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The Gathering

OPEN ROAD INTEGRATED MEDIA

The unit was power. It had the force of four who were time-travelers. Now it was between its present and that future it knew as Dustland. It was in the Crossover between times. The Crossover echoed with sighs and whispers of mind-travelers trapped in it for eternity. Those travelers had failed to hold their concentration while mind-jumping from one time to another. They were trapped forever in the nowhere between times—unless, as swarming multi-beings, they grew powerful enough to will their way out. They attempted to capture new time-travelers, such as the unit on its way to Dustland.

The unit dared not lose concentration. It whirled, dodging t'being swarms. It massed its energy on the future and on a future animal it called Miacis. Its light was the Watcher, which surrounded the unit with clear purpose.

i am the Watcher, willed the unit.

The Watcher lit the way through the awful confusion the swarm placed in its way. At all cost, the unit must hold to its place and instant in the future.

It outmaneuvered vicious t'beings until it reached the final seam on the far side of the Crossover.

i am the Watcher, willed the unit. It rolled and plunged.

Future time started. The unit was there. At first it could not tell where it was. But gradually it divined that it had somehow entered the future within a dream that a being of Dustland had been having again and again. At once the unit lowered the level of its force so it might stay within the being's mind after the being awoke and the dream ended. For the unit was curious, interested in how swiftly the being had been learning since the coming of the dream.

This being was of innocent and simple mentality. It was not one of the three-legged Slaker humans, whom the unit had encountered before. It was two-legged, like the four of the unit. The unit would help the being. He was a youth, stunted in growth but skilled in survival. His name was Duster. The unit would give Duster all the help it could. And it stayed hidden in the unconscious Duster while an entity known as Mal came and went and the boy slept.

Duster wiggled in the five-foot-long hole that was his dark, the den he had made for himself before Graylight's end. He did not awaken. Dead tired from the Graylight's roam, his weary muscles finally relaxed their tension.

A youth known as Siv, the leggens, was asleep in his own dark to one side of Duster. Nearer Duster on his left side in another dark was one called Glass, the smooth-keep. Glass was lovely, the color of honey. She was tiny, barely four feet tall; yet she had superior skill, and Duster admired her greatly.

Duster was the leader. He was the leader for a packen of fifteen youngens. The youngens were divided into five trips of three youngens each. The best was that Duster was Siv and Glass's leader. The three of them were the most skilled trip in all of the roamer packens. This was the reason Duster could sleep soundly and why he could dream without fear. Old Siv on his right would never allow anything to harm him. And the smooth, gentle Glass was as swift and soundless as any fighter and thrower in the packens. The best.

Neither Siv nor Glass appeared in the dream Duster had over and over again. On the edges of the dream moved something golden, traveling swiftly. But when the dream began, there was the tone of Siv's voice being playful, also commanding. The sound of it was loud and magnified. Duster never could hear clearly enough to understand what Siv was singing. There was just the teasing, commanding tone. A strange, out-of-place tone, since Siv never commanded. Then Duster heard a crowd responding, humming their understanding. Once or twice the crowd cried out in fear.

Slowly the dream made Duster uneasy. He had the notion that he must find old Siv and silence him forever. And in the dream his view was from behind his own back, just as if he were smooth Glass at his elbow. Glass stayed at his elbow when they roamed, keeping their arsenal of weapons at the ready. At Duster's left arm, she could easily slip a pound into his hand.

In an attack they never stopped moving. Only when Graylight ended, at the time of Nolight, did they stop to dig their dark dens for a few hours' rest and sleeping. When it was Graylight, they stayed in one place long enough to kill and to eat.

Duster could heave a pound force farther than most. But he was leader, his job was to command. He left all throwing to Glass. Siv, who was taller than Duster, could outrun most animals that trailed the packen by day. Siv could outrun every human of their land except good Glass. But Glass refused to be the leggens. Glass did what she wanted. She could kill close in, if she had to, swiftly with her deep-daggen. She could hurl a sharp or a shot seventy paces with no loss of accuracy, killing smoothly.

Glass despised killing of any kind, in defense of packen or trip, or for food. But she would do the deed if Duster commanded her to, and without an instant's hesitation. She knew Duster would not give such a command unless it was necessary. Glass trusted his judgment, and that made him proud.

For some time Duster slept deeply. Then he surfaced to dream. He dreamed the presence of the smooth behind him on his left. Glass muttered a singsong under her breath, as she would do when there was danger.

Dreaming, he toned lightly over his shoulder, "Quiet, smooth Glass! In no time we be gone."

Suddenly all notion of her, of having her skill at his back, left him. Glass no longer existed.

