The Dancers of Noyo Read Online Free
Author: Margaret St. Clair
pinning a lock of Joe's long black hair against the wood.
An instant later one of the Avengers came shambling up with his bow in hand. "Excuse me," he said, grinning. "I was shooting at a rabbit behind you, and I missed. A rabbit's a small target, compared to a man. Could I have my arrow, please?"
With no particular expression on his face, Joe pulled the arrow from the wood and handed it to him. A few severed hairs fluttered to the ground.
"Thank you so much," the Avenger said, turning away.
"You see? They're serious," Joe said when he had gone.
"I still don't see how they could make my death look like suicide. I've never used drugs, even pot, except under your supervision. And hypnotism can't be used to make somebody do something he has a real objection to doing."
"Yes," Joe answered, "but illusion can. Suppose you thought the Noyo Inn was on fire. You'd jump out of the window."
"My room's only on the second floor," I said. "I might break my leg jumping, but I wouldn't be killed."
"You wouldn't be jumping from your room," Joe said with a touch of impatience. "The Dancer would make you have the illusion on the edge of a sea cliff.
"That's only an example, of course," he went on. "But you'd better go. Don't forget your medicine bag."
His dark eyes were steady and serious. I began to waver. "But how about you?" I said. "If there's any real trouble with the Dancer, I wouldn't be here to back you up."
Joe smiled, a small, almost pitying smile. "I can take care of myself. Don't argue any more. The Dancer's over there." He pointed with his chin. "Go tell him what you've decided."
"I ... all right."
A few moments later I was standing in front of the Dancer. "I've decided to make the Grail Journey," I said. "Please get my passes ready." I thought its pink eyes seemed rather surprised.
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Chapter II
The Grail Journey has to be made on foot. I missed my bike badly; I felt like a fool, putting one moccasin in front of the other beside the pavement of Highway One. But the rule was strict; and the Avengers had impounded my motorbike.
I was oddly tired. This may have been partly caused by resentment at my plodding pace; it certainly wasn't to be attributed to the weight of the load I was carrying. Bow and quiver, a bag of acorn meal and a slab of something like pemmican, water, medicine bag slung around my neck, passes, fire-making equipment—the whole thing wouldn't have come to more than a couple of pounds. I planned to sleep on the beach when I couldn't take shelter with one of the tribes.
There was almost no traffic. This wasn't because the road was in bad shape; the Republic tries to keep One always passable, and there are no rockslides in summer anyhow. I suppose most motorists prefer straighter roads.
When a car did finally pass me, it seemed to be going very fast indeed, and this increased my sensation of toiling through an unchanging landscape. I had been puzzled to understand how Julian could have taken six weeks for a foot trip to and from Elk. It's only about eighty miles round trip. Now I felt I'd be lucky to make two miles a day. I didn't wonder why this was, particularly. I merely accepted it.
The morning mists had cleared away and the sun had come out. The sea beside the highway had changed from slate-gray to blue. The brightening in the water cheered me, despite my plodding pace, but a little while after the sun came out I began to have the
An instant later one of the Avengers came shambling up with his bow in hand. "Excuse me," he said, grinning. "I was shooting at a rabbit behind you, and I missed. A rabbit's a small target, compared to a man. Could I have my arrow, please?"
With no particular expression on his face, Joe pulled the arrow from the wood and handed it to him. A few severed hairs fluttered to the ground.
"Thank you so much," the Avenger said, turning away.
"You see? They're serious," Joe said when he had gone.
"I still don't see how they could make my death look like suicide. I've never used drugs, even pot, except under your supervision. And hypnotism can't be used to make somebody do something he has a real objection to doing."
"Yes," Joe answered, "but illusion can. Suppose you thought the Noyo Inn was on fire. You'd jump out of the window."
"My room's only on the second floor," I said. "I might break my leg jumping, but I wouldn't be killed."
"You wouldn't be jumping from your room," Joe said with a touch of impatience. "The Dancer would make you have the illusion on the edge of a sea cliff.
"That's only an example, of course," he went on. "But you'd better go. Don't forget your medicine bag."
His dark eyes were steady and serious. I began to waver. "But how about you?" I said. "If there's any real trouble with the Dancer, I wouldn't be here to back you up."
Joe smiled, a small, almost pitying smile. "I can take care of myself. Don't argue any more. The Dancer's over there." He pointed with his chin. "Go tell him what you've decided."
"I ... all right."
A few moments later I was standing in front of the Dancer. "I've decided to make the Grail Journey," I said. "Please get my passes ready." I thought its pink eyes seemed rather surprised.
-
Chapter II
The Grail Journey has to be made on foot. I missed my bike badly; I felt like a fool, putting one moccasin in front of the other beside the pavement of Highway One. But the rule was strict; and the Avengers had impounded my motorbike.
I was oddly tired. This may have been partly caused by resentment at my plodding pace; it certainly wasn't to be attributed to the weight of the load I was carrying. Bow and quiver, a bag of acorn meal and a slab of something like pemmican, water, medicine bag slung around my neck, passes, fire-making equipment—the whole thing wouldn't have come to more than a couple of pounds. I planned to sleep on the beach when I couldn't take shelter with one of the tribes.
There was almost no traffic. This wasn't because the road was in bad shape; the Republic tries to keep One always passable, and there are no rockslides in summer anyhow. I suppose most motorists prefer straighter roads.
When a car did finally pass me, it seemed to be going very fast indeed, and this increased my sensation of toiling through an unchanging landscape. I had been puzzled to understand how Julian could have taken six weeks for a foot trip to and from Elk. It's only about eighty miles round trip. Now I felt I'd be lucky to make two miles a day. I didn't wonder why this was, particularly. I merely accepted it.
The morning mists had cleared away and the sun had come out. The sea beside the highway had changed from slate-gray to blue. The brightening in the water cheered me, despite my plodding pace, but a little while after the sun came out I began to have the