired to care. Whynot sleep it over? And if in the night they were found and taken--well,that would at least put an end to the struggle.
It was a cheerless and bone-damp bed to sleep in, but there was noalternative. They curled up as best they could. Just before he was aboutto drop off at last, Honath heard Mathild whimpering to herself and, onimpulse, crawled over to her and began to smooth down her fur with histongue. To his astonishment each separate, silky hair was loaded withdew. Long before the girl had curled herself more tightly and hercomplaints had dwindled into sleepy murmurs, Honath's thirst wasassuaged. He reminded himself to mention the method in the morning.
But when the white sun finally came up, there was no time to think ofthirst. Charl the Reader was gone. Something had plucked him from theirhuddled midst as neatly as a fallen breadfruit--and had dropped hiscleaned ivory skull just as negligently, some two hundred feet fartheron up the slope which led toward the pink cliffs.
* * * * *
Late that afternoon, the three found the blue, turbulent stream flowingout of the foothills of the Great Range. Not even Alaskon knew quitewhat to make of it. It looked like water, but it flowed like the riversof lava that crept downward from the volcanoes. Whatever else it couldbe, obviously it wasn't water; water stood, it never flowed. It waspossible to imagine a still body of water as big as this, but only in amoment of fancy, an exaggeration derived from the known bodies of waterin the tank-plants. But this much water in motion? It suggested pythons;it was probably poisonous. It did not occur to any of them to drink fromit. They were afraid even to touch it, let alone cross it, for it wasalmost surely as hot as the other kinds of lava-rivers. They followedits course cautiously into the foothills, their throats as dry andgritty as the hollow stems of horsetails.
Except for the thirst--which was in an inverted sense their friend,insofar as it overrode the hunger--the climbing was not difficult. Itwas only circuitous, because of the need to stay under cover, toreconnoiter every few yards, to choose the most sheltered course ratherthan the most direct. By an unspoken consent, none of the threementioned Charl, but their eyes were constantly darting from side toside, searching for a glimpse of the thing that had taken him.
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That was perhaps the worst, the most terrifying part of the tragedy: notonce, since they had been in Hell, had they actually seen a demon--oreven any animal as large as a man. The enormous, three-taloned footprintthey had found in the sand beside their previous night's bed--the spotwhere the thing had stood, looking down at the four sleepers from above,coldly deciding which of them to seize--was the only evidence they hadthat they were now really in the same world with the demons. The worldof the demons they had sometimes looked down upon from the remotevine-webs.
The footprint--and the skull.
By nightfall, they had ascended perhaps a hundred and fifty feet. It wasdifficult to judge distances in the twilight, and the token vine bridgesfrom the attic world to the pink cliffs were now cut off from sight bythe intervening masses of the cliffs themselves. But there was nopossibility that they could climb higher today. Although Mathild hadborn the climb surprisingly well, and Honath himself still felt almostfresh, Alaskon was completely winded. He had taken a bad cut on one hipfrom a serrated spike of volcanic glass against which he had stumbled.The wound, bound with leaves to prevent its leaving a spoor which mightbe followed, evidently was becoming steadily more painful.
Honath finally called a halt as soon as they reached the little ridgewith the cave in back of it. Helping Alaskon over the last boulders, hewas astonished to discover how hot the navigator's hands were. He tookhim back into the cave and then