In his dreaming the playful, commanding voice of Siv ceased abruptly. All was silence. Duster felt Siv slip past him on his left. That would be something the leggens would never do, Duster dreamed, something Duster would never permit. For the left side of the leader belonged to the smooth-keep. Then Siv, too, was gone from the dream. Yet the mocking impression of him remained with Duster.

Dreaming, Duster followed a hard, sleek surface. Such a road was impossible in his land of shifting dust. But as soon as he felt it under his feet, he knew the name of it—triway. Duster was at home on the road of the triway. High above him, the way had two more levels, which disappeared at the limits of his eyesight. Supports like silver threads held the upper levels in place. The supports glowed in all-too-familiar dim light.

Dreaming, suddenly there was bright day. Fresh air. Duster was glad to be alive. Here was a land of beauty, with dwelling places arranged in patterns that were pleasing. One of them would be fine for him to live in. But Duster had no place to live—that was why he was on the low level of the triway, which was on the ground. The way moved along on its own, but Duster moved faster.

"Be running," he toned, dreaming.

He heard a wim's voice over a speaker. "Sun-time," she trilled. "You have forty-five beats in your favor. Enjoy."

Sunlight spilled over Duster. "Turn it down!" He shielded his eyes from the burning light and kept running.

"Be running," Duster toned. "Catch me, nothing!"

Something startling occurred right before his eyes. It was the four with power out of the present materializing in Duster's dream.

Four strangers came toward him along the way. They were one too many for a youngen trip and far too few for a packen. They hurried toward Duster. One of them, the wim with dark, curly hair, touched him and took hold of his hand.

"Be touching leader, wrong." His toning lacked command. He knew it, but did nothing to make the wim take her hand from his.

"We must hide here," she said in a grating voice. "Oh, Duster, please let us stay in your dream."

Such bright light was in her eyes! Such strength in her soundings! She made no warring tones to trouble him. Duster found that he was delighted to have them with him.

"Stay here," he told them. "Rest by the triway, but out of sight. I be on the run myself."

"We know," they said in one voice. "This is more than dream. It is also memory of what was. Don't worry. We will protect your thoughts."

All at once Duster awoke in his dark. Knowledge of the four talking to him in his dream was locked away before he was fully awake. What Duster knew was that he'd been dreaming for a long time; he had been caught in the dream, taken somewhere. By whom, he didn't know. But he was filled with dread. The feeling didn't go away when he realized that the smooth-keep leaned over him. Roughly she picked the dirt from his hair.

Duster saw that it was a new Graylight in his land where there was never much more than shade, except for dawn, when Graylight sparkled. Duster had always felt good about his land until the dreaming began coming to him. Now he who was leader felt saddened.

His lean, muscled shoulders sagged, causing him to seem smaller than his nearly five-foot height. This worry bothered the smooth, Glass, for it distracted her leader. It upset the leggens, Siv, who had now taken his position facing the leader on Duster's right.

Siv didn't move a muscle. He waited for the ritual between leader and smooth-keep to be completed.

"So the dawn be over?" Duster toned to the smooth. "Why you not be singing out the Graylight, then?"

Duster asked the same few questions every Graylight. Questions made Siv impatient. Yet, good leggens that he was, he stood his ground. He went into himself, which was the polite thing to do during the process of shaking dirt and dust out.

Glass pulled Duster from his dark. He stood with dirt and dust covering him.

"You look the fool," Glass summed up.

"But will the dawn be gone?" Duster toned. He loved seeing the lights of dawn.

"Oh, certainly, you know," she sang out. "What be in your brain—more dust?"

"Oh, rough Smooth!" Duster moaned. "Be so hard on my poor self."

"Hahn!" sung impatiently, was all she felt like answering back.

Although smaller than Duster, Glass was nearly as muscled. And covered with dust the same as he, it would have been difficult for others to know which was which, Siv observed.

The leggens had already taken care of his first-light ritual. He had done his moves—soft art leverages, flips and presses, running in place, handstands—which shook loose most of the dirt from his dark. With leather mitts he had brushed off the remainder. He had fashioned mitts for the smooth and for the leader, too. Siv had no desire to be close-in the way leader and smooth were. He stood alone, needed no close-in. Leggens was what he was; he was content.

Duster and Glass put on their mitts. They began to smack each other gently about the face and arms. Halfway through, Glass boxed Duster strongly about the ears.

"Be joking too fast," Duster toned. "Stop it, Glass."

"Who be joking? Be brushing you off," she hummed.

"You call that brushing?" Duster trilled. "I call you hurting."

"You be a big fool, then." She clipped him hard under the chin.

Neat score, thought Siv. The leader not be letting that pass.

Duster gave Glass a hard smack to the jaw. She returned with a jarring kick to his rump.

Swiftly he caught her foot in one hand and swung her off the ground. Then he had her by both feet.

