Voyage to the City of the Dead

by Alan Dean Foster

  The meal that was brought to their room was simple but ample. Tyl joined them, watching while they ate and sharing their enjoyment if not their table.

  Etienne muttered a terse thank you, asked, "How far is it to this temple?"

  "A day's journey. We will spend the night near there."

  Etienne searched his memory, was unable to conjure up the sight of any large structures at the far end of the valley and told Tyl so.

  "You did not miss seeing it, friend Etienne. I perhaps should have said it lies a day's ride from Turput. We will not use our own feet."

  "Lowagons?" Etienne inquired, thankful for his feet.

  "No. Those are tools of the Mai. We will ride lekkas. When thee are ready, I will take thee."

  In the stable area behind the hospitality building they encountered their first lekka, a furry thin‑legged creature with an incongruously rotund body and a double tail that switched nervously from side to side. Blunt fury faces turned to glance curiously at the bearers of strange new smells. They waited with placid expressions and chewed their cuds as Tsla handlers attached reins to the base of high, forward­ curving ears. The forelegs were longer than the hind, an unusual arrangement for an animal built to run. Etienne thought of hyenas and giraffes, though the lekka was bulkier than either.

  In consequence, there was no pommel on the woven cloth saddles. Instead, each boasted a high backrest designed to keep the rider from sliding backward down the sloping spine. It was heavily padded. There were no stirrups. The handlers brought stepstools to assist in mounting.

  The reins were simple and straightforward and both Re­dowls were mounted in minutes. Tyl turned his own steed, spoke comfortingly.

  "One thing to be careful of. The lekka stands quietly, but they love to run. So be prepared." A stable yard gate was swung open ahead and he swung his lekka around.

  As their guide shouted an indecipherable Tsla word, Etienne's mount made a sudden rush for the gap, reaching out with those long forelegs and nearly throwing its rider feet over head despite the saddle's solid backbrace. As it was he almost kicked himself in the mouth. Lyra's deep, vibrant laugh didn't make him feel any better. He threw her a murderous look :which she ignored as she smoothly fol­lowed Tyl out the gate.

  Etienne brought up the rear, furious at his own clumsiness and determined to master his animal. Before too long his hips adjusted to the odd reaching gallop and he was speeding up the wide dirt road as comfortably as Lyra.

  The track ran parallel to the river. The Aurang here was some six kilometers wide, a mighty torrent but only a trickle compared to the Skar. At the far end of the hanging valley the river fell to earth in a broad waterfall, sparkling and most impressive. It was a good hundred meters high and reminded him of the great waterfalls trideed on the tropical thranx worlds that they some day hoped to visit.

  He nudged his mount nearer Lyra and Tyl, called across to their guide.

  "It is called the Visautik," Tyl informed him. "We will reach it by midday."

  Etienne was studying the sheer wall that seemed to mark the end of the valley. "Then what?"

  "There is a trail not visible from here, a trading road that climbs a rockfall on this side of the Visautik. It rises to the next valley. Many legats beyond lies the temple of Moraung Motau. And the Cuparaggai."

  "What's that?" Lyra asked, simultaneously noting that the Tsla used the same unit to measure distance as did the Mai.

  There was no way of telling if their guide smiled, since his mouth was hidden by the weaving proboscis, but Tyl nonetheless managed to convey a feeling of anticipation as well as delighted amusement as he said, "Thee will see."

  Chapter Eight

  They heard the Cuparaggai long before they saw it, and felt it before they heard it. It announced itself as a buzzing in the ears, a vibration in the bones. Its roar drowned out the rush of Visautik Falls before they crested the canyon wall.

  The temple valley was not as large as the one in which Turput lay, and it appeared narrower and smaller still be­cause of the height of the walls that enclosed it. Jewellike fields filled the valley, nourished by the Aurang's flow. At the far end of the valley lay the still unseen source of steady thunder, marked only by sunlit mist.

  They paused atop the ridge and had an interesting lunch that consisted of some kind of local rolled meat and thick, sweet breadsticks. Then they remounted and rode on. Sev­eral hours later Tyl paused and extracted a handful of small round cottony pads.

