F. Wilson - The Tery

"There is none, I assure you. Mekk dwells in mortal fear of assassination — that's why he's postponed his inspection tour of the provinces so many times. The walls of his fortress are sheer and high — not even our tery friend could scale them."

"How about the main gate? There's got to be traffic in and out of the fortress."

"All civilians must have passes to enter the fortress, and all are sent home at dusk. Mekk's tower is surrounded by troopers day and night. There are no chinks in his armor. I'm afraid we're lost."

"No," Tlad said with a certainty that seemed unfounded, "We're not lost. Every stronghold has at least one weak spot. I'll find it."

He turned and hurried off into the trees.

The psi-folk arrived soon after Tlad's departure, and it was a silently joyous event. They all recognized Rab by his Talent and crowded around him, slapping him on the shoulders and back. Adriel was laid on a drag and had regained consciousness by the time they all returned to the camp area that evening. Rab, Komak, Adriel, and the tery sat apart during the celebratory feast that followed.

Rab gestured to the tery, who had not strayed from Adriel's side during the entire journey, and now listened intently to the conversation.

"This is quite a fellow you have here."

"That he is," Komak agreed.

Rab had made sure to impress upon all the importance of the tery's role in Adriel's rescue. He pressed the point again.

"I can't say it often enough: If not for this fellow, Adriel and I would still be locked within the keep, and the rest of you would be dead at the base of the walls."

"I know," Komak said. "I never thought he would amount to much when Tlad convinced me to bring him into the camp, but he's certainly proved me wrong. He's a smart one — smarter than some humans I've known."

"Is that so?" Rab’s his eyes danced as a smile showed through his freshly washed and trimmed beard. "And you say Tlad was responsible for bringing him into camp?"

"You know Tlad?"

"We've met. A most interesting man. I'm anxious to meet him again. We've many things to discuss. But getting back to our friend here — do you have a name for him, Adriel?"

The girl shook her head carefully; she had complained of a throbbing pain in both temples since awakening.

"No. I was waiting to find a name I like for him but never got around to deciding. He's always been just ‘the tery.’ "

"Then I shall take the liberty of naming him for you. Do you object?"

Adriel did not appear to be in a condition to object to much of anything.

"No. Go ahead," she said. "I could never make up my mind what to call him."

"Good," Rab said, seizing the opportunity. "Then I shall name him Jon."

"Jon is a man's name," Komak said. It was more of an observation than an objection.

"He shall be Jon, nonetheless."

Jon, the tery thought. He liked that name.

Two days later, when Adriel was well enough to travel, Rab assumed the role of leader with Komak’s grateful blessing.

"Which way shall we move?" As always, Komak spoke aloud when Adriel was present.

Jon, the tery, hovered nearby, listening.

"Eastward. That will take us further away from Kitru's realm."

"But it will also bring us closer to Mekk's fortress."

"I know," Rab said.

"Is that safe?"

"Don't worry, Komak. I fully intend to keep a respectful distance between our people and the Overlord's legions. But I'm formulating a plan. It's not fully developed yet. When it is, I'll let you know all the details. Trust me."

"You know I do. We all do."

Later, when Rab wandered off to a secluded spot where they could meet and talk, Jon asked him why he hadn't told the Talents about the cache under Mekk's fortress.

"I don't want to frighten them. Some of them may panic and scatter. That will serve no purpose. We must stick together…and we must have a purpose. Our days of blind flight are over. Our future is tied to what lies hidden under that fortress. So we've got to deal with the problem of Mekk now or spend the rest of our lives on the run."

"How?"

"I don't know…yet. But I sense that our enigmatic friend Tlad will find that elusive weak spot in Mekk's defenses. And when he does, he'll need help. I want us to be nearby to supply that help."

"Why does Tlad want to help Talents and teries?" Jon asked. The question had been troubling him.

"I don't know. Do you trust him?"

Jon nodded. "I owe him my life."

"Then you have good reason to trust him. I have no such reason, yet something within tells me that the fate of the Talents is in some way tied to Tlad and — stranger still — to you, Jon."

Jon was startled. "What can I do?"

"I don't know. But I feel constrained to keep all the pieces at hand until the puzzle can be solved. But as to the here and now," he said, shifting the subject, "I notice you've been avoiding Adriel."

"Yes," was all Jon could say.

Once he had assured himself that she was fully recovered from the drugs, he had kept his distance.

Rab shook his head. "She doesn't understand. I believe she's a little hurt."

"She will recover."

He turned back toward the camp.

The tery stayed with the tribe during its leisurely eastward trek. He continued to avoid Adriel, however, forcing himself to ignore her hurt and spread his company among the rest of the psi-folk. He did so not only because Rab suggested it, but because proximity to Adriel had become so achingly painful.

He would walk beside one of the Talents for a while and pretend that he was practicing his speech. He'd point to an object and call it by name, or point and pretend he didn't know what to call it and induce the Talent to tell him. He was fully accepted by everyone now because of his heroic rescue of Rab and Adriel, and within a matter of days the psi-folk seemed to be subconsciously convinced that he was more of a burly aborigine than an animal. Everyone delighted in working with Jon to increase his vocabulary.

Jon hated it.

Before he had met Rab it had been almost amusing to play the dumb animal. Now things were different. Now he found the role degrading. He wanted to belong, to be accepted as the thinking, feeling, rational being he was. He too awaited Tlad's return to give the psi-folk — and himself — a direction other than flight, a goal beyond survival.

Rab drilled the archers daily. The march would be stopped in mid-afternoon; after camp was set, targets would be raised. Some were suspended on rope with pulleys for practice against moving targets. Simultaneous volleys were rehearsed time and time again.

Jon often heard grumbling over sore fingers, arms, and shoulders, but he saw significant improvement in coordination and accuracy.

At sunset on the eighth day, Tlad walked into the camp.

Rab immediately drew him aside. Jon the tery followed. He wanted to hear what was being planned and, as ever, knew that he liked being near Tlad.

"Well?" Rab said expectantly when they were out of earshot of the rest of the tribe. "Did you find anything?"

"Yes and no." Tlad looked tired and his voice was strained, as if he recently had been under great stress. "There seems to be no way to get into Mekk's fortress other than a full frontal assault, and you haven't anywhere near the numbers for that. Also, there's no way to get to the weapons cache other than through the Hole."

Rab's face showed his disappointment. "So far you haven't told us anything we don't already know."

"Have patience. I have something."

He unrolled sheets of paper covered with incomprehensible wavering lines.

"What are those?"

"Maps. I've been wracking my brain to remember the maps I'd seen in Volume Five, and finally managed to come up with some crude copies from memory. They give us some idea of what the area around Mekk's fortress looked like before everything fell apart during the Great Sickness."