The Corridors of Time (16 page)

He who was priest and warlock had stayed on his feet. ‘I cannot understand how you endured, brilliance,’ he said. ‘Already
Brann cracks. The trickle of his secrets will soon be a flood.’

‘He got the same from me,’ Storm said grimly. ‘Had he been able to use the information – no, I don’t want to be reminded.’

Lockridge glanced at the dark veil, and away in haste. His stomach writhed. Behind lay Brann.

He didn’t know just what was being done. Not torture, surely. Storm wouldn’t stoop to that, and anyhow it was crude, probably
even useless against the nerves bred and trained, the unshakable will, of the future’s lord. Storm had been drugged; currents
of force had roiled her brain to its inmost depths. They would not let her die, but overrode the ego and compelled a ghastly
automatism of thought, so that inch by inch everything she had ever known and done, everything she dreamed and was, came to
the surface and was coldly marked into the molecules of a wire.

No living creature should have to go through that.

The hell not! Lockridge boiled. Brann’s eatin’ his own medicine, after he got my friends killed who’d never hurt him any.
This is a war.

Mareth collected his dignity. ‘So,’ he began. ‘We have learned the immediate situation, that being in the focus of his attention.
When Lockridge escaped up the corridor, Brann had naturally no idea of the help available in England. But the
possibility that Lockridge might somehow get news to the Wardens was worrisome. Thus Brann informed his agents thoughout Danish
history. They are, ah, still searching for our man, no doubt, and for any indications of a Warden rescue party being organized.

‘Meanwhile, he had to balance the risks of transporting your brilliance elsewhere and elsewhen, or keeping you here. Since
he had some reason to believe Lockridge would not, after all betray him to us, he decided to stay, at least temporarily. This
is a distant and seldom visited milieu. If he brought in only a few Rangers, and kept the Battle Ax people on hand as his
principal auxiliaries, he should be fairly safe from detection.

‘But as a result, we now have him, and unbeknownst to his organization. When we have completed his processing, we will have
the information needful to mount surprise assaults on Ranger positions thoughout time, ambush individual agents, break up
enclaves – deal them the worst setback of the whole war.’

Storm nodded. ‘Yes. I have been thinking about that,’ she said. ‘We can decoy the enemy into believing we have promptly moved
away ourselves, while actually remaining. Brann was quite right about this being a good place to operate from. Attention is
all on Crete, Anatolia, India. The Rangers think the destruction of those civilizations will hurt us severely. Well, let them
continue to think so. Let them spend themselves in helping along an Indo-European conquest that is foredoomed to happen. Both
sides have tended to forget the North.’

Her cloak swirled as she strode. She smote fist into palm and cried: ‘Yes! Piece by piece, we’ll withdraw forces hither. We
can quietly organize this part of the world just as we please. There is no proof that we never did; the possibility stands
gate-open. How much word will ever reach the South about the doings of barbarians in these far hinterlands? When the Bronze
Age comes, it will bear
our
shape, furnish
us
men and goods, guard
Warden
bases. The final great futureward thrust may well be pivoted here!’

In a blaze of energy, she turned to them and snapped forth orders. ‘As soon as may be, we shall have to develop native armed
forces, strong enough to inhibit cultural meddling. Jusquo, consider ways and means and give me some suggestions tomorrow.
Sparian, pull those Britishers out of their swinishness and organize them as a guard. But they’re too conspicuous; we must
not keep them any longer than need be. The gate in their country is unmanned, isn’t it? Urio, pick a few of them and flit
across; train them to stand sentry for the weeks it will yet remain open. We might need such a bolthole. We certainly have
to let Crete know we are here and arrange a consultation. Radio and mindwave are too risky. Zarech and Nygis, prepare to flit
there in person after dark. Chilon, start a program of acquiring detailed information about this entire region. Mareth, you
may continue to oversee the work on Brann.’

Something in their expressions spoke to her. She said impatiendy, ‘Yes, yes, I know you have your places in the sixteenth
century and don’t feel competent here. Well, you must learn to feel otherwise. The Cretan base has all it can do. They can’t
spare us anyone until reorganization is well under way. If we stop to squeal for help, we give the enemy too much chance to
discover what is happening.’

The eighth Warden lifted his hand. ‘Yes, Hu?’ Storm said.

