Key Out of Time by Andre Norton
16
The Opening of the Great Door
It was not the general airlessness of the long-closed passage which woreon Ross's nerves, made Karara suddenly reach out and clasp fingers aboutthe wrists of the two men she walked between; it was a crushingsensation of age, of a toll of years so long, so heavy, as to make timeitself into a turgid flood which tugged at their bodies, mired theirfeet as they trudged after the Foanna. This sense of age, of a dead andheavy past, was so stifling that all three Terrans breathed in gasps.
Karara's breaths became sobs. Yet she matched her pace to Ashe and Ross,kept going. Ross himself had little idea of their surroundings, but onesmall portion of his brain asked answerless questions. The foremostbeing: Why did the past crush in on him here? He had traveled time, butnever before had he been beaten with the feel of countless dead anddying years.
"Going back--" That hoarse whisper came from Ashe, and Ross thought heunderstood.
"A time gate!" He was eager to accept such an explanation. Time gates hecould understand, but that the Foanna used one....
"Not our kind," Ashe replied.
But his words had pulled Ross out of a spell which had been as quicksandabout him. And he began to fight back with a determination not to besucked into what filled this place. In spite of Ross's efforts, his eyescould supply him with no definite impression of where they were. Theramp had led them out of the sea, but where they walked now, linked handto hand, Ross could not say. He could see the glimmer of the Foanna;turning his head he could see his companions as shadows, but all beyondthat was utter dark.
"Ahhhh--" Karara's sobs gave way to a whisper which was half moan. "Thisis a way of gods, old gods, gods who never dealt with men! It is notwell to walk the road of the gods!"
Her fear lapped to Ross. He faced that emotion as he had faced so manydifferent kinds of fear all his life. Sure, he felt that pressure onhim, not the pressure of past centuries now--but a power beyond hisability to describe.
"Not our gods!" Ross put his stubborn defiance into words, more as ashield against his own wavering. "No power where there is no belief!"From what half-forgotten bit of reading had he dredged that knowledge?"No being without belief!" he repeated.
To his vast amazement he heard Ashe laugh, though the sound bordered onhysteria.
"No belief, no power," the older man replied. "You've speared the rightfish, Ross! No gods of ours dwell here, Karara, and whatever god doeshas no rights over us. Hold to that, girl, hold tight!"
"Ah, ye forty thousand gods, Ye gods of sea, of sky, of woods, Of mountains, of valleys, Ye assemblies of gods, Ye elder brothers of the gods that are, Ye gods that once were, Ye that whisper. Ye that watch by night, Ye that show your gleaming eyes, Come down, awake, stir, Walk this road, walk this road!"
She was singing, first softly and then more strongly, the liquid wordsof her own tongue repeated in English as if what she strove to call shewould share with her companions. Now there was triumph in her singingand Ross found himself echoing her, "Walk this road!" as a demand.
It was still there, all of it, the crushing weight of the past, and thatwhich brooded within that past, which had reached out for them, topossess or to alter. Only they were free of that reaching now. And theycould see too! The fuzzy darkness was lighter and there were normalwalls about them. Ross put out his free hand and rubbed finger tipsalong rough stone.
Once more their senses were assaulted by a stealthy attack from beyondthe bounds of space and time as the walls fell away and they came outinto a wide space whose boundaries they could not see. Here that whichbrooded was strong, a mighty weight poised aloft to strike them down.
"Come down, awake, stir...." Karara's pleading sank again to a whisper,her voice sounded hoarse as if her mouth were dry, her words formed by ashrunken tongue, issued from a parched throat.
Light spreading in channels along the floor, making a fierypattern--patterns within patterns, intricate designs within designs.Ross jerked his eyes away from those patterns. To study them was danger,he knew without being warned. Karara's nails bit into his flesh and hewelcomed that pain; it kept him alert, conscious of what was RossMurdock, holding him safely apart from something greater than he, butentirely alien.
The designs and patterns were lines on a pavement. And now the threeFoanna, swaying as if yielding to unseen winds, began to follow thosepatterns with small dancing steps. But the Terrans remained where theywere, holding to one another for the sustaining strength their contactoffered.
Back, forth, the Foanna danced--and once more their cloaks vanished orwere discarded, so their silver-bright figures advanced, retreated,weaving a way from one arabesque to another. First about the outer rimand then in, by spirals and circles. No light except the crimson glowingrivulets on the floor, the silver bodies of the Foanna moving back andforth, in and out.
Then, suddenly, the three dancers halted, huddled together in an openspace between the designs. And Ross was startled by the impression ofconfusion, doubt, almost despair wafted from them to the Terrans. Backacross the patterned floor they came, their hands clasped even as theTerrans stood together, and now they fronted the three out of time.
