《The Amtrak Wars I : Cloud_Warrior》25

'... and if I'd been just another Tracker?"

'We'd have left you to burn,' replied Cadillac.

Steve thought about that for a moment then asked, 'Why is it that some
of you call me The Death-Bringer?  What is it that Motor-Head who fears
nothing - has seen in his dreams?"

'He is a warrior.  Perhaps the death he dreams of is his own,' said
Cadillac.  He looked expectantly at Mr Snow.

The old wordsmith smoothed his beard and fixed his eyes on Steve.

'There are dreams that mirror the workings of the mind, dreams that
reflect the desires of the body, and dreams that bridge the void
between this world and that of the Sky People.  It is true that over
such a bridge certain knowledge comes but, alas, I am not a seer.  I
cannot say what Motor-Head's words may mean, or know what he has
seen.

What I can say is that there will come a time when the role you are
destined to play in the emergence of Talisman will be revealed to
you."

Mr Snow paused, then added enigmatically.  'At that moment you will
discover not only what it is you have to do but also who you are."

The two wordsmiths watched Steve impassively as he reflected silently
on what he had just been told.  He lifted his eyes to theirs.  'When is
all this supposed to happen?"

Mr Snow spread a palm.  'When the earth gives the sign."

'Yes, I know what the words say,' said Steve, with a trace of
irritation.  'But when is that going to be?  You've been waiting six
hundred and fifty years already!  Maybe the saviour of the Plainfolk
isn't coming.  He may have decided that it's safer to stay where he
is."

Mr Snow's calm remained undisturbed.  'He will come.

Not in my lifetime, perhaps.  But certainly in yours - an event you may
regret, for you are destined to be a leader of your people."

'I, also, shall know Talisman,' said Cadillac, not wishing to be left
out of the discussion of such great events.  'The Old One has told me
this."

Even though Mr Snow's words seemed to confirm his own belief that he
had been marked out for greater things, the conversation did little to
ease Steve's inner turmoil.

Even his basic instinct for survival, which should have been telling
him to head for cover, was being torn in two.  Steve remained
insatiably curious as to what his possible role might be but, at the
same time, was frightened by what he might discover.  Despite his
deep-seated responses to what he had seen and heard, Steve's Tracker
background, with its emphasis on unquestioning obedience,
military-style discipline and rigorously applied logic, made him shy
away from the darker side of the Mute persona with its predictive
visions and its manipulative magic.  The world of the Mutes was like a
giant whirlpool waiting to trap the unwary.  Those foolish enough to
leap into the swirling currents in search of the answers to its
mysteries were slowly sucked towards the dark vortex at its centre and
disappeared without trace.  And yet, and yet... Steve felt himself
drawn back towards it, gripped by a shadowy power beyond his control.

Escorted by thirty Bears, Mr Snow and Cadillac left the settlement and,
over the next three days, ran eastwards going far beyond the clan's
turf markers into the Middle Lands of the Plainfolk.  Twice, during the
outward journey, they encountered the markers of other clans; on each
occasion they altered course to run around the territory involved.

Once, they lay hidden until dark to avoid a large hunting party.  Not
because they feared a confrontation, but because it was unnecessary.

It would have involved a needless waste of life.  After the battle with
the iron snake, the clan needed to husband its strength in readiness
for the next confrontation with the sand-burrowers.  Mr Snow's purpose
was to find a specific location which the Sky Voices had indicated to
him in a recent message.  Eventually, after running nearly four hundred
miles, his inner ear told him that they had reached the approximate
location - the point where the great river whose course they had
followed all the way down from the Western Hills met its sister coming
up from the south-west.  A point which, on pre-Holocaust maps of the
overground, marked the junction of the North and South Platte Rivers in
Nebraska.

Sitting down thanlffully under the wide branches of a tree, he sent
Cadillac to search for a seeing stone.  Motor-Head, who was charged
with organising their escort, ordered them to disperse in pairs to
patrol the area around them.  When Cadillac's search of the north bank
proved fruitless, they crossed over onto the narrow strip of land where
the two rivers ran side by side before becoming one.

Then, when Cadillac again drew a blank, they tried on the far side of
the southern river.

