The Devil's Eye Read online

  “I don’t know.”

  I consulted my link. “It’s a giant blue variable,” it said, “approximately 1.2 million times as bright as Salud Afar’s sun. It’s farther out from the galactic rim than Salud Afar. Range from Salud Afar—”

  I heard thunder in the west.

  “—twelve hundred light-years.”

  “How much brighter?” he asked.

  “One point two million.”

  “Oh,” he said. “That’s different. I thought you said one point three.”

  We’d heard several different opinions about what haunted the forest. There were claims for animated vegetation, mists that moved of their own accord, voices in the trees. I lay there thinking how easily people can be persuaded to believe such things. And I won’t deny it was an opportunity to relish my own superiority. I knew better.

  The fire had died out, and Callistra was about to sink into the trees. The temperature was dropping, so I didn’t want to get out of my sleeping bag and play with the logs. But my imagination took hold. Branches creaked a bit too much; occasionally I could hear a squishy sort of sound, like something walking through a marsh. Except that the ground was solid. And, yes, I know ordinarily that’s no big deal, but it was an utterly still night. There was zero wind, and aside from the vegetative slooshing and cracking, and the squishes, the only sounds came from insects and the river.

  It didn’t really scare me. But I’ve slept better.

  Neither of us was very big on food rations, the kind they pack in containers and that cook themselves. Alex had lived on the things in the old days when he’d gone to excavations with Gabe, but he’d since become accustomed to life’s more ample luxuries. Moreover, he was having second thoughts about the wisdom of traveling by canoe. But it was late to think about that.

  Anyhow, we skipped breakfast, packed everything up, and headed downriver, looking for a place where we could get the local equivalent of ham and eggs. The first town we came to—I don’t recall its name—had a café just off the pier. We beached the canoe, went inside, and got a table by the window where we could keep an eye on our means of transport.

  It was a small place, maybe eight tables and booths, but the bacon and fries smelled good. We ordered the coffee-equivalent and sat back to relax.

  There were maybe five other people in the place. The mood was subdued, as if someone had died. The waiters were all bots. Alex got up and walked over to one of the other tables. There were two men, guys who worked on the river probably. One was massive enough to sink our canoe. The other wasn’t much more than a kid. He asked them if something was wrong.

  “Goddam Mutes again,” the big one said.

  “What happened?”

  “They’re shooting at us.”

  “At Kumpallah,” added the kid.

  Kumpallah was a Confederate world, thirty thousand light-years away. “Well,” he said, “at least you don’t have to worry about them out here.”

  They looked at one another. “Where you been, bud?” said the big one. “They’ve been here.”

  Alex angled himself so he could face away from the sun. “I’ve heard about that.”

  “It’s just a matter of time before we’ll have to take the sons of bitches on. Isn’t it, Par?”

  “Looks like,” Par said. “They keep coming. Starting trouble.”

  “Kilgore keeps telling us,” said the big one, “we shouldn’t get excited. That they won’t bother us. But who’s dumb enough to believe that? I’ll tell ya, they ain’t diggin’ those shelters for their health.”

  Eventually we pulled up in front of a marker:

  BESSARLIK

  Oldest Settlement on Salud Afar

  Believed to Be Nonhuman

  2,000 B.A.

  The place was fenced off. There were more signs: ABSOLUTELY NO CAMPING. And OPEN DAWN TO DUSK. And CAMPING PROHIBITED EXCEPT IN DESIGNATED AREAS.

  The date, of course, referred to two thousand years before the arrival of the Aquila. The trees were thick, and if there’d ever been a city there, no part of it remained. “We should have brought a scanner,” I said.

  Alex shook his head. “It’s another scam.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I’ve done the research. This place was pulled together three centuries ago to make money for the locals.”

  I was getting annoyed. “Then why’d we bother coming?”

  “Because Vicki came. And I’d be surprised if she didn’t know the history of the place, too. Chase, it’s entertainment. You come and let your imagination take over. That’s what it’s all about. Nobody’s serious about any of this stuff.”

  We’d arrived in the early evening. There was a boat-rental operation at the end of a pier, and a campground. Along the riverbank were a sandwich shop, a souvenir store, and an inn. This, collectively, was the Hub. A few visitors were walking around, taking pictures. A tourist boat pulled up while we were there. Everybody got off and piled into the inn. We followed and found a young lady watering plants.

  I got the assignment to ask the questions, since Alex thought my chemistry with her would be better. Had she ever heard of Vicki Greene?

  “Who?”

  “The horror writer.”

  She shook her head. “If you ask at the desk, they can tell you whether she’s here.”

  “She wouldn’t be here now.” I showed her a hologram. Vicki dressed for a day in the woods—baggy white slacks, gray pullover reading UNIVERSITY OF KHARMAIN, and a green cap like the one Downhome Smith wears in the sims.

  She took a long look and shook her head. “Sorry,” she said.

  We’d made a mistake allowing the people from the tour boat to get in first. So we waited awhile, and finally I got to the service desk. The clerk was a middle-aged woman with a distinct sense that the hotel’s visitors were people with too much leisure time on their hands. Unlike her, a busy workingwoman. “We have a friend who may have stayed here,” I said. “About five or six months ago. Vicki Greene? Could you look her up and tell me whether she was ever at the inn?”

