Several days into his journey through this harsh land, the man begins to question whether he can survive it. The ice becomes fresh, drinkable water in his cupped hands, and the sea continues to provide an abundance of the fish he eats.
But it is becoming more and more violent, crashing in high, angry waves upon the shoreline. Still there is no escape from the escarpment that imprisons him on the landward side.
He is weighing a decision to turn back when, finally, he sees the end of the escarpment in the near distance. That is when a strange foreboding invades his thoughts.
The scene ahead is familiar to him. He has seen it before.
But when?
Then it hits him!
He has visited this place before, that first night in the ancient stone forest when this self-same image invaded his dreams.
It is the same hostile, forsaken shore.
It is the same high stone embankment, dusted with snow.
As he gazes at this incarnation of his dream, he is distracted by a subtle movement at the end of the escarpment and, as in his dream, it takes his breath away!
Stepping squarely into view is a white-clad vision, a womanly figure of grace and beauty. There is something alluring and sensual in the breathy way she exhales her warmth into the frigid air. She carries nothing but a long, reed-thin pole which sways in unison with her long, assertive stride.
They are quite alone in this desolate wilderness of ice and sea.
Spotting him, the figure does not hesitate but steps boldly toward him. She seems to be reading his thoughts, and he can feel her presence in his mind—probing, questioning, seeking to learn all that is there. Standing before him, eye to eye, the figure accosts the astonished man in the language of his own thoughts.
“You wear the full beard of our men, yet you are not of our people!”
Stroking his chin, the man is embarrassed by his unkempt appearance before this lovely creature. When she speaks, he is reminded of the disembodied voice in the tower.
But there is nothing disembodied about this voice!
She is the very perfection of womanhood in his world but, at 6 feet or more, taller than women of his former acquaintance. Sleek of torso and lithe of limb, she carries herself with an ease and elegance he has not witnessed in his own world.
Her complexion is snow-white, and the ambient light reflects radiantly off the oily texture of her satin skin.
It is not the repellant pallor of leprosy instinctively feared by the people of his world. It is not the albino paleness of the whale reflected in Melville’s sinister tale of pride and vengeance.
No, it is the white of purity, innocence, light and goodness—all embodied in the figure of this lovely vision of grace and beauty. It is the white of rebirth and new beginnings, a sheet of blank vellum waiting to be written upon and made whole.
Beauty of figure and grace of carriage are not this creature’s most alluring feature.
That distinction belongs to the intensity of her spectacular, wide, ice-blue eyes, which stand out in startling contrast to the white of her garb and skin and the snow-bound world around her. Long, lush, upward curving lashes shade the enormous ice-blue eyes beside a pert, sculpted nose perched above full, petulant lips brushed purple by the gelid air.
So dilated are her pupils the man is drawn to drown in their dream-like depth. It is like looking back at a Margaret Keane portrait from his childhood.
So enchanted is he long moments pass before he realizes he is gawping awkwardly, open-mouthed, and a crimson tide of embarrassment floods over his bearded face.
“Has the cold struck you deaf? Or are you of some low order that lacks the gift of speech?” the woman cheekily demands. “I know you have language; that I can read in your thoughts. Do you possess also the power of utterance?”
It is eerie to hear so lithesome and feminine a creature speak to him in a voice that so mimics his own!
Her tonality and diction are familiar to him; that is because they are his own.
Her word usage and idioms are familiar to him; that is because they are his own.
Even her accent is familiar to him; that is because it is his own.
“I am a mission specialist, crash-landed on your planet,” the man lamely replies. “Who are you? And where is your home?”
“You have a strange way of speaking, even in your own language. Mission Specialist is certainly a strange thing to call oneself. Long and awkward, making no sense.
“I dwell in the land of crystal spires,” she explains. “It is home to my people.
“We know who we are. We are not compelled to label ourselves with catch phrases. If we were, I should like to be called Davina in your tongue, since that is the name in your thoughts. One you esteem and know well.”
She certainly is insightful, he has to admit, as he was just then thinking of his mother— nurse, healer, first among women in his life. He blushes with pleasure at this lovely creature’s readiness to take her name.
Recalling his own world’s eponym for Davina as a Scottish lass who charms men with love spells, the man smiles at such an apt name as he responds:
“And I am called Noah. That is who I am. Mission specialist is what I am.”
“You do speak in riddles,” Davina shoots back, “but I will take you to my people. Perhaps other scientists there can divine who and what you are. And maybe they can figure out how you came to be in a place where no land-dwelling creature lives, coming from a direction where no passage exists.”
The man is at a loss to explain himself in terms this woman will understand. He hopes the scientists she refers to can. For he is anxious to tell his story and so reassure Davina and her fellows he means them no harm.
“How is it we speak the same language?” he inquires.
“We do not speak the same language,” she retorts. “I speak yours; you cannot speak mine. For mine is the universal tongue of my people and embraces the diverse languages of all creatures of reason.
“It is how I knew you possess the capacity to reason. Although your tongue is so primitive—with its limited store of expression and lack of abstract imaging—I frankly doubted your capacity to speak. Your obsession with naming things testifies to your limited capacity.
