Midworld by Alan Dean Foster Read Free Book Online Page B

The devil walked clumsily on the blue surface, making its way awkwardly to the half-dome at the object’s apex. It poked at the globe with its toothed beak, stabbed again. Born could hear it yelling, a distant, muffled croak.
    Another sound drifted up to him. One that penetrated above the normal din of comb vines and resonators and chattering chollakees. It was a human scream, and it came from somewhere near or in the object!

IV
    BORN STARTED DOWNWARD WITHOUT thinking, plunging recklessly from branch to branch, shoulder muscles straining at the shock, taking meters at a jump. Ruumahum followed close behind. They were making enough noise to attract half the afternoon forest predators, and the furcot told him as much. Wrapped in other thoughts, Born ignored the furcot’s warnings.
    Once he nearly dropped square onto the back of a Chan-nock, the big tree-climbing reptile’s knobby back the perfect imitation of a tuntangcle vine as it lay stretched between the boles of two air-trees. Born’s foot hit the armored back. Instantly he was aware he had met flesh and not wood. But he was moving so fast he was meters below as the Channock whipped around to crush the interloper. Furious at missing its prey, the blunt snout swung round for a stab at Ruumahum. Not even pausing in his downward rush, the furcot stuck out a paw in passing and crushed the flat, arrowheadshaped skull.
    If Born had stopped to think about what he was doing, he might have fallen and hurt himself seriously. But he was traveling on instinct alone. Unhindered, his reflexes did not fail him. Only when Ruumahum put on an extra burst of speed, got in front of him, and slowed down, did Born become conscious of how fast he had been moving. He nearly dislocated a shoulder as he slowed to a halt behind the furcot. Both were panting heavily.
    “Why stop now, Ruumahum. We—”
    The furcot growled softly. “Are here,” he muttered. “Air-devil is near. Listen.”
    Born listened. He had been so excited he had nearly shot past the level at which the blue thing lay. Now he could hear the horrible half-laugh, half-coughing of the devil and a scratching sound, a sound similar to the one Reader produced by running his nails over the axe blade during the invocations. Then he was right about the composition of the blue thing! He had no time to bask in his own brilliance. A moan sounded now, not a scream; but it was no less human.
    “There are people there and the skydevil is after them,” Born whispered. “But what people live on the Fifth Level? All persons known live on the Third or Second.”
    “I do not know,” Ruumahum answered. “I sense much strangeness here. Strangeness and newness.”
    “ It needs killing.”
    “Air-devils die slowly, Born person,” advised Ruumahum. “Go carefully.”
    Born nodded and they backed deeper into the brush. “The air-devil may not be able to penetrate here. It is too big and clumsy on the wood. But if it does …”
    He started searching, working around the well circumference, always staying well back from the open pit where the nightmarein-life scratched and clawed at the blue thing. He found what might serve—a certain epiphytic orchid that nestled in the crotch formed by the great lower limbs of an emergent. The bottom of the plant overreached the limbs on both sides, the great ball of self-made soil sending long airroots downward in all directions. Above, long thick petals of dark chalcedony color curled toward the sky. A wonderful limelike fragrance issued from the huge flower’s depths, its creamy petals many meters long.
    Keeping a careful distance from the gigantic bloom, Born moved cautiously back toward the well.
    “Softly,” Ruumahum urged anxiously. Born looked back at the furcot and made quieting motions, but he took the advice. There was more open space here where the light did not penetrate as well. There were fewer places to hide, fewer webs of vines and lianas to lose a big meat-eater in. Surely there was