  She gave me a polite smile. “I’m sorry. It’s against the privacy laws. We’re not permitted to reveal that kind of information without the consent of the subject.” She talked as if that should have been obvious.

  “It’s important that we find her,” I said.

  “I’m sorry. I can’t help you.”

  I showed her some money. “I’d make it worth your while.”

  “If something happened, I’d get in trouble. Now, if you decide you want a room, let me know. Excuse me.” And she turned away.

  Alex had been listening, and I saw disapproval in his eyes. “You sounded like a politician.”

  “You do it next time.”

  He looked across the lobby. “We shouldn’t have bothered with this place,” he said. “Let’s go.”

  “What’s the plan?”

  “It’s a safe assumption that she wouldn’t come all the way out here and stay at an inn.”

  “Why?”

  “We know she came for the atmosphere. She rented a canoe when she could have flown in.” He shook his head. “She stayed outside.”

  “In the campground?”

  “No. And for the same reason she wouldn’t stay here.”

  The young lady with the watering can caught my attention. “Miss,” she said, “I couldn’t help overhearing. We don’t recommend camping outside other than in the official areas.”

  “Why not?” asked Alex.

  She was embarrassed. “It might be dangerous.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, people say there’s something out there—”

  “More advertising,” Alex said.

  The woman stopped. “Pardon?”

  “It’s okay. Thanks for the warning.”

  The doors opened, and we went out into the fading sunlight. An hour later we were camped just off the northern edge of the preserve. We built a fire and sat poking at it and drinking coffee. “You know,” I said, �
�if we’re really trying to duplicate her experience, we’ve got it wrong.”

  “How do you mean, Chase?”

  “I can’t answer for you, but I think the trip down this river would feel a lot different if I were alone.”

  “I know. But I don’t think we need to reproduce everything exactly. Just figure out what her frame of mind might have been.”

  “Ready to go home,” I said.

  “You’re not much of a camper, are you, Chase?”

  So we fell asleep for the second successive evening under the blue star. Eventually I woke up, thinking I’d heard something. But the night was quiet. The last log was still burning. I lay listening to the river, and the wind, and the quiescent hum of insects. Occasionally, wings fluttered above me, in the branches.

  I pulled my blanket a bit higher, adjusted the jacket I was using for a pillow, and was about to close my eyes again when I saw a light in the trees. On the other side of the river. I watched while it floated along the bank. It was a gauzy, dull glow, vaguely resembling a long cloak.

  I woke Alex.

  “What?” he said.

  I pointed. “Look.”

  He half rolled over. “It’s an animal of some kind,” he said. “Ignore it.”

  “It doesn’t look like any animal I’ve ever seen.”

  “You’re on another world, Chase. What do you expect?”

  THIRTEEN

  The media show us that supernatural creatures, when they come onstage, are uniformly disquieting, twisted, terrifying. One has only to see them to back away. To be repulsed. The truth is quite the opposite, child. These apparitions that come out of the night, that come seeking body and soul, are in their own way extremely attractive. One might say, ravishing. They are in fact quite irresistible. And that is why they are dangerous.

  —Wish You Were Here

  As I watched, it floated away from the trees and started across the river.

  I got up and went to the bank, as close as I could get, and took some pictures. It was a patch of luminescence, a radiant mist. A candle adrift in the night. I activated my link. “Identify,” I said.

  “Range, please?”

  “Fifty meters.”

  I watched its reflection in the water.

  “Object unknown.”

  “It does not match with any life-form on Salud Afar?”

  “Negative. There are various microscopic—”

  “Any natural phenomenon?”

  “None known.”

  It was almost across. I hurried forward, but it was drifting downstream, away from me. It floated over the riverbank and merged with the forest.

  I watched for a while, until long after it was gone. It was, I decided, a reflection. Or possibly some local machination, another unquiet grave, to entertain tourists.

  Well, they had me hooked.

  I went back and put another log on the fire. The river was dark and quiet. I climbed into my blanket, closed my eyes, and tried to laugh at myself. The insects got a bit louder, and somewhere a branch creaked.

  Go to sleep, Kolpath.

  The fire cracked and popped. I liked the smell of the burning logs. There was something reassuring about it.

  I opened my eyes and looked again. Still nothing out there.

  But I couldn’t get back to sleep. I lay several minutes, listening to the forest and the river, and finally I got up, pulled my jacket around my shoulders, switched on my lamp, and walked back to the edge of the river. There was nothing. I wondered if someone in a control room somewhere was having a good laugh at my expense.

  Callistra had set. The area where the apparition had entered the trees was dark. The only light anywhere, other than that I was providing, came from the misty edge of the galaxy, now rising in the east.

  It was getting cold. I started back to the campfire. And saw a glimmer in the forest.

  It was back.

  I turned off the lamp.

  It appeared to be just at the edge of the forest, not quite at treetop level, drifting quietly with the wind while it rose and sank.