“It is quite different with us. We do not need to name objects, things that are seen. We simply project them. Take that snow-mottled embankment. If I wished to converse about that, I would simply project its image to the listener, who would see it in his mind’s eye just as I see it in mine.
“We reserve our language for expressing things we cannot see—feelings, judgments, inferences—the abstract thought processes that connect and give meaning to the things we do see. And we express these thoughts in a language richer than you can comprehend.
“But it is the ability to project that is the key to our understanding all the languages of reason. It is a capacity we have honed and strengthened through countless generations, and it works both ways. In less time than it took to approach you, I assimilated the entire store of your language-memory.”
Taken aback by the implications of her speech, Noah is overcome by his own inadequacy when compared with this assertive creature. He suddenly feels vulnerable in her presence.
Regarding her reed-like pole with suspicion, he wants to know:
“What manner of weapon do you carry? Do you mean me harm?”
Arching one of her lovely eyes, Davina is almost scornful in her reply.
“Are you so timorous that a harmless prod frightens you?” she asks incredulously. “This is no weapon, for none is required.
“Fell creatures lurk in these ocean depths, and they rise against any who encroaches their territory. My prod is a fender, not a slayer. Why would any kill a creature for following its brutish ways when a prod is protection enough?
“You certainly are beyond my ken!”
With that, Noah sets out to follow the brash beauty as she brushes by him. Breaking into long strides toward a destination s
he obviously knows well.
Chapter 28. Crystal Spires
The dramatic majesty and surreal, crisp clarity of the polar landscape slip by almost unnoticed as Noah drinks in more of Davina’s beauty.
Her sheer, bright-white clothing appears to be as thin as the fabric of his flight-suit, but her long legs and arms are bare to the elements. No locks fall below the white skullcap wrapped about the crown of her head. Making Noah wonder if she has any hair at all.
So striking is her beauty, he realizes, locks of hair would be an unseemly distraction. An unwelcome blemish on her perfection.
Retracing Davina’s steps, they soon round the escarpment, stepping into a hidden world of vast dimension.
The rocky ridge climbs toward a broad massif of lower mountains at such an elevation it masks all view of the landscape Noah has left behind.
They are entering a lost world within a lost world!
Lying at the feet of a majestic range of high sierras, the great massif’s achingly stark outline projects depth against the background of towering peaks.
The intracoastal waterway is gone, replaced by a single great lake that stretches like some inland sea from the near distance to the great massif. The high alps beyond extend, unbroken, to the very shore of the ocean itself.
To Noah, it is like peering over the rim of a colossal bowl enclosed on every side and opening out onto the blue-green ocean.
Viewed from this side, the lower mountains take on a very different aspect. Instead of the blanketing snow he saw earlier, they are grey-blue pillars of exposed stone mottled with patches of snow at their summit.
It is a magical, mysterious world of clear blue ice, snow and sweet water.
The lake is open and unfrozen, stretching to the sierras, high and low, in every direction away from the ocean.
The towering high sierras are clad entirely in snow from their base to the clouds that swallow their peaks. The lower elevations of the great massif are awash in majestic falls, their waters cascading from dizzying heights to boiling cauldrons at their feet, sending up fountains of spindrift and spume before sluicing into the vast lake.
The alpine valley cradled between the high mountains and the lakeshore is unexpectedly verdant. It is the first greenery Noah has seen since entering the cloud-shrouded antarctic region. What, he wonders, is the source of the light energy fueling photosynthesis in the alpine valley?
The answer to that question rises before him.
The surreal natural beauty of the place cannot rival the astonishing image that lies between the inland sea and the great massif!
Soaring obelisks of blue ice rise from the valley floor and disappear into the clouds above. Their perfect geometry defies nature’s random design. Sunlight emanates from every smooth surface, bathing the verdant valley in its life-sustaining rays.
They tower above the landscape like great needles of ice, refracting the light of two suns like giant prisms bringing a rainbow of color to a shrouded, monochrome world.
The majestic mountains and radiant obelisks are too far away for the man to make out any detail, but he is eager to know them better.
What mysteries lie on their slopes, what secrets in their bosom?
Noah is jolted out of his reflections by Davina’s sharp command to hurry. She is headed straight toward the obelisks and, apparently, is in no mood for sightseeing. Heeding her call, Noah sprints to her side and together they walk double-time toward her destination. Soon winded, Noah is impressed by the stamina of this redoubtable beauty.
As they approach the nearest obelisk, Noah is amazed to see many figures entering and leaving door-like apertures at its base. Many are like Davina, so alike in fact they could be her identical twin sisters. Others sport heavy beards. He assumes they are the men of this realm.
The bearded figures have a markedly different physiognomy from the Davinas of this world. Their eyelashes are decidedly shorter, while their lips are thinner, their noses more aquiline and their eyes less dramatic than hers. In many physical respects, Noah observes, the bearded figures are more like himself than her.