It was here that they found traces of one of the ancient hardways along
which giant beetles had once carried the men of the Old Time.  The
beetles, Mr Snow explained, left a trail of sticky black slime - like
snails, and black horned worms - so they could find their way back
again.  This black trail gradually hardened, becoming thicker and
thicker with each passing beetle as they followed each other in long
lines, jammed nose to tail.  Once laid down, the hardway was used over
and over again because the beetles knew where they were going and could
move faster.

Men of the Old Time, said Mr Snow, were obsessed with speed.  They had
built a huge crossbow that had shot a bolt with men inside it all the
way to the moon.  They had other bolts with wings like huge arrowheads
that could cross the sky faster than the sun.  They were masters of the
world but they never learned to love each other.  And they had
forgotten The Way of the Warrior.  And so, through their ignorance and
hatred, the world had died in the War of the Thousand Suns.  Clans
numbering more than the raindrops in the sky fell like shrivelled
leaves at the Yellowing.  Killed not by their equals in single combat
but by strange secret words spoken by machines made with the High
Craft, hidden deep within the earth - like this Columbus, the
cloud-warrior had talked of.  Sharp iron of unimaginable power wielded
by men who had not chewed bone.

Cadillac pondered these deep and tragic mysteries of the Old Time as he
searched for a seeing stone.  Eventually, as the sun sank towards the
western door, he found one.  Mr Snow squatted cross-legged and watched
intently as his pupil knelt, closed his eyes, raised the stone to his
forehead and began the process which caused the pictures from its
memory to flow into his mind.

'Find me the iron snake,' said Mr Snow.  'Go forward a little way
through the time-clouds and fred me a great battle."

Since his first attempts to make practical use of his gift at the
urging of his teacher, Cadillac had gradually improved to the point
where he now remembered much of what he had seen and spoken of while in
contact with the stone.  He had discovered that far and near memory
could be distinguished by the intensity of the aura which surrounded
them, and his inner eye had begun to recognise the difference between
visions from the past and those from the future.

Still grasping the stone firmly, Cadillac lowered it to his knees.  His
face muscles tightened, dragging the ends of his closed lips back and
down as he shied away from some fearful internal landscape of horror.

'My mind flies forward, but I cannot yet tell how far I journey,' he
gasped, the words hissing out between his clenched teeth.

'Look for Clearwater,' suggested Mr Snow.  'Look for yourself and the
cloud-warrior.  Summon them with all the power of your mind.  Perhaps,
in this way, their images will come to the fore and the others will
remain sealed within the stone."  The old wordsmith sat back
patiently.

Behind him, the wide waters of the two great rivers moved slowly
eastwards.  Several minutes passed.  Cadillac's head rolled from side
to side and his body began to twitch and then was racked by more
violent muscular spasms.  Mr Snow made no attempt to prompt him
further.

Suddenly Cadillac's spine became rigid.  He turned his sightless face
to the sky, his features contorted with anguish.

'The iron snake stands over me!"  he cried.  'Oh, Mo-Town!

Great Mother!  It runs with the blood of our people!"  Cadillac began
to moan, a keening sound that became a harsh sobbing noise as he was
shaken by another spasm.

After a few moments, the convulsions died away.  He slumped forward
awkwardly, crushed under the weight of his grief.

Mr Snow watched him in silence.

For several minutes Cadillac did not move then he slowly sat up, drew
his shoulders back and turned his tear-streaked face towards Mr Snow,
gazing at him with great tenderness.

'There is nothing but pain and sorrow in this stone."  He cast it
aside.

'The world is full of it, my son,' replied Mr Snow quietly.

'It is the burden of the Warrior.  The dark side of existence that
threatens to crush the soul.  Only those strong enough to bear it can
reach the light beyond where true happiness lies."

'Even so, I wish you had not brought me here."

'Why not?"

'Because this is the place of your death, Old One."

Cadillac's eyes filled with fresh tears.  He brushed them away
angrily.

Mr Snow grimaced and drew his hand slowly over his beard.  'When is it
to be?"

'In less than twelve moons.  Near the time of the Yellowing."