  Lyra examined the pair he handed to her. "What are these for?"

  Tyl pointed to the small shapes atop his head, then pushed one of the pads inside.

  "Oh!" Lyra hadn't noticed that they now had to shout in order to be heard over the nearing roar, but she was made aware of it as soon as she inserted the pads and silence returned.

  Despite these precautions they were quite unprepared for the sight that greeted them when they turned a sharp bend in the canyon.

  Several kilometers ahead, sheer rock walls met to form a vertical defile no more than four kilometers wide. For the first time since they'd left the Skar, Etienne forgot his irri­tation with Lyra. He was enveloped by wonder.

  "How high?" she shouted at him, leaning close so that he could hear her through his earplugs. He'd already taken a sighting with the instrumentation on his wrist.

  "Twenty‑five hundred meters!" Only the fact that the spray did not rise half as high as the falls themselves enabled them to see the cliff where the Aurang River flowed over the edge of the Guntali Plateau. It was a frightening, magnificent drop and the result was a cascade of unmatched proportions, fit­tingly located on a world of geological superlatives.

  It seemed impossible that the stone at the base of that torrent could withstand the impact of so much water falling from such a height without turning to powder. Just as it seemed impossible for the ancient multistorey edifice that clung to the cliff face just to the right of the waterfall to remain in place without having been shaken to pieces hundreds of years ago.

  Tyl pointed. "Moraung Motau."

  "How old?" Lyra shouted as they raced toward it.

  "A thousand years, two thousand, who can say?" Tyl spurred his lekka on.

  Hundreds of windows threw back the sun from the ram­bling, rock‑climbing structure, which appeared more than large enough to shelter the whole population of Turput. Huge bas‑reliefs covered the facade with writhing figures and dec­orative motifs. Only the fact that the building had been hewn from the raw stone of the cliff face enabled it to withstand the steady vibration produced by the immense waterfall nearby.

  Several thousand years, Tyl had said, and Etienne had no reason to doubt the Tsla's veracity. He had shown himself to be truthful in everything else.

  As they drew near he saw that the thick green lines that covered the lower part of the cliff on both sides of the Cuparaggai were not sculpted and painted decorations but enor­mous vines, unlike anything they had observed growing on Tslamaina before. Tsla toiled among them, tending to roots and leaves. They wore longer capes of some shiny material which kept them from being soaked by the omnipresent spray.

  Tyl reined in his lekka and the two humans slowed ac­cordingly.

  "Aren't we going any farther?" Lyra asked, shouting to make herself heard over the Cuparaggai's thunder. "Aren't we going inside the temple?"

  Tyl gestured negatively and looked apologetic. "I am sorry, but it is not permitted. Thee are not initiates. Nor could thee stand it for very long. The monks who live and work at Moraung Motau are attuned to the old books and ancient ways. They are also quite deaf. It has always been so."

  He led them through the gate of a nearby farm. Etienne could not tell if the stop had been prearranged, but the farmer and his two mates were as cordial and relaxed as if they'd known their guests for years.

  There they stayed and spent the remainder of the day talking, or rather, everyone listened politely and attempted to answer Lyra's unending questions. She inquired about division of labor in t
he valley, family structure, monkish ritual, about trading procedure and education and what the Tsla expected of an afterlife until the poor farmer and his mates were exhausted. Eventually Tyl intervened.

  "Much of what thee request of this family they can not provide for reasons of ignorance, inhibition, custom, or uncertainty. Nor can I. There is one who might sate thy endless curiosity."

  "Then that's who I want to meet."

  "Mii‑an is Chief Consoler and First Scholar of Turput. His time he gives of but sparingly, for he is old and tired. But I believe he will consent to share himself with thee."

  "That would be wonderful." Lyra put a hand on her hus­band's arm. "Wouldn't that be wonderful, Etienne?"

  "Wonderful. You won't mind if I don't tag along?"

  She looked shocked. "Etienne, this is a special oppor­tunity. How can you?..." She caught herself, coughed. "You'd rather look at the rocks, wouldn't you?"