"Too few ... we are too few...." she who was the mid one of the triosaid. "We can not open the Great Door."
"How many do you need?" Karara's voice was no longer parched,frightened. She might have traveled through fear to a new serenity.
Why did he think that, Ross wondered fleetingly. Was it because he, too,had had the same release?
The Polynesian girl loosed her grip on her companions' hands, taking astep closer to the Foanna.
"Three can be four--"
"Or five." Ashe moved up beside her. "If we suit your purpose."
Was Gordon Ashe crazy? Or had he fallen victim to whatever filled thisplace? Yet it was Ashe's voice, sane, serene, as Ross had always heardit. The younger Agent wet his lips; it was his turn to have a dry mouth.This was not his game; it could not be. Yet he summoned voice enough toadd in turn:
"Six--"
When it came the Foanna answer was a warning:
"To aid us you must cast aside your shields, allow your identities tobecome one with our forces. Having done so, it may be that you shallnever be as you are now but changed."
"Changed...."
The word echoed, perhaps not in the place where they stood, but inRoss's head. This was a risk such as he had never taken before. Hischances in the past had been matters of action where his own strengthand wits were matched against the problem. Here, he would open a door toforces he and his kind should not meet--expose himself to danger such asdid not exist on the plane where weapons and strength of arm coulddecide victory or defeat.
And this was not really his fight at all. What did it matter to Terransten thousand years or so in the future what happened to Hawaikans inthis past? He was a fool; they were all fools to become embroiled inthis. The Baldies and their stellar empire--if that ever had existed asthe Terrans surmised--was long gone before his breed entered space.
"If you accomplish this with our aid," said Ashe, "will you be able todefeat the invaders?"
Again a lengthening moment of silence before the Foanna replied:
"We can not tell. We only know that there is a force laid up here, setbehind certain gates in the far past, upon which we may call for somesupreme effort. But this much we also know: The Evil of the Shadowreaches out from here now, and where that darkness falls men will nolonger be men but things in the guise of men who obey and follow asmindless creatures. As yet this shadow of the Shadow is a small one. Butit will spread, for that is the nature of those who have spawned it.They have chanced upon and corrupted a thing we know. Such power feedsupon the will to power. Having turned it to their bidding, they will notbe able to resist using it, for it is so easy to do and the resultsexult the nature of those who employ it.
"You have said that you and those like you who travel the time trailsfear to change the past. Here the first ste
"And this is your only weapon?" Ashe asked once more.
"The only one strong enough to stand against that which is nowunleashed."
In the pavement the fiery lines were bright and glowing. Even when Rossshut his eyes, parts of those designs were still visible against hiseyelids.
"We don't know how." He made a last feeble protest on the side ofprudence. "We couldn't move as you did."
"Apart, no--together, yes."
The silvery figures were once more swaying, the mist which was theirhair flowing about them. Karara's hands went out, and the slenderfingers of one of the Foanna lifted, closed about firm, brown Terranflesh. Ashe was doing the same!
Ross thought he cried out, but he could not be sure, as he watchedKarara's head begin to sway in concert with her Foanna partner, herblack hair springing out from her shoulders to rival the ripplingstrands of the alien's. Ashe was consciously matching steps with thecompanion who also drew him along a flowing line of fire.
In this last instant Ross realized the time for retreat was past--therewas no place left to go. His hands went out, though he had to force thatinvitation because in him there was a shrinking horror of thissurrender. But he could not let the others go without him.
The Foanna's touch was cool, and yet it seemed that flesh met his flesh,fingers as normal as his met fingers in that grasp. And when that holdwas complete he gave a small gasp. For his horror was wiped away; heknew in its place a burst of energy which could be disciplined to use asa weapon or a tool in concentrated and complicated action. His feet so... and then so.... Did those directions flow without words from theFoanna's fingers to his and then along his nerves to his brain? He onlyknew which was the proper next step, and the next, and the next, as theywove their way along the pattern lines, with their going adding anecessary thread to a design.
Forward four steps, backward one--in and out. Did Ross actually hearthat sweet thrumming, akin to the lilting speech of the Foanna, or wasit a throbbing in his blood? In and out.... What had become of theothers he did not know; he was aware only of his own path, of the handin his, of the silvery shape at his side to whom he was now tied as ifone of the Rover capture nets enclosed them both.
The fiery lines under his feet were smoking, tendrils rising andtwisting as the hair of the Foanna rippled and twisted. And the smokeclung, wreathed his body. They moved in a cocoon of smoke, thicker andthicker, until Ross could not even see the Foanna who accompanied him,was only assured of her presence by the hand which grasped his.