‘Are we not to inform our own era, brilliance?’ the man asked deferentially.

‘Of course. That news can go from Crete.’ The jade eyes narrowed. She laid fingers to chin and spoke softly. ‘You yourself
will go home by a different route – with Malcolm.’

‘Huh?’ Lockridge exclaimed.

‘Don’t you remember?’ Mareth said. His lips writhed. ‘We have it recorded that he told you. You came and betrayed her to him.’

‘I – I —’ Lockridge’s mind whirred.

Storm moved near. He rose. She laid a hand on his shoulder and said: ‘Perhaps I’ve no right to demand this. But the fact cannot
be evaded. One way or another, you will seek Brann in
his own land and tell him whither I fled. And thus you will begin the chain of events that leads to his defeat. Be proud.
It is not granted many to be destiny.’

‘But I don’t know – I’m only a savage, next to him – or you—’

‘One link in the chain is myself, bound in blindness,’ Storm whispered. The scars will never leave my soul. Do you think I
would not wish otherwise? But we have only the one road, and walk it we must. This is the last thing I ask of you, Malcolm,
and the greatest. Afterward you may go to your own country. And I shall always remember you.’

He clenched his fists. ‘Okay, Storm,’ he got out in English. ‘On your account.’

Her smile, gentle and the least bit sad, was more thanks than he felt he deserved.

‘Go out to the revels,’ she said. ‘Be happy while you can.’

He bowed and stumbled away.

The sun dazzled him. He didn’t want to join the fun, there was too much that had to be faced down. Instead he wandered off
along the shore. Presently a hill was between him and the village. He stood alone and stared across the bay. Wavelets lapped
the turf, gulls skimmed white across blueness, a thrush whistled from the oak tree at his back.

‘Lynx.’

He turned. Auri walked toward him. Again she wore the garb of her people, bast skirt, foxskin purse, necklace of amber. Thereto
had been added in honor the copper bracelet which was Echegon the headman’s, wound tight to fit her wrist; and a dandelion
garland made gold across the blowing sun-whitened hair. But her mouth was unsteady and tears blurred the sky-colored eyes.

‘Why, what’s the matter, little one? Why aren’t you at the feast?’

She stopped beside him. Her head drooped. ‘I wanted to find you.’

‘I was around, except for when I was talking to The Storm. But you —’ Now that he thought back, Lockridge realized that
Auri had not danced or sung or gone with anyone to the greenwood. Instead, she hung about the fringes like a small disconsolate
shadow. ‘What’s wrong? I told everyone the curse was off you. Don’t they believe me?’

‘They do,’ she sighed. ‘After what has happened, they find me blessed. I didn’t know a blessing could be so heavy.’

Perhaps only because he didn’t want to dwell on his own troubles, Lockridge sat down and let her cry on his breast. The story
came out in broken words. Quite simply, her journey through the underworld had filled her with
mana.
She had become a vessel of unknown Powers. The Goddess must have singled her out for who could tell what. So who dared meddle
with her? She wasn’t shunned, or any such thing. Rather, she was reverenced. They would do whatever she asked, on the spot,
except treat her like one of themselves.

‘It… isn’t… they they won’t… love me. I could wait… for you … or someone else, if you really won’t. But… when they see me
… they stop laughing!’

‘Poor kid,’ Lockridge murmured in the language of his mother. ‘Poor tyke. What a hell of a reward you got.’

‘Are you afraid of me, Lynx?’

‘No, of course not. We’ve been through too much together.’

Auri hugged him close. Face buried on his shoulder, she stammered, ‘If I were yours, they, they, they would know that was
right. They would know this was the Goddess’ will which had been fulfilled. I would have a place among them again. Would I
not?’

He dared not confess she was entirely correct. She would always have a special standing. But once her new unguessable destiny
was no longer potential but actual, for the whole world to see, awe would be lost in ordinariness and she be granted plain,
easy friendship.

‘I don’t think any other man will ever dare touch me,’ Auri said. ‘But that’s best. I don’t want anyone but you.’