  "That's right. I'd rather look at the rocks. You go ahead and sit at the feet of this Consoler." He glanced past her, to Tyl. "Provided it's no imposition."

  "Friend Etienne, the sharing of knowledge is never an imposition, just like the sharing of self. It gives pleasure."

  On their way back down to Turput, Etienne let his lekka fall behind Tyl's so that he could talk to his wife without shouting.

  "Lyra, don't you think you're starting to view these peo­ple with something less than scientific detachment? Of all people, you ought to know better than to idealize a primitive race, no matter how superficially attractive their philosophy may seem."

  "It's not superficial. You put too high a premium on tech­nology, Etienne. There are other definitions of advancement, other kinds of higher knowledge."

  He found himself growing angry. "Come on now, Lyra. The Tsla are nice enough, and they seem content within themselves, but that's hardly reason enough to go overboard about them. I never thought I'd see you romanticizing a bunch of elephant‑nosed aborigines."

  "I would not use the word `aborigine' to describe them," she replied coldly. "They have advanced far beyond that stage. As for `romanticizing' them, I don't consider you qualified to use the word."

  Her whole attitude struck him as so absurd that the put­down missed its intended effect. "This is supposed to be a scientific expedition," he told her, "and we've been more than a little occupied with business. I'm sorry if I haven't found much time for romance, but I'm not used to strumming guitars beneath four moons, let alone one. Besides which it's a two‑way street. A little encouragement on a second party's part might be in order."

  She bridled at that. "I've given you ample opportunity."

  "You don't say? How exactly do you define ample op­portunity, and how does that have anything to do with encouragement? They're two different things, you know."

  "If you don't know," she snapped, "I certainly can't tell you." She spurred her lekka forward until she was cantering alongside their guide.

  Etienne watched as the pair of them began an animated discussion of some obscure aspect of Tsla behavior. Infat­uated, he told himself. A good scientist like Lyra, infatuated with a bunch of furry primitives. It was hard to believe.

  Well, she'd get over it soon enough. Everything about Tsla culture was new to her, each bit of information a sur­prise and contrast to what they'd learned about the Mai. As soon as she worked it out of her system they'd head back down into the Barshajagad and life would return to normal. Let her rhapsodize about her work. He had plenty of his own to do for a change. If she tried to draw him into her discussions all he had to do was start talking enthusiastically about the amount of pyroxine in the local metamorphics and she'd leave him alone quickly enough.

  True to his word as always, Tyl succeeded in obtaining permission for Lyra to have an audience with the Chief Consoler. From then on Etienne saw very little of his wife save at mealtimes. He lost himself in his own field studies, making as complete a record of the canyon of the Aurang and its formations as possible, estimating the age of various strata and returning several times to marvel at the power and maj­esty of Cuparaggai Falls.

  It was only several weeks later, during one of their in­creasingly infrequent meetings in their room, that he re­marked again on the amount of time she was spending among their hosts, and it was not something she said that prompted his comments: it was her appearance.

  "Where did you get that outfit?" He stared at her and tried to withhold his laughter.

  Lyra executed a slow pirouette for him. The brilliantly striped free‑flowing gown and cape swirled loosely around her.

  "Tyl gave it to me. Mii‑an ordered it. It seems that he thinks very highly of me. We've been exchanging informa­tion, you see. He teaches me, I teach him. Mii‑an lives for the sharing of knowledge."

  "Clad the two of you are getting along so well. But really, Lyra‑native dress?"

  "What's wrong with it? It keeps off the wind, it's as warm during the night as my long sleeves and cooler during the day. Eminently practical. They had to modify the shoulder area for me. We don't have that curvature of the upper spine, and my arms are longer, but it's such a tentlike garment little work was necessary. Mii‑an insisted."

  "Nice of the old boy. What enlightening discoveries have you made?"

  "Everything I've learned to date only confirms what I originally suspected. The Tsla are the most sociologically advanced race of their class yet discovered. They have no standing army, no police force, and all citizens bear arms on the rare occasions when it's necessary."