And a small part of him clung desperately to the awareness of that claspas an anchorage against what might come, a tie between the world ofreality and the place into which he was passing.
How did one find words to describe this? Ross wondered with that part ofhim which remained stubbornly Ross Murdock, Terran Time Agent. Hethought that he did not see with his eyes, hear with his ears but usedother senses his own kind did not recognize nor acknowledge.
Space ... not a room ... a cave-anything made by normal nature. Spacewhich held something.
Pure energy? His Terran mind strove to give name to that which wasnameless. Perhaps it was that spark of memory and consciousness whichgave him that instant of "Seeing." Was it a throne? And on it ashimmering figure? He was regarded intently, measured, and--set aside.
There were questions or a question he could not hear, and perhaps ananswer he would never be able to understand. Or had any of this happenedat all?
Ross crouched on a cold floor, his head hanging, drained of energy, ofall that feeling of power and well-being he had had when they had beguntheir dance across the symbols. About him those designs still gloweddully. When he looked at them too intently his head ached. He couldalmost understand, but the struggle was so exhausting he winced at theeffort.
"Gordon--?"
There was no clasp on his hand; he was alone, alone between two glowingarabesques. That loneliness struck at him with the sharpness of a blow.His head came up; frantically he stared about him in search of hiscompanions. "Gordon!" His plea and demand in one was answered:
"Ross?"
On his hands and knees, Ross used the rags of his strength to crawl inthat direction, stopping now and then to shade his eyes with his hands,to peer through the cracks between his fingers for some sight of Ashe.
There he was, sitting quietly, his head up as if he were listening, orstriving to listen. His cheeks were sunken; he had the drained, wornlook of a man strained to the limit of physical energy. Yet there was aquiet peace in his face. Ross crawled on, put out a hand to Ashe's armas if only by touching the other could he be sure he was not anillusion. And Ashe's fingers came up to cover the younger man's in agrasp as tight as the Foanna's hold had been.
"We did it; together we did it," Ashe said. "But where--why--?"
Those questions were not aimed at him, Ross knew. And at that moment theyounger man did not care where they had been, what they had done. It wasenough that his terrible loneliness was gone, that Ashe was here.
Still keeping his hold on Ross, Ashe turned his head and called into thewilderness of the symbol-glowing space about them, "Karara?"
She came to them, not crawling, not wrung almost dry of spirit andstrength, but on her two feet. About her shoulders her dark hair wavedand spun--or was it dark now? Along those strands there seemed to bethreaded motes of light, giving a silvery sheen which was a faint echoof the Foanna's tresses. And was it only his bemused and bewilderedsight, Ross mused, or was her skin fairer?
Karara smiled down at them and held out her hands, offering one to each.When they took them Ross knew again that surge of energy he had feltwhen he had followed the Foanna into the maze dance.
"Come! There is much to do."
He could not be mistaken; her voice held the singing lilt of the Foanna.Somehow she had crossed some barrier to become a paler, perhaps alesser, but still a copy of the three aliens. Was this what they hadmeant when they warned of a change which might come to those whofollowed them into the ritual of this place?
Ross looked from the girl to Ashe with searching intensity. No, he couldsee no outward change in Gordon. And he felt none within himself.
"Come!" Some of Karara's old impetuousness returned as she tugged atthem, urging them to their feet and drawing them with her. She appearedto know where they must go, and both men followed her guidance.
Once more they came out of the weird and alien into the normal, for herewere the rock walls of a passage running up at an angle which became sosteep they were forced to pull along by handholds hollowed in the walls.
"Where are we going?" Ashe asked.
"To cleanse." Karara's answer was ambiguous, and she sped along hardlytouching the handholds. "But hurry!"
They finished their climb and were in another corridor where patches ofsunlight came through a pierced wall to dazzle their eyes. This wassimilar to the way which had run beside the courtyard in Zahur's castle.
Ross looked out of the first opening down into a courtyard. But whereZahur's had held the busy life of a castle, this was silent. Silent, butnot deserted. There were men below, armed, helmed. He recognized theuniform of the Wrecker warriors, saw one or two who wore the gray of theFoanna servants. They stood in lines, unmoving, without speech amongthemselves, men who might have been frozen into immobility and arrangedso for some game in which they were the voiceless, will-less pieces.
And their immobility was a thing to arouse fear. Were they dead andstill standing?
"Come!" Karara's voice had sunk to a whisper and her hand pulled at themen.
"What--?" began Ross.
Ashe shook his head. Those rows below drawn up as if in order to march,unliving rows. They could not be alive as the Terrans knew life!
Ross left his vantage point, ready to follow Karara. But he could notblot from his mind the picture of those lines, nor forget the terribleblankness which made their faces more u