The late summer of the coming year.  The old wordsmith lowered his head
and digested this news in silence then raised his eyes and let them
range over his surroundings: the rolling prairie covered with red
buffalo grass that lay north of the river; the billowing towers of
cloud advancing slowly from the eastern door like stately Spanish
galleons under full sail - precious words, those, from the Old Time
while to the south, a low band of dark grey rain cloud threw the long
shadowed stand of tall, white-trunked larches into bright relief, their
orange and yellow leaves aflame in the slanting rays of the sun; to the
west, over his right shoulder, the blue, distant hills to which they
must now return.  Mr Snow swept his hand around the horizon and beamed
at Cadillac.

'Come!  Put away your grief and look around you!  How can you be
saddened by such beauty?  This is a good place to die I' Slapping his
thighs, Mr Snow rose as if he had not a care in the world, threw his
arms out wide and drank in the late afternoon air.

Cadillac had seen many things in the stone at the joining of the two
rivers.  Some were too painful to talk of- even to Mr Snow - but, as
they headed west on the return leg of their journey, he revealed that
the cloud-warrior would have to be set free for it was his departure
that led directly to the events he had foreseen, bringing fulfillment
of the Prophecy one step nearer.

'It will not be easy to arrange,' observed Mr Snow.

'Despite the sign at the Biting of the Arrow, some of our clan-brothers
still seek his death.  They will do all they can to prevent his
escape."

Cadillac shrugged.  'If he follows the path drawn by Talisman, the
cloud-warrior will overcome them."

Mr Snow smiled.  'Spoken like a true wordsmith.  Even so, to stand any
chance of success, the cloud-warrior will have to take the arrowhead.

Can you build another?"

Cadillac nodded.  'If you desire it, yes."

The two wordsmiths exchanged a conspiratorial smile.

Steve could not have picked a more apt pupil.  Cadillac did not need to
be 'taught'; the act of instruction merely provided the young wordsmith
with the opportunity to insert a mental plug into Steve's memory and
make a duplicate record of everything that was stored in the files.

Cadillac had learned to fiy with consummate skill because his brain
circuits now contained the same sensory data that had enabled Steve to
perform so well at the Academy.  And when presenting Steve with the
'remains' of the three Skyhawks, the clan had taken care to conceal the
wing fabric from Steve's own craft.  Although split in several places
and scorched at one wing tip, the panels were otherwise virtually
intact.  The M'Calls had also held back an undamaged motor and
propeller.  Unknown to Steve and his masters within the Federation, the
Plainfolk now possessed, through Cadillac, the knowledge to build and
fly a craft similar to BlueBird.

It was a task Mr Snow had secretly agreed to undertake on behalf of the
mysterious iron masters of Beth-Lem.  They had asked him to deliver a
cloud-warrior and an undamaged arrowhead.  In the event they would get
neither, but Cadillac's newly acquired flying skill and a reconstructed
craft would serve their purpose just as well.  And in return, the iron
masters - whose promises were always honoured would furnish the M'Calls
with new and powerful long, sharp iron...

When they halted for the night, and while Cadillac slept, Mr Snow
stared thoughtfully at the glowing embers of the fire and considered
how the cloud-warrior's departure might be achieved.  Steve had had the
means and the opportunity to escape for nearly a month, but, so far,
nothing had happened.  After pondering the problem at length, Mr Snow
turned to the Sky Voices.  With their help he understood that Steve's
inertia was not due to his fear of Clearwater's powers as a summoner
but because of his unrequited desire for her.  It was the other,
sweeter, kind of death he longed to suffer by her hand.  Allowing them
to come together might, paradoxically, be the best way of securing his
departure.  It would be a minor betrayal of his young protdg, and was
totally contrary to the wishes of the clan elders, but if this was the
will of Talisman, then so be it.

Without disturbing the other sleeping warriors, Mr Snow woke a young
Bear called Death-Wish and told him to return immediately to the
settlement.  A non-stop run of three hundred miles - a day and a half's
running.  He was to bring twelve hands of warriors to meet them on the
eastern edge of the D'Vine turf.  He was also to take, in the utmost
secrecy, a gift to Clearwater.  Opening the bag slung round his waist,
Mr Snow handed Death-Wish a small pouch closed at the neck by a
draw-string tied in a sealed knot around a knuckle bone.  Mr Snow did
not disclose its contents to his fleet-footed messenger but inside was
a thin, standard-issue chain necklace and dog tag bearing Steve's name
and number, and a dozen threads of Dream Cap. The next morning, when
Cadillac discovered Death-Wish's departure, Mr Snow explained he had
been sent to fetch reinforcements to cover their crossing of the D'Vine
turf.  Cadillac accepted this without question.  He had no knowledge of
Mr Snow's secret plan of action but he was now aware, through his
reading of the stone, of Steve's future desire to possess Clearwater.

