“It is so.”
“Unless I miss my guess and my old memory bank’s fritzed out, that rock is nivenite, an ore containing uranium and radium. The deep springs are likely to be radioactive, too. During the years that you people have lived in this region, you’ve exposed your genes to many times the radiation dose experienced by your fellow Firvulag. This is why you’ve mutated, why you’ve changed into… what you are.”
Sugoll turned and stared at the velvet-black rock. Then he threw back his beautifully formed illusionary skull and howled. All of his troll and bogle subjects joined in. This time the sound was not terrifying to the humans, only unbearably poignant.
At length, the Howling Ones ceased their racial dirge. Sugoll said, “On this planet, with only primitive genotechnology, there can be no hope for us.”
“There is hope for generations unborn if you move away from here, say, into more northerly regions where there are no concentrations of dangerous minerals. For those of you alive today… well, you have your powers of illusion-making.”
“Yes,” the exotic ruler agreed, his voice flat. “We have our illusions.” But then the implications of what Claude had said began to reveal their true import to him. He cried out, “But can it be true? What you said about our children?”
The old man said, “You need advice from an experienced geneticist. Any human with that background has probably been enslaved by the Tanu. All I can tell you is a few basic generalizations. Get out of this area to put a stop to new mutations. The worst of you are probably sterile. The fertile people will likely have recessives for normality. Inbreed the most normal among you to fix the alleles. Bring normal germ plasm into the population by mending your fences with the other Firvulag, the normal ones. You’ll have to use your illusion-making powers to make yourselves attractive as potential mates, and you’ll have to be socially compatible to encourage the mixing. That means no more bogey-man mentality.”
Sugoll gave a bark of ironic laughter. “Your presumption passes belief! Emigrate from our traditional lands! Give up our mating traditions! Make friends with our old enemies! Marry them!”
“If you want to change your genetic pattern, that’s the way to start. There’s a long shot, too… if we should ever manage to liberate humanity from the Tanu. There just might happen to be a human genetic engineer among the time-travelers. I don’t know exactly how the Tanu Skin works, but it may be possible to utilize it to alter your grossly mutated bodies back into a more normal form. We were able to do this in some cases, using the regeneration-tanks of the future world that I came from.”
“You have given us much to ponder.” Sugoll was more subdued. “Some of the intelligence is bitter indeed, but we will think on it. Eventually, we will make our decision.”
Madame Guderian now stepped forward and resumed her role of leader. Her voice was firm; her color had returned. “Mighty Sugoll, there is still the matter of our mission. Our request of you.”
The exotic clenched his fist, which still held Yeochee’s message. The vellum crackled. “Ah, your request! This royal command was useless, you know. Yeochee has no power here, but doubtless he did not care to admit it to you. I allowed you to enter our territory on a whim, curious as to the extremity that would make you take such a risk. We had planned to amuse ourselves with you before finally permitting you to die…”
“And now?” Madame inquired.
“What do you ask of us?”
“We seek a river. A very large one, rising in this area, which flows eastward until it reaches the great half-salty lagoons of the Lac Mer hundreds of kilometers from here. We hoped to travel upon this river to the site of the Ship’s Grave.”
There was a surprised chorus of howls.
“We know the river,” Sugoll said. “It is the Ystroll, a truly mighty flood. We have a few legends of the Ship. Early in the history of our people on this world, we broke away from the main body of the Firvulag and sought independence in these mountains, away from the Hunting and the senseless annual slaughter of the Grand Combat.”
Madame had to explain carefully the human complicity in the recent rise to dominance of the Tanu, as well as her own scheme to restore the old balance of power while freeing humanity. “But to do this, we must obtain certain ancient items from the crater of the Ship’s Grave. If you will furnish us with a guide to the river, we believe that we will be able to locate the crater.”
“And this plan, when will you put it into effect? When might the human scientists be free of the Tanu yoke and able, if Teah wills, to help us?”
“We had hoped to implement the scheme this year, before the start of the Grand Combat Truce. But there is scant hope of this now. Only twelve days remain. The Ship’s Grave lies at least two hundred kilometers from here. It will doubtless take us half of the remaining time just to walk to the head of navigation on the river.”
“That is not so,” Sugoll said. He called out, “Kalipin!”
The Bogle stepped forth from the throng. His formerly surly face was transfigured by a broad smile. “Master?”
“I do not understand these kilometers. Tell the humans how it is with the Ystroll.”
“Below these mountains,” the Bogle said, “are the caverns where we make our homes. But at other levels, some deeper, some shallower, are the Water Caves. They are a maze of springs, bottomless pools and streams flowing through the blackness. Several rivers have their sources in the Water Caves. The Paradise, which flows past Finiah to the northwest, is one. But the mightiest torrent born beneath our mountains is the Ystroll.”
Claude exclaimed, “He could be right! There were underground tributaries to the Danube even in our own time. Some said they came from Lake Constance. Others postulated a connection to the Rhine.”
The Bogle said, “The Ystroll emerges as a full-grown river into a great lowland to the northeast. If you enter the Water Caves at Alliky’s Shaft via the lift buckets, you can pick up the Dark Ystroll not two hours’ march from here. Then it is a subterranean water-journey of but a single day to the Bright Ystroll, that which flows beneath the open sky.”
Madame asked Sugoll, “Would your boatmen guide us along the underground section?”
Sugolldid not speak. He lifted his eyes to the surrounding crowd of monstrosities. There was a musical chorus of howls. The goblin shapes began to shift and change, and the terrible swirling pattern of the sky calmed. The mental energies of the little people relaxed from the projection of undisciplined hatred and self-loathing and began to weave gentler illusions. The dreadful deformities faded, a throng of miniature men and women took the place of the nightmares.
“Send them,” sighed the Howling Ones.
Sugoll bowed his head in acknowledgment. “It will be done.”
He arose and lifted his hand. All of the small people repeated the gesture. They became as tenuous as mountain mist burning away in the noon sunlight.
“Remember us,” they said as they vanished. “Remember us.”
“We will,” Madame whispered.
The Bogle went trotting away, beckoning for them to follow. Claude took Madame Guderian’s arm, and Richard, Martha, and Felice came trailing behind.