But they do share the same odd similarity, one to another, as do Davina and her many replicates. For some reason, perhaps a need to ratchet back his tension, Noah is amused by their likenesses. Snowflakes they are not, he laughingly whispers to himself.
His companion does not acknowledge the others but escorts him directly through the open doorway of the closest shimmering obelisk. Taking one of several corridors leading deep into its interior, she shows him into an empty room and leaves him with a single command:
“Wait!”
Left to his own thoughts, Noah tries to puzzle out the many mysteries surrounding him. He has many questions, but few answers.
Who are these creatures, so like himself, and where did they come from?
Why are the members of each gender so completely alike in appearance?
Why has he not crossed paths with them in the temperate zones?
And what is to become of him, a prisoner in this astonishing city of ice?
His musings are interrupted by the entry of several characters—some bearded, others like Davina—who approach and form a tight line directly facing him. They stand before him, scrutinizing his face and attire, before one of the bearded fellows speaks.
“First, rest assured you are no prisoner here. Having said that, I will answer your questions in turn.
“We are a community of scientists, refugees banished in the dim mists of antiquity from a civilization that slowly consumed itself and the world it shared. If you remain with us, we can tell you many other things about who we are, where we came from and why we remain here.
“Our likenesses are a legacy of our scientist-ancestors. They, too, were of like appearance—the bearded men, one with another; the beardless women, of a shared likeness. This is a great source of pride among us ensuring, as it does, equal regard for all alike.
“We have not ventured beyond our clouded, frozen realm for time beyond reckoning. The bravest explorers of our earliest generations went out into the wide world. The few who returned warned of a toxic, burning wasteland before shortly dying. Since then, our strictest taboos forbid travel beyond the shelter of our clouds.
“As to your fate here, that is your choice as much as ours. You are no prisoner here. Whether you remain welcome among us will depend on the answers you give to our questions.
“Do you understand all I have told you?”
Nodding affirmatively, Noah breathes a sigh of relief at the knowledge he is free to stay or leave, as he wishes. These people appear to mean him no harm. He is full of questions, but answers will wait for a later time.
Instead, he tells them about his training and experience as a geophysicist and space-farer, the Search for Extraterrestrial Life (SELF) mission, his circumnavigation of their planet, his emergency landing in the high desert of its northern latitudes and his eventful journey across an unknown world in the company of the furry bipeds.
He omits mention of the voice in the tower, as well as his many deductions about the nature and evolution of their planet. Those observations he may disclose at a later time.
The group listens respectfully, interrupting only infrequently for further explanation of this point or that. When Noah ends his narrative, the bearded spokesman responds with the terse command:
“Wait.”
Left again to his own thoughts, Noah realizes neither the spokesman nor any other member of the panel had the courtesy to introduce himself. While he cannot quite put his finger on it, this social breach and their anonymity bother him. What he does not know is that Davina is the only name he will hear for as long as he remains among them.
The illumination in the small room is fading into shadow when the spokesman returns. It has been a lengthy wait, and the spokesman is alone.
“Your tale is extraordinary, but your observations about the temperate areas of our world are plausible and flow logically from all we know from t
he ancients who are the parents of us all. Your claim of descent from an alien world seems fabulous, but we who are scientists must keep an open mind and we are glad to welcome a fellow-scientist to our world.
“You may remain among us for as long as you wish.
“That is our choice. Now you must make yours.
“Davina will serve as your guide and mentor for so long as you remain among us. She will show you the ways of our world, learn more about yours and resolve any concerns which may arise.”
As if on cue, Davina enters the room. Taking Noah’s hand in hers, she leads him back through the corridor deeper into the bowels of this crystal citadel. To the sleeping quarters shared by the bearded men. Many of the honey-combed pods are occupied by sleeping men. Motioning to a vacant pod on the lowest tier, she whispers:
“Here is where you will sleep, with the other bearded ones. This lower berth is yours. You have much to process, and I will leave you to it. Expect me when the first rays of light pry open your waking eyes.”
Looking about him, Noah sees that each sleeping berth is a facsimile of every other and that all are spartan in their utter lack of adornment or other distinguishing feature. Wondering how these men tell their pods from all others, he counts out the number of pods on his level to the doorway and knows he can remember his is number 23, bottom level on the left.
Stretching out inside his pod, he is surprised to find its surface is as soft as down feathers. Without willing it, he falls instantly asleep.
Hours later, he opens his eyes to a vision.
Davina stands before his pod, limned in the early rays of dawn.
Gone is the skullcap. Revealed is a bald dome so perfect in its symmetry the man catches his breath at its beauty.
Gone are the snow-white garments she wore on the icepack. Revealed is a perfect form swaddled in a sari-like wrap of a sheer white satin fabric.
Sliding out of his pod, Noah pauses on its edge and stares unabashedly at the lovely figure before him.
For her part, Davina shows no embarrassment whatever, seeming perfectly content to allow him as long a look as pleases him. A sly, saucy smile is her only betrayal of emotion while, gazing into the enchanting pool of her eyes, Noah knows he is forever lost in their depth.
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