Chapter IV

By the time medical supplies and equipment arrived--and also a message from Linda, who was thrilled from having heard of his good work among the barbarians--Ardelan's mountaineers had begun to accept Verrill as a man, and not a mere medico. His efforts to ride their half-tamed horses, time and again picking himself up from where they had thrown him, to mount and try again, amused them enormously, and gave them a comfortable feeling of superiority--and evoked a degree of respect.

To make his escape with the Fire of Skanderbek, he would have to ride on a few cattle- and sheep-stealing raids and so acquire sufficient skill for getting away with his loot.

It was Falana who explained the monstrous ruby's status as a tribal fetish. "Ages ago," she said, "the gods destroyed the world with fire, and after the flames had gone, the ghosts of the dead flames danced over the earth, and killed whoever came near. They killed without burning. The ghosts of the fire lived in the earth and air and water. And there were only small patches where men could live.

"And there was Skanderbek, a wise man who talked to the ghosts. Maybe he smelled them. Maybe he could see what others could not. Others say that he had a talisman that talked to him, and warned him where not to go. There are many stories.

"Skanderbek led his people to these mountains in time to keep them from starving or being poisoned. He made fire come out of the rock. Everlasting fire. Over it he hung the fire stone you now see. He taught us to bow to the fire and serve it, so that when the fire gods stopped hating mankind, the ghosts of the dead flames would go away. The years passed, and there was always further range for our animals. Other people came, and then of course there was looting and war.

"But Skanderbek talked with gods and devils, and so no one could drive us out of here. One day Skanderbek said, 'I am going back to the gods. Let such and such a one take my place; I have taught him what to do and what to say to the holy flame, so that fire will never again destroy the earth. And one day, wearing a new body, I will come back.' All this was a long time ago, long before your people came out of the sky with knives of steel, and with guns, to trade with us.

"And now tell me about your gods, Verrill."

There was very little to tell Falana, except that Science had become, had from the beginning been the god of Venus. He was quite too busy reflecting that Skanderbek, a man like himself, had undoubtedly used a Geiger counter and some imagination, and had as a result become a god.

He was thinking also of Linda's letter. She had not been able to give him much gossip about Dawson's plans to oppose him, since Dawson had left without having done much talking. But he inferred from what she did write, and from stories Ardelan's tribesmen brought from the disputed frontier, that a Venusian was living with the neighboring tribe, giving them rifles to take the place of their trade muskets. This suggested that Dawson was taking the simple and direct approach: coaching his protectors in the art of more efficient fighting, so that as the climax of an eventual raid into Ardelan's almost inaccessible fortress, Dawson could seize the Fire of Skanderbek and make off with it in the confusion.

Whatever Verrill intended to do, he would have to do it quickly.

* * * * *

He went to the shrine and asked, "Kwangtan, where is the grave of Skanderbek?"

"Skanderbek," the priest said, contemptuous of ignorance, "is not buried. He went back to the gods. Now go, and stay away."

"I have heard a story like _that_," Verrill retorted. "Among my own people, there are old books, ancient before Skanderbek was even dreamed of. And it is written always how one leader or another went back to the gods, not dying as other men died. But we know better. A man dies, and his bones remain."

Kwangtan's eyes sharpened and changed. He seemed to be asking himself whether this might not be one of those times when the wise thing was to make an ally of an enemy. And Verrill was at the same time thinking, "_Lies are the foundation of all priestcraft, and I've got this one searching the foundations._"

Verrill said, "If a man found the bones of Skanderbek, he could build a shrine there for the gods of death. Men serve most what they fear most."

"Which of us fears death?" the priest challenged. "We are fighting-men."

"My patients act otherwise," Verrill blandly countered. Then: "Skanderbek had no wings. His bones can not be far from here. The bones of Skanderbek will give a light like a glow-worm or a fire-fly. Wherever they are lying, they will be easily recognized. Any herdsman would know if he found them."

Verrill was gambling on the probability that Skanderbek, leading a group of Terrestrians to safety, had exposed himself overmuch to the deadly radioactivity, more so than any of those he led. Whether there had been sufficient to make his bones radioactive until they would glow, either then or now, was an open question. But Kwangtan was of the line of priests who create and maintain a tradition: the blend of knowledge and falsehood that keeps their craft alive and their privilege secure. Kwangtan would surely have enough of that blend to set him wondering, and in his own interests.

