Burning Tower

by Larry Niven

  “I think you’re worried about nothing,” Whane said, “My Lord.”

  “We had a warning.”

  “Sir. Yes, sir. Two women babbled a lot after drinking hemp tea,” Whane said.

  “The shaman was right about the berries,” Sandry said.

  “Sir. Yes, sir. And maybe about the undead or whatever she called them. And she was good with the fires in the big battle. But we all felt something was wrong, we all saw what was happening. This is just dreams.” Whane shrugged. “Sir, I dreamed we found a city of gold, and a lot of times I dream I can fly.”

  Regapisk was well inside the gates now. His driver began to chatter excitedly with the villagers. There were more villagers now, and they weren’t just women and children and old men. There were young men too, some armed with knives or axes but none of them in armor, and they were all mixed in with the women and children. Sandry frowned. “They sure look glad to see us.”

  “Sir. Yes, sir.”

  “You can omit the sarcasm,” Sandry said.

  “Yes, Lord Sandry. But they do look glad to see us. If they’re trying to fool us, they’ve done a good job on me.”

  A pretty girl brought Arshur a bowl of soup. He drank heartily and offered it back to her. She blushed and drank more daintily. Another girl gave Regapisk a flask. Reggy drank deeply and smiled at her.

  “And me too,” Sandry said finally. “Let’s go back and get the others.”

  They camped in the corral area. Sandry inspected the fence: a sturdy palisade of wood between stone pillars, and outside that a thicker fence of the spiky plant Ern called maguey. Each of the plants had more than a dozen leaves that tapered in thickness from as wide as a man’s forearm at the base down to a finger-length hard thorn at the tip. It wasn’t hard to cut the plant, but nothing large could come through that fence until a passageway had been cut.

  For a moment he had visions of being trapped in there and burned the way he’d trapped the birds, but the ground beneath them was hard dirt cleared of the rocks. Nothing to burn there. Bales of fodder had been piled in one corner of the corral, and fountains poured water into basins, one large enough for animals to drink from.

  “This is how I remember the Dust Devil village,” Ern said.

  “Pleasant,” Sandry said. “Do you trust them?”

  “Why should we not?” Ern asked.

  “The shamans said—”

  “I heard them,” Ern said. “And I always listen to the advice of our shamans, just as I listen to you. But I ask again, why should we not trust them? You see their young men, some armed, some not. Mouse Warrior has stood on the wagontops and searched and sees nothing. What is there to fear?”

  Clever Squirrel had come up behind them. “I wish I knew,” she said. “But I agree, all seems well.”

  “Do you often have false dreams of warning?” Sandry demanded.

  “Seldom, and never shared with another. Such a thing would have to be sent.”

  “We’ll keep watch,” Sandry said. “The men will hate it but we’ll do it, anyway.”

  Supper was excellent. Visitors and villagers ate from the same stew pots and drank from the same pitchers. The stew was goat meat, strongly flavored, and a welcome relief to terror bird jerky. Afterward many of the village men joined them to sip tea and talk. Sandry understood none of the local languages but was surprised to see that Regapisk was conversing with the locals.

  “You speak Aztlan, cousin?” Sandry asked.

  “I do.” Reggy paused. “I learned from the wizard on the salt farm. I’ve always been good with languages.”

  Sandry nodded, remembering. “So what are they saying?”

  “We’re the first wagon train from the south in a long time,” Regapisk said. “Several have gone south through here, but none have come back for nearly a year, and that’s unusual. When we told them about the birds, they seemed surprised.”

  “Surprised. Of course they’d say that,” Sandry said.

  “Yeah, but you know, Sandry, I think they really were surprised. Anyway, they’re glad to see us because there’s been nobody to trade with, and they’re afraid they’ll get behind on their tribute payments. I gather that’s not a good position to be in.”

  “But everybody south of us will be behind,” Sandry said.

  “Yep.”

  “Don’t these people know that not two days south of us the villages are all burned out?”

  Regapisk frowned, and turned to one of the village headmen. They talked for a while. Then Reggy said, “Nah, they didn’t know. Their place is here, so here they stay. They paid their taxes, the Office sends rain, and they waited for caravans to come through. Not their job to worry about why they don’t come.”

  At dusk Mouse Warrior mounted the wagontop to stare into the sunset. He saw nothing, and the night was peaceful. At dawn when he awoke, he shouted. “The bird!”

  “Same one?” Sandry asked.