He had already sensed they were drawn to each other but had not
challenged either of them to deny it.  His indecision on the subject
was due to Mr Snow.  Ever since Steve's 'confession', the old wordsmith
had used his formidable powers to cloud Cadillac's perception in the
same way he had fudged Commander Hartmann's thought processes prior to
the attack on the wagon-train.

Unfortunately, Mr Snow had not been able to beam out the same stealthy
static while Cadillac searched the stone.

As a result, the young wordsmith had been shaken by the unexpected
intensity of feeling that accompanied the images of Steve and
Clearwater.  From his other delvings into the cloudowarrior's mind
Cadillac knew that his own friendship with him was based on genuine
feelings; feelings which were in constant conflict with the dark,
treacherous side of Steve's nature.  Up to now, he had viewed Steve's
dilemma sympathetically but the revelation of the full extent of his
future relationship with Clearwater had a galvanising effect on his
psyche.  When he emerged from his trance-state, Cadillac's mind was
stripped of its previous mental lethargy, and despite the renewed
jamming operation by Mr Snow, remained sharp and clear.

Up to that moment, Cadillac had firmly believed in predestination and
the unquestioning acceptance of the will of Talisman.  But now, pride,
jealousy, a sense of outrage and betrayal, made him a driven man.  He
felt a rebellious urge to do something; to be in control; to impose his
will through some simple, yet decisive, act that would change the
course of future events; would alter the direction of the River of Time
so that the death and destruction he had foreseen would not occur.  He
was aware that, in attempting to tamper with the preordained, he was
setting himself up as the equal of the Supreme Being that watched over
the Plainfolk and he knew it was wrong, but this did not deflect his
growing resolve.  It was a forgivable conceit he shared with numberless
other young men - and many older ones too - who had gone before him.

Towards sundown on the day that Death-Wish had been despatched in the
hours before dawn, Cadillac sought out Motor-Head during one of their
brief halts.  The heavily-muscled warrior was crouched in a stream
splashing water over his face, chest and arms.  Black-Top and
Steel-Eye, his constant companions, lay sprawled on the bank eating
yellow-fists, the Mute name for a type of large, wild apple.

Motor-Head cupped his hands and splashed water over Cadillac as he
hunkered down on the edge of the stream.

'Your face looks heavy, sandworm.  You got something on your mind?"

'Yes.  I would speak with my brother Bear of things I have seen in the
stone."

Motor-Head stepped out of the stream and beckoned Black-Top and
Steel-Eye to come and sit on either side of him.  The three warriors
squatted down facing Cadillac.

Motor-Head snapped his fingers and pointed to Cadillac.

Black-Top tossed him a yellow-fist.  Steel-Eye placed another in his
leader's outstretched palm.  Motor-Head took a huge bite out of it.

'What would you speak of?"

'The Death-Bringer."

Motor-Head spat the chunk of fruit out of his mouth, tossed the other
piece away, then leant forward with his wrists on his knees and fixed
his jet-black eyes on Cadillac's face.  His huge hands hung loose but
his jaw was set, his neck muscles tensed, his killer instinct aroused
by the subject of the cloud-warrior.

'He plans to take wing,' said Cadillac.  'To return to the dark cities
beneath the desert.  And he wishes to take Clearwater with him."

Motor-Head glanced at his two companions then studied Cadillac with
narrowed eyes.  'When is this to be?"

'Soon.  It could be within two or three moon-risings."

'Does the Old One know of this?"

'He has not spoken of it to me,' replied Cadillac.  'Nor I to him."

Motor-Head's eyes glittered as he got the message.  'What do you wish
us to do - clip his wings?"

'Yes.  But in a way that does not harm the arrowhead."

Motor-Head exchanged another look with BlackTop and Steel-Eye and
gained their silent assent.  He turned to Cadillac.  'We will make the
run for home when the others sleep under Mo-Town's cloak.  It will be
hard.  It is more than a day's running.  We may not get there in
time."