It was time to leave; and, nodding contentedly, Verrill left, rightly assured that the old devil would lose no time hunting the bones of Skanderbek, lest someone else find them first and set up a rival shrine. He would have to hunt by night, and alone. The nights were cold, and the trails dangerous.

A few nights later, Verrill went out, high on the rimrock, to lurk in a perilous perch overhanging the shrine. He saw Kwangtan momentarily outlined by the light that came from the grotto. The priest was making for the spring, and then climbing higher. Apparently he was going out by a secret way, for a concealed purpose. Well satisfied, Verrill climbed down out of the bitter cold wind which whined eternally about the limestone buttresses. Unobserved, he went down again into the shelter of the ledge, and to the house where Falana was asleep.

She no more perceived his return than she had his departure.

* * * * *

Before many days had passed, Verrill was busily probing for bullets, suturing sword slashes, and setting bones. When the fighting-men he had salvaged were well enough to be about and looking for more trouble, Ardelan confessed that he had entirely revised his notions on doctors. And that gave Verrill his chance to say, "I'll go along the next time there's a raid. I could have saved that one who died on the way."

Ardelan shook his head. "There is a personal enemy of yours among our neighbors. I can't take any chance of your being killed or captured."

"You're making a priest of me!" Verrill said, mockingly. "Living on the fat of the land, and taking none of the risks."

"You've made that for yourself," Ardelan retorted. "And speaking of priests, you'll have one for a patient."

"How's that?"

"Kwangtan is coughing a lot. He's failing rapidly. We had always thought he would live forever."

Verrill shrugged. "He's old, so old he hasn't much time left. He'd rather die a little sooner than admit that there is anything I could possibly do for him. Letting me treat him would be casting serious reflections on the fire god. How was the raid--did it pay?"

"Pretty well, all around."

"A few more sheep, and some more work for me!"

"More than that," Ardelan corrected. "There's a nice looking valley, but it's always been deadly. Poisonous from the beginning. We've never used it. That stranger, that Dawson, must have found out that the curse is no longer on the soil. They've been using it for their flocks. Well, it's ours, it always has been, so we ran them out."

"They'll come back?"

"Of course they will; but with enough raids, we'll discourage them, and then we can send some of our own people to hold it permanently. Build a settlement."

Verrill had heard talk of all this, but not in such clear terms; now, having got it from the chief, he could take notice, and he was prepared.

"Your oldest son will live there," Verrill surmised, "to represent you?"

Ardelan nodded. "Good experience for him against the day of my death, when he will rule the tribe."

"That's been worrying you."

Ardelan's brows bristled and his eyes went fierce. "Worrying about the day of my death--what do you mean?"

"I meant, worrying about your son's taking an exposed outpost."

"It's good experience for him."

"It's worrying you. The next son is six years younger."

The chief grimaced. "He's a reckless young fool and a show-off. Like I was at his age. And I don't think he has my luck."

"Next time there's a raid," Verrill promised, "I'll go. It will be good for all your men, not just for him in case he is wounded. It won't look as though you're favoring your son."

Ardelan grumbled something midway between throat and beard, and gave Verrill a gesture of dismissal. Verrill knew when to stop pressing a point; and he knew also that further words had not been needed.

In this he was right. He rode out with others who went to reconnoiter the dangerous valley, and there was no objection. He rode well. His presence was good for the morale of the raiders. And while he caught no sight of Dawson, he won prestige from supposedly having come to the frontier camps to get a shot at his enemy. Actually, he rather hoped that he would not have any such chance to settle the feud ... it would be much more satisfactory to have Dawson witness his return to Venus with the Fire of Skanderbek.

And of an evening, when he was at home with Falana, she would sit with him as he watched Venus hanging low over the rimrock, white and splendid; she was finishing her term as evening star. And the sight of that far-off globe made him more than homesick. It accentuated his feeling of remoteness and of exile, and at the same time made him uneasy and uncomfortable, as though he and his Terrestrian redhead were somehow under Linda's eyes.

And he was afraid lest Falana read his thoughts. The longer he stayed, the harder it would be to leave; for in spite of his having come with fraudulent intent, he had done enough good to these barbarians to have become attached to them.

Meanwhile, the sooner Venus became the morning star, the better he would like it.