"Ha-hahn!" he toned in triumph, disturbing to nearby trips who had been sleeping still.

"Noisy Duster!" someone shouted a three-tone, signaling no offense at cautioning the leader.

"Fill his mouth with dirt," came a fighting singsong from someone else.

Duster ignored them and swung the smooth-keep around and around by her feet. Her arms were straight out in front of her, with the palms of her hands touching. Duster knew that any moment she would flip sideways and spin free. Before she could execute the move, he let go of her feet. Glass went flying over the dust. Small and agile, she managed to tuck her legs and head before she hit the ground in a curl. Glass rolled nicely, but the impact knocked the breath out of her. She shivered on her back, her mouth agape with the pain.

Duster was beside her. He bent over her, smiling. "Don't be testing the leader before his food-time," sounding in his well-modulated command mode.

In a moment, when Glass had her breath again, she grew formal with her leader. She got to her feet and stood at attention. Careful to hold back anger from her tone, she sounded, "It be my mistake, O Duster. Lead on."

With palms down, Duster crossed his wrists, dismissing her. He gave away not one single tone. Leader, he was.

Glass turned on her heel and took her stand to the left of Siv, the leggens. They now had their backs to Duster.

Duster gazed at their rigid pose and nodded with satisfaction at the strength they held between them—loyal Siv and smooth Glass. No leader could ask for better first-and sec-sides at his command. He murmured a six-tone of thanks, taking his place in front of them with his back to them, Siv on his right and Glass on his left.

Shortly after, Glass burst out with a fighting singsong: "The beasts be running!"

Her arm and leg muscles tensed in preparation. Likely she would not need to rescue the leggens, but if old Siv got into trouble, Glass would defend him. Only when Siv missed the first weapon thrust, or if he was attacked, would the smooth-keep dare leave her leader's left side.

"Go then, good Siv," Duster toned over his shoulder. "Hunger be making me twitch. Be second day hungering. Go, before we weaken."

"I'm gone!" rumbled Siv with a deep and daring tone.

His long, slender legs glided gracefully into the murk of Dustland.

Hunger propelled a beast into a self-weapon. Duster spied it streaking toward Siv, the leggens. Motionless, Siv was barely visible in the distance. Then he was moving, running. He raised one arm straight up, signaling to the leader and smooth-keep that he had sighted the deadly beast.

Glass's face froze in concentration as she peered toward Siv.

Duster took two side steps to his right, in front of the place Siv had been. By this move he gave the smooth-keep room to throw. Glass had both hands behind and just below her neck, ready to thrust them into the pack she carried between her shoulder blades. With lightning speed she could pull weapons from her pack and set them in motion. The moment Siv leaped high and spun toward her, she would release the weapon an arm movement from him had signaled.

Now, in the distance, Duster sighted two pumps of Siv's right arm. And softly he toned to Glass to make ready the deep-daggen.

Glass found the bone weapon by feel, pulling it expertly from the pack. The deep-daggen was hollow and weighted with grit and dirt that was sealed inside.

"Now!" Duster toned, his voice loud.

Glass threw with strength and accuracy. The heaving motion was so smooth, Duster found it impossible to tell when she released the daggen. But he saw it disappear in the murk.

Instantly, it seemed, Siv had the daggen in his grasp and raised it for the leader and smooth to see. It was a bit whiter than the gray light of day. Moving still, Siv timed his run away from the beast so it overtook him at the moment of its most furious stride. The beast had no chance to leap. It must run to kill, leaning ever closer toward the leggens.

The animal was at full speed. It could do nothing when, with an added burst of momentum, a powerful second wind, the leggens crossed in front of it, out of reach.

Be perfect move! Duster observed. Now the leggens' weapon hand holding the deep-daggen was nearest the animal.

Siv slashed from the beast's rump forward along its spine. It was still running when its backbone split in two. More slashes with the daggen separated flesh and skin from the split spinal column. The animal's legs buckled. With a loud crack it nosed into the dust, its neck broken.

The beast died. Siv knelt beside it and carved a clean line across its withers. Watchful that no other beast take him by surprise, Siv worked the skin down the body. He cut it away and stashed it inside out at the bottom of his catchen bag. A wild, warm odor rose from the animal flesh. His stomach heaved with the good smell of it.

Be food for all! Siv made a mental note. Leader be glad.

Before the animal flesh could cool, he carved it, placing bloody chunks on top of the skin at the bottom of his catchen. Then Siv hacked the ribcage and shank bones into manageable parts. He stuffed them along the insides of the catchen. Finally he loped back to his trip.

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Excerpted from The Gathering by Virginia Hamilton. Copyright © 1981 Virginia Hamilton. Excerpted by permission of OPEN ROAD INTEGRATED MEDIA.
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