Cadillac offered the yellow-fist he'd been given to Motor-Head.

'If anyone can do it, you will."

Motor-Head nodded with visible pride.  'True."  He gripped his knees
and flexed the muscles in his arms and shoulders.  'So - this
treacherous crow fouls the floor of those who feed him.  Is he to be
killed?"

Cadillac considered the idea very seriously.  To delay the
cloud-warrior's departure was a decision that could be reversed; to
order his death was an irrevocable act that might lead to an even
greater disaster than the one he sought to avoid.  It could also render
him totally unworthy in the eyes of Mr Snow.  'No,' he said.  'Don't
kill or cut him.

Just... keep him on the ground."

Motor-Head's mouth turned down sharply.  'You disappoint me,
sandworm.

There is venom in your heart but your tongue lacks bite.  A man who
would take the place of Mr Snow needs iron in his soul.  If he cannot
say or do the hard things, the clan will go under."

Cadillac searched his conscience and found what he felt was the true
answer.  'He who would give wise counsel must know when to take life
and when to spare it.  The Way of the Warrior is not drenched in
blood.

The strength and courage needed to kill your enemy is only the first
step along the Path to Understanding."  ?Motor-Head snorted
contemptuously.  'I will not cross words with you, little brother.

Your head holds the star-secrets, my hand holds sharp iron - but we
were both born to defend the Plainfolk in the name of Talisman."  He
waved a finger at the fruit in Cadillac's hand.  'Go!

Sweeten your tongue on that yellow-fist while you wonder at the ways of
the world and leave the cloud-warrior to us."

When darkness fell, Mr Snow's party halted.  After a brief meal around
a small log fire, sentinels were posted and the rest of the party
wrapped themselves in their woven-straw blankets.  Cadillac found it
impossible to sleep.  He twisted and turned restlessly, gnawed by
indecision and guilt.

Finally, when he could bear it no longer, he sought out the old
wordsmith.

Mr Snow was sleeping deeply and was not in the best of humour when
Cadillac woke him.  'Great Sky-Mother, what is it?"  he grumped.  He
sat up and shivered.  'Talisman!  It's cold!  Uuughh!  I'm getting too
old to sleep outdoors."  He pulled the straw blanket around his
shoulders.  'Is there any wood left to put on that fire?"

Cadillac cast around in the darkness, and found a few pieces.  He
stirred the dying embers and blew on them till the wood burst into
flame.

Mr Snow warmed his hands.  'That's better,' he muttered.

He studied Cadillac's face in the flickering orange glow.

'You look as if the roof's fallen in."

'I have dishonoured you, Old One."

Mr Snow yawned and stretched.  'Let me be the judge of that.  Just
start at the beginning and keep it short and simple."  He dropped his
eyes from Cadillac's face and stared at the flames.

Cadillac recounted his anguish at what he had seen in the stone, then
took a deep breath and told Mr Snow he had sent Motor-Head, Black-Top
and Steel-Eye to punish the cloud-warrior.  He sat back nervously,
expecting his teacher to explode in anger.

For a while, Mr Snow said nothing.  He just stared into the fire for
what seemed like a long time.  When he raised his head he looked old
and tired.  'When did they leave?"

'Soon after we ate."

Mr Snow let out a long, weary sigh then rubbed his face briskly.  'We'd
better get going then..."

'To the settlement?"  Cadillac found himself confused by Mr Snow's low
key response.

'Where else?"

'You are not angry, Old One?"

Mr Snow yawned again.  'Angry?  You bonehead!  You imbecile!  What you
have done changes nothing!  Do you think any of us can deflect the will
of Talisman?  You are an instrument of that will!"  Cadillac uncrossed
his legs and knelt with his head bowed.  'Forgive me, Old One, for
being blind and deaf to your words."

'There's nothing to forgive,' grunted Mr Snow.  'When I was your age, I
also thought I could be master of the world.

But that's not the way it is."  He got to his feet and started to roll
up his blanket.

Cadillac rose.  'Does that mean we must accept dishonour - take no
action, do nothing?"

'Of course not!"  exclaimed Mr Snow.  'You do whatever has to be
done!