Piers Anthony - Neq the Sword

Slowly the encircling men lowered their weapons.

As the sun descended they were ushered to the edge of the haunted forest. It seemed normal--mixed birch, beech and ash, some pine, with pockets of pasture heavily grown. Rabbits scooted away from the party. Good hunting, certainly!

"Are there radiation markers near here?" Tyl inquired. "Some. But that danger is over. We have a click-box; the kill-rays are gone."

"Yet men still die," Tyl murmured.

"Only by night."

That certainly didn't sound like radiation. It didn't come and go; it faded slowly, and was not affected by daylight.

"If Var were here--" Vara began. And caught herself.

"It is about ten miles," the tribe leader said. "We have a smaller digging downstream. Sometimes we need to travel between the two at night--but we must bike twice as far, over the mountain. No one passes the valley by night."

"The river looks clean," Tyl observed. "Your footpath is open?"

"Throughout. There are no natural pitfalls, no killer-animals here. Once there were shrews, but we exterminated them. Now there are deer, rabbits, game-birds. No hunting animals."

"You have found bodies?"

"Always. Some without marking. Some mutilated. Some dead fighting. We never send a man alone or unarmed, yet all perish."

So they ambushed innocent travelers to send here, Neq thought. Very neat, but none too clever. Hadn't it occurred to them that whoever conquered the haunted forest might have second thoughts about the manner he had been introduced to it? He might decide on a bit of vengeance. In that case, solution of the forest riddle could be disastrous for the tribe.

Tyl began to walk. Neq and Vara followed quickly. It was not dark yet, but night would set in long before they got through the forest. A ten mile hike by night, rested and fed--routine, except for ghosts!

When they were well away from the tribesmen, they split, ducking down out of sight on either side of the trail. No word was spoken; all three were conversant with such technique. The greatest danger might be from the men behind, not the supposed ghosts in front. Strangers might be deliberately killed in the forest to sustain the notoriety of the region, for surely the tribesmen could not be entirely ignorant of the nature of the threat, whatever it was.

But no one was following. Cautiously the three proceeded, Tyl flanking the forest side of the trail, Vara following the river side, and Neq, who could not fight, moving cautiously down the center. He held a thin stick in his pincers, probing for deadfalls, and he walked hunched to avoid a potential trip-wire or hanging noose. He expected to encounter something deadly, and not a ghost!

In an hour they had covered less than two miles. Their extreme caution seemed to have been wasted; no threat of any kind materialized. But eight miles remained, and eight hours of darkness. The fear of the tribesmen had been genuine; perhaps they delved underground because of a lingering terror of the forest surface.

The way was beautiful, even at night. The somber trees overhung the path to the west, highlighted by the full moon, and the river coursed slowly on the east side, and great vines covered with night-blooming flowers lay along the ground. The heavy fragrance surrounded them increasingly, musky and refreshing in the slight breeze.

Neq recalled his childhood. It had been nice, then, with his family and his sister. All the subsequent glory and ruin of empire could not compare with that early security. Why had he left it?

Hig the Stick! The man had cast his lustful gaze on Nemi, Neq's young twin sister! Neq clenched his sword-hand in reminiscent fury and bravado--and remembered he had no hand. Yod the Outlaw had taken it--

Time twisted about. It was dark, but Neq could see well enough in the diffused moonlight. A shape was coming at him, and it was the shape of Yod. Yod, whose foul loin had--

Neq whipped up his gleaming sword and launched himself at the enemy. A head would ride the stake tonight!

Contact! But his sword did not handle properly. It clanged, a discordant jangle.

Shocked, he remembered. No sword! This was the glockenspiel, for making music.

He peered more carefully at his opponent. "Tyl! Do you raise your sword to me in anger?"

Startled, Tyl stepped back. "Neq! I mistook you for--someone else. But he is dead. I must be overtired. I do not raise my sword to you."

Mutually shaken, they retreated from each other. How could such a confusion have come about? Had the glockenspiel not sounded, they might easily have fought, and Tyl could have slain him unwittingly. What irony, when they had not yet even encountered the menace of the forest!

Another shape approached him, stealthily. But Neq was far too experienced to be caught unawares. This was not Tyl--it was not even male!

Neqa! Blonde Miss Smith, the crazy woman! He ran to embrace her.

"Minos!" she cried. She was naked; her bosom heaved in outline as she brought up her sticks.

Sticks? That could not be Neqa! It had to be--Vara. Coming to kill him. Coming for her vengeance.

But she dropped her weapon again. "I may not resist you, Minos. Come, spit me on your monstrous member. Only let Var go." And she spread her arms in a kind of invitation.

What was happening to her, to him, to Tyl? Neq had fancied Neqa before him; now Vara fancied Var. Or Minos, whoever he was. And Tyl had attacked....

Neq retreated, trying to straighten it out, but confused images continued to spin in his brain. The standing trees seemed menacing, the river was a giant snake, the darkness itself was suffocating. He felt the urge to fight, to kill, to destroy.

Now Tyl was coming again, bearing his sticks. Vara too. Neq got out of the way with almost pusillanimous haste, not liking this situation at all. Tyl might have his grudges and Vara might have reason to kill him, but this was not proper and certainly not normal for either.

Tyl met Vara. "Get out of my camp, you slut!" Tyl cried, raising his sticks.

"No, Bob, no!" she screamed, retreating but keeping her face to him. "Touch me and I kill you!"

They were about to fight each other--and Neq's status was not the issue! They were like demons, prowling about. each other in the night, too cautious to strike until the blow could be lethal. Like outlaws, killers of Neqa....

Neq charged, his sword whistling. Death to them both!

But he did what he never did: snagged his foot in a ground-vine and crashed down ignominiously. The dirt and leaves of the forest floor ground into his face, and the glockenspiel jangled again--an incongruous burst of sound.

Neq rolled over and spat out mud. His body had been humbled, but for the moment his mind was clear. These were the ghosts! These maddened people, seeing visions and attacking each other! That was the death that lurked in this forest!

The fragrance of the night-bloomers came again, anesthetizing his nostrils with its splendor. Like alcohol, the fumes altered his perspective, made the real unreal, the unreal real....

There was killing to be done. The spooks were almost upon him. Neq lurched up, flung himself down the steep bank, into the black water of the river. The shock of cold brought his brain to full clarity again.

There was death here, all right. Death from the spirits. Vapor spirits--windblown alcohol that evoked the kill-passions. A gaseous murderer who left no footprint, no scar. The haunt of the forest. He knew it for what it was, now--yet it could not be avoided. A man had to breathe! Physical shocks could abate it only temporarily; already that insidious fragrance was seeping through his nose and into his lung and on to his brain, modifying his perception. substituting more evocative images....

The sword could not battle this! Only an unarmed man, alone, could hope to survive. And what man would enter this forest that way?