  I thought about waking Alex, but he’d have complained again. He was probably right. Undoubtedly right. Still—

  When I was a little girl, I had a kitten named Ceily. I used to amuse myself with Ceily by pointing a laser light at the floor in front of her. She loved to chase it, and I used to run the laser around the room and up the walls. Whenever I got it down within her reach, she’d go into her crouch and sneak up on it and try to grab it.

  I felt a little bit like Ceily that night. I walked toward the light, taking my time, as if I might scare the thing off. The ground was uneven, and I wasn’t paying attention, so I almost fell on my face. The apparition retreated. Moved deeper into the trees. I followed.

  The grass was stiffer than anything we had at home, and it crackled underfoot. There was no clear track; I had to blunder forward as best I could through bushes filled with thorns and vines that, somehow, when they touched my skin, excited a tingling reaction. I pulled my hands up into my jacket sleeves.

  Then it disappeared again.

  I aimed the lamp at the trees, saw nothing, and decided to hell with it. Enough was enough.

  I turned to start back. And saw it behind me.

  About ten or twelve paces away. A gust of wind rattled the branches but had no effect on it. I wasn’t sure if I’d simply not noticed before, but the apparition was pulsing, alternately brightening and dimming. In sync with my heart.

  I was the woman in the haunted-house story who sees strange lights upstairs and goes in to see what’s happening. Even at that moment I wasn’t really afraid of it, so strong was my assumption that it was a hoax. I knew, absolutely knew, that someone, nearby, was controlling it. But I put my hand on the barrel of the scrambler.

  Somewhere a bell sounded. Twice. Three times. Probably from the Hub. Maybe from a passing boat.

  The apparition didn’t waver. Didn’t move. It simply floated in front of me. And I found myself thinking of Ceily.

  Of her last day.

  I’d been directed not to let her out of the house. Kittens weren’t safe outside, my father had warned me. We lived on the edge of a forest, and the woods were filled with predators. But she always wanted out, always tried to get through the door when I opened it, and I felt mean and contemptible keeping her inside. So one day I held the door open for her.

  She followed me onto the front lawn and we had such a good time together that I did it again the next day. I don’t know why, but I’ve always remembered it was the second day and not the first. And I was standing there minutes later watching her crouch as if she were going after one of the birds in the feeder when a yakim came out of nowhere and seized her in its claws, scooped her up, and soared into the sky with her. The last I saw of Ceily was her big eyes fastened on me, pleading with me to help. Within seconds the yakim and the kitten were gone, into the trees, and I went screaming after them.

  I never found her, of course. But I kept running and crying until I was exhausted. Then I realized I didn’t know the way home. And it got dark.

  It was a couple of hours before I heard distant voices calling my name. It was the only time in my life I wanted to die.

  And that night, in the forest on Salud Afar, it all came rushing back, as if everything had happened at once: Ceily rolled into the yakim’s claws, her eyes round and desperate, my heart pounding so loudly I couldn’t breathe, the dark woods stretching for miles in all directions, the dull dead sounds of the forest, the voices behind me somewhere.

  I fought back tears and thought how the world must have seemed to Ceily in those last moments, how alone she must have felt. And I traded places with her and rode with the yakim, while the ground fell away, knowing the claws would tear me apart within the next moments. Knowing I was alone.

  Then Alex was there, holding me upright, asking in a scared voice what had happened?

  I’m not sure what I said, but he responded by asking me about Ceily. “Say again: Who
is she?”

  He looked out of focus. “Where is it?” I asked.

  “Where’s what?”

  “The light.”

  He thought I was talking about my lamp, which was lying on the ground, its beam playing across a tangle of thorns and berries.

  “No,” I said. “In the trees.”

  He looked around. “I don’t see anything. Who’s Ceily?”

  In the morning, it only seemed like a bad dream. Alex thought it was another warning that we should back off. But it wasn’t like that at all. Something out there had gotten at me and triggered a response that no simple gimmick could have managed.

  I was still shaky when we called the people at Marquesi’s to inquire about Vicki. She’d left her canoe in the hands of the boat-rental outfit until Marquesi’s could fly someone out to ride it back. The store manager’s lips tightened. “You’re not planning to do the same thing, are you?” he asked. His voice had turned hostile.

  “I’ll make it worth your while,” Alex said.

  “Damn worth my while. You told me this wouldn’t happen.”

  Alex made the arrangements, and we gave the canoe over to Bessarlik Boating. By the way, did the owner remember somebody else doing this? Her name was Vicki Greene.

  “The horror lady,” she said. “Sure. I’d never forget her.”

  “Why? Did she say anything out of the way?”

  “Oh, no. Simply that I’ve read all her books. I loved meeting her.”

  “How’d she seem?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Was she all right? Did she seem upset, or anything like that?”

  “No. She was really nice. Why? She’s okay, isn’t she?”

  Vicki had mentioned she was headed for Morningdale. It was a town with a history of werewolves. Sounded like Vicki’s kind of place. Alex and I arranged transportation, and an hour later we’d leased a skimmer and were on our way again. Below, I noticed one of the beanbags drifting near the edge of the river. And suddenly, while I watched, a long green tentacle whipped out of the trees. A moment later both the tentacle and the beanbag were gone.