Damnation, you idiot! Lockridge raged at himself. Forget her age. She’s no American highschooler. She’s seen birth and love
and death her whole life, she’s run free in woods where
there are wolves and paddled skin boats through storms, she’s ground grain with stones and dressed skins with her teeth, she’s
outlived sickness. North Sea winters, a war, a trip that’d have had most grown men gibberin’. Girls younger than she is –
and she’s older than Shakespeare’s Juliet – are already mothers. Can’t you set aside your stupid inhibitions and do her this
one kindness?

No. That day in the skiff, he had come very close to surrender. Now he faced dreadfulness. He could only hold to his course
by keeping his mind filled with Storm. If he came back alive, he would demand as his payment that she let him forsake all
else and follow her. He knew she was indifferent to what he might do with any chance-met female. But he no longer was. He
couldn’t be.

‘Auri,’ he said, cursing his own gaucherie, ‘my work is not done. I must depart soon, on Her business, and I don’t know if
I will ever return.’

She gasped, clutched herself to him and wept until both their bodies shook. ‘Take me with you! Take me with you?’

A shadow fell across them. Lockridge looked up. Storm stood watching. She carried the Wise Woman’s staff, wreathed with hawthorn;
she must have gone forth to bless the people now hers. Dark hair, dress of ocean, cloak of rain, fluttered in a sudden gust,
around the tall form.

Her smile was unreadable, but not like the one she had bestowed on him in the Long House. ‘I think,’ she said with an edge
to her tone, ‘I shall grant the child her wish.’

Hu the Warden did not expect trouble on his way home. Lock-ridge was certain to reach Brann, during the interval between Storm’s
departure for the twentieth century and her enemy’s devastating counterblow. That fact was in the structure of the universe.

However, details were unknown. (Like the aftermath, Lockridge thought bleakly. Did he or did he not get back alive? The margin
of error in a gate made it unfeasible to check that in advance.) If nothing else, Ranger agents who observed Hu’s party might
deduce too much. He proceeded with caution.

Even by daylight, unpursued, in the company of a hero and a god, Auri was terrified of the tomb entrance to the corridor.
Lockridge saw how forlornly she stiffened her back and said, ‘Be brave this one more time, as you were before.’

She gave him a shaken, grateful smile.

He had protested Storm’s decree. But the Warden queen dropped her imperiousness and said mildly, ‘We have to get accurate
data on this culture. Not mere anthropological notes; the psyche must be understood in depth, or we can make some terrible
mistakes in dealing with them as closely as I now plan to. Skilled specialists can learn much by observing a typical member
of a primitive society exposed to civilization. So why not herself? She can’t be more hurt than she has been. Would you put
someone else in her anomalous position?’ He couldn’t argue.

The earth opened. The three descended.

They met no one on their trip futureward. But Hu took them out in the seventh century
A.D.
‘At this gate, Frodhi rules the Danish islands,’ he explained. ‘Also here on the mainland is peace, and the Vanir – the older
gods of earth and water – are still at least coequal with the Aesir. A little further on, the Rangers will drive us back and
the Vikings begin to sail. We
are too likely to encounter enemy agents in that part of the bore.’

Remembering those he had fought, Lockridge grimaced.

Winter lay on the world outside, snow crusted between the bare trees of a forest still enormous, the sky cold and featurelessly
gray. ‘We can move at once,’ Hu decided, ‘safe from ground observation. Not that it matters if some native spies us. However—’
He touched the controls of his gravity belt. They lifted.

‘Lynx, where are we?’ Auri exclaimed. ‘There cannot be so much beauty!’

Lockridge, used to the spectacle of clouds seen like blue-shadowed white mountains from above, had more interest in why they
flew warm through this frigid air. Some radiant-heating gimmick? But watching the girl’s eyes grow bright, Lockridge envied
her a little. And the rebirth of her laugh heartened him.

Denmark fell behind. Germany, frontier land of Christendom, was hidden by the same vapor mass until, after an hour, the Alps
stood forth sharp on the world’s rim. Hu got his bearings and presently took his followers down below the overcast. Lockridge
glimpsed a village, sod-roofed timber cabins within a stockade in the middle of an otherwise empty winterscape. The ground
was hilly, rivers ran black across a thin snow blanket, ice rimmed every lake. One day this would be called Bavaria.

Hu went as quickly as he could on a slant toward a certain high ridge. When they were down, he gusted a quite human sigh of
relief. ‘Home!’ he said.