Chapter 18

After much puffing and panting, muttered encouragements to each other, and occasional cursing, they finally reached the summit of the tallest hill. Abruptly, they found themselves facing a clearing which ran around its crown. Directly ahead of them was a forest of totem poles, all gleaming palely in the moonlight. Beyond it was the dark yawning of a large cave.

Green walked out from the shadows of the branches to take a closer look. When he came back he said, “There’s a little hut by the side of the cave. I looked in the window. An old woman’s asleep in it. But her cats are wide-awake and likely to wake her up.”

“All those totem poles bear the heads of cats,” said Aga. “This place must be their holy of holies. It’s probably taboo to all but the old priestess.”

“Maybe so,” replied Green. “But they must hold religious services of some sort here. There’s a big pile of human skulls on the other side of the cave mouth, and also a stake covered with bloodstains.

“We can do two things. Go on down the other side of this hill, jump off onto the plain and take our chances there. Or else hide inside the cave and hope that because it’s taboo nobody will explore it to look for us.”

“It seems to me that’s the first place they’d look into,” said Aga.

“Not if we don’t wake the old woman. Then if the savages come along later and ask her if anybody’s come by they’ll get no for an answer.”

“What about the cats?”

Green shrugged his shoulders. “We’ll have to take that chance. Perhaps, if once we get by them and into the cave, they may quiet down.”

He was referring to their caterwauling, which was beginning to sound dreadful.

“No,” said Aga, “that noise will be a signal to the islanders. They’ll know something’s up.”

“Well,” replied Green, “I don’t know what you intend doing, but I’m going into that cave. I’m too tired to run any further.”

“So are we,” affirmed the other women. “We’ve reached the end of our strength.”

There was a silence, and into that silence came a voice, a man’s.

It whispered, “Please do not be startled. Be quiet. It is I...”

Miran stepped out of the shadows behind them, holding his finger to his lips, his one eye round and pale in the moonlight. He was a ragged captain, not at all the elegantly uniformed commander of the _Bird of Fortune_ and the wealthy-appearing patriarch of the Clan Effenycan. But he carried in his other hand a canvas bag. Green, seeing it, knew that Miran had managed somehow not only to escape with his skin but had also carried off a treasure in jewels.

“Behold,” he announced, waving the bag, “all is not lost.”

Green thought that he was referring to the jewels. However, Miran had turned and beckoned to someone in the darkness behind him.

Out of it slipped Grizquetr. Tears shone in his eyes as he ran to his mother and fell into her arms.

Amra began weeping softly. Until now she had repressed her grief over the children she thought forever lost to her. All thought had been directed to saving her own life and the lives of the two girls who had survived with her. Now, seeing her eldest son emerge from the shadows as if from the grave had thawed the frozen well of sorrow.

She sobbed, “I thank the gods that they have given me back my son.”

“If the gods are so wonderful why did they kill your other two children?” asked Miran sourly. “And why did they kill my Clansmen, and why did they smash my Bird? Why... ?”

“Shut up!” said Green. “This is no time to cry about anything. We have to get out with whole hides. The philosophizing and tears can come later.”

“Mennirox is an ungrateful god,” muttered Miran. “After all I did for him, too.”

Amra dried her tears and said, “How did you escape? I thought all the males who hadn’t been killed in the wreck were speared?”

“Almost everybody was,” replied Grizquetr. “But I crawled down into the hold and slipped through to a hiding place beneath one of the fish tanks, which had overturned. It was wet there, and there were dead fish nestling beside me. The savages did not find me, though doubtless they would have when they began salvaging. It was thinking about that that decided me to crawl back out on the other side of the ‘roller away from the savages. I did so, and I found that I could belly my way through the grass growing on the edge. I almost died of fright, though, because I crawled head on into Miran. He was hiding there, too.”

“I was thrown off the foredeck by the impact,” interrupted the captain. “I should have broken every bone in my body, but I landed on a hull sail, which had come down and was lying on the starboard side, supported by the fallen mast. It was like falling into a hammock. From there I dropped into the grass and snaked along the very edge of the island. Several times I almost fell off, and I would have if I’d been a pound fatter, an inch wider. As it was...”

“Listen,” said Grizquetr, breaking in. “This island is the wuru!”

“What do you mean?” said Green.

“While I was clinging to the edge of the island I thought I’d hang down over it and see if there was any place there to hide. There wasn’t, because the underside of the island is one smooth sheet. I know, because I could see in the moonlight clear to the other side. It was smooth, smooth, like a slab of iron.

“And that’s not all! You know how the grass on the plains hereabouts has been tall, uncut? Well, the grass just ahead of the edge was uncut. But the grass underneath the island was being cut off. Rather, it was vanishing! The top of the grass was just disappearing into air! Only a lawn of grass about an inch high was left!”

“Then this island is one big lawnmower,” said Green. “More than just interesting. But we’ll have to investigate that later. Right now...”

And he walked toward the little hut by the cave mouth. As he approached it several large house cats streaked out of the doorway. A moment later Green came out. He grinned broadly.

“The priestess has passed out. The place smells like a brewery. The cats are in their cups, too. All drinking from bowls set on the ground for them, staggering around, yowling, fighting. If they don’t wake her up, nothing can.”

“I have heard that these old priestesses are often drunkards,” said Amra. “They lead a lonely life because they’re taboo, and nobody even goes near them except during certain religious customs. They have only their bottle and their cats to keep them company.”

“Ah,” said Miran, “you are thinking of the Tale of Samdroo, the Tailor Who Turned Sailor. Yes, that is supposed to be a story to entertain children, but I’m beginning to think there is a great deal to it. Remember, the story describes just such a hill and just such a cave. It is said that every roaming island has just such a place. And...”

“You talk too much,” broke in Aga harshly. “Let’s get on into the cave.”

Green could appreciate what Aga’s comment meant. Miran had lost face because he’d allowed his vessel to be wrecked and his Clansmen murdered en masse. To Aga and the other women he was no longer Captain Miran, the rich patriarch. He was Miran, the shipwrecked sailor. A fat old sailor. Just that. Nothing more.