  "No crime at all, in a society this primitive?"

  "There you go with your preconceived notions of what's primitive, Etienne. There's some crime, naturally. It's han­dled by the Consolers and Advisors. They treat the culprit like a patient, not a criminal. Cure and not punishment. According to the First Scholar there is perfection in every­one."

  "You included, naturally."

  "Me included." The sarcasm went right past her. "You included. The Mai and the Na included." Then she said something which made him sit up and take notice. "Etienne, I believe the Tsla may be mildly telepathic."

  "Now that would be a discovery worth shouting about. There are no known telepathic races, only mutant individ­uals. What makes you think so?"

  "Their remarkable perceptivity. They seem to have an instinctive grasp of what I'm going to say before I say it."

  His initial excitement faded. "What makes you think it's anything more than that?"

  She suddenly looked uncomfortable. "For one thing, Tyl has commented on more than one occasion that he doesn't believe you and I are getting along too well."

  The sharp laugh that filled the room was wholly sponta­neous.

  "And you're basing your assumption on evidence like that? You don't have to be a telepathic native to see that you and I aren't exactly acting like the ideal couple. I'm sure you've shared that knowledge with this Mii‑an also and he passed it on to Tyl."

  "You just don't want to consider the possibility, do you?" "Possibility? Show me some real evidence for telepathic ability and I'll consider the possibility. I'm starting to worry about you, Lyra."

  "Save yourself the trouble." She turned to leave. "I should have known better than to confide in you."

  "Lyra..." She hesitated. "Lyra, we've only been here a few weeks. The Tsla aren't natural wonders any more than they're living examples of Rousseau's natural man. They're simply a nicer group of folks than the Mai. For all we know they may make mass sacrifices every six months."

  "I don't understand your hostility. Why this sudden an­tipathy toward the Tsla? They've been perfect hosts."

  "There's no antipathy and what I'm saying has nothing to do with the Tsla. All I'm saying is that no conscientious researcher should jump to conclusions, much less make value judgments about an entire race on the basis of a few weeks spent among one group of villagers."

  "I can agree with that, Etienne. A lot more study is needed to confirm my findings. There are several volumes to be composed
. I haven't even had time to examine how the Tsla's position as middlemen between the Mai and the Na has affected their outlook on life and their social develop­ment."

  "I'm sure someone will resolve all the loose xenological ends neatly some day." She said nothing and a sudden thought changed his tone. "Lyra, are you trying to tell me some­thing?"

  "Yes. I'm not ready to go Upriver again yet, Etienne. My work here is barely under way."

  "When will you be ready to go Upriver again, my love?"

  "Maybe in a couple of months. Certainly no sooner."

  "That takes us into local winter. That wouldn't cause us any problems here, but up near the arctic circle the Skar may freeze solid. The hydrofoil's not equipped for ice skim­ming, Lyra. We can't wait two months."

  She turned again, a swirl of brightly striped cottonlike folds. "I'm sorry, Etienne, but I can't abandon my work here. As you so aptly pointed out, I don't have sufficient evidence to support my numerous conclusions."

  "Where are you going?"

  "Evening meditation. I've been invited to watch and to participate if I desire. I'd ask you along but you wouldn't find a bunch of aborigines sitting around attempting to get in touch with their inner selves very interesting, would you?"

  And she was gone. He stared after her for a long minute.

  "Well, damn!" He would have kicked his bed if it hadn't been constructed of solid rock. He settled instead for slamming one fist into an open palm until the latter was sore.

  Of one thing he was certain. No matter how vital Lyra considered her work here, they had to return to the Skar. That was the agreement. Similar agreements had kept their marriage together for twenty years and he was damned if he was going to alter that relationship because of a sudden infatuation on her part for a race of pseudolamaistic anteaters with soulful eyes.

  She didn't come to the room that night. It wasn't the first time she'd stayed away all night, but it was the first time he'd lain awake long enough to notice it. It was very early the next morning when he strode purposefully down the hall toward the porters' quarters.