  “Think so.”

  They had seen the rooster every day since they set out. One huge bird spreading inadequate wings, always at a distance, and always on the road ahead of them.

  Chapter Four

  The Endless Road

  Fifty days out from Crescent City, Sandry began to keep a journal.

  We are climbing steadily now, toward a rim above us that runs across the world as far as I can see in either direction. We should reach the top by noon tomorrow.

  Burning Tower and I had a quarrel. It was about nothing, but I’ll have to be careful for a while. We both want to get married! And soon.

  Another imperial post today. We are very welcome, and everyone was astonished to hear that birds are attacking wagon trains to the south and west. This post has no clerks and no tax collectors, and only five soldiers. They serve a year here before being allowedto go back to the city, and I don’t know what they are here for. I don’t think they know, unless it’s a punishment detail. They’re all bored. One wanted to come with us to tell the next post about birds attacking wagons, but his officer wouldn’t let him. They asked us to tell the story up the line, and we will.

  I’m not impressed by the Emperor’s soldiers. Crude, simple bows, as I expected. No concept of chariot warfare. Good spears and decent shields, but not much discipline even when turned out on parade when they’re supposed to be impressing us. But Ern says they have magic weapons, and all the manna they could want, and the Emperor’s army will have wizards.

  I’ve talked to their officers, or Ern and Reggy have anyway, and none of them has ever been in a battle. They don’t have to be. Everyone is afraid of them. Maybe with good reason, but I haven’t seen any reasons.

  I’m going to ask Reggy to teach me Aztlan. Maybe Squirrel can help. Surely a wagon train shaman has spells to help learn languages?

  Fifty-six days since Crescent City. Burning Tower and I made up after our quarrel. I don’t know what’s worse, fighting with her or having to wait until we’re married. That cursed one-horn of hers wants to fight me.

  We have reached the top of the rim. The land east of us seems flat now, with a few jagged rocks rising out of the plains.

  As usual we saw that bird out to the east today. Wehaven’t seen any bandits since we crossed into the Emperor’s lands—not that we saw many before that. We’re at a larger post, bigger village, more civilians. Better buildings too. Important-looking civilians—tax collectors and clerks, I’d guess. Maybe a score of soldiers and two officers. The barracks area looks comfortable, but there’s an air about the place, temporary but fixed up the way troops do when they have to be there for a while.

  No one had heard about the birds attacking wagon trains. The officer here said he’d let everyone know up the line. I don’t know how he will do that. No one knows, but Ern tells us they can send messages to the Emperor, fast, if they really want to. They don’t do that much. It’s as if they’re afraid to get his attention, and I guess I can understand that. But the officer here thought it might be important. He’ll tell his superiors up the l
ine, and they’ll tell theirs, and then there are some officials who supervise the soldiers, and they’ll tell someone at the capital, and they’ll tell their bosses, and eventually someone will tell the Emperor. I think that’s how it works.

  I am studying the Aztlan language. Reggy is a good teacher, and Squirrel does have some spells that help me learn while I am asleep.

  I’d never have thought Reggy would be a good teacher, but he is. He’s pretty good with that atlatl thing too. Better than me, but I have my bow. Reggy can string my bow now, but when he tried to shoot a prairie dog, he missed by a long way. I have to say I like him better now than I did back home. Maybe helearned something from his experience. But he can never go back.

  The village has a maguey factory. There are hundreds of the maguey plants. Some have been used to make the pulque. When a plant is about to bloom, it sends up a stalk from the center. Before it can flower, they cut the stalk out, and the center of the plant fills with the sap they call pulque. They suck that out and spit it into jars, and I don’t know what they do after that, but it turns into mescal. They gave us some last night. Fur Slipper is right: anyone would see visions after drinking that.

  After the plant stops producing pulque they cut all its leaves off and pound on them, and that makes fibers a lot like hemp. They weave those into rope and cloth, but they wouldn’t let us see how they do that. Burning Tower says one of her uncles is a rope-walker and makes rope from hemp, but she won’t tell me much about how he does it. I don’t think she knows. Ropemaking is a big secret in Tep’s Town, and Tower’s family are all Tep’s Town kinless. Maybe it’s a secret everywhere.

  Lurk has been collecting little maguey plants. He had some hidden in the wagon. I made him throw them out. We don’t need the Emperor getting mad at us over some plants! If we need to learn how to grow maguey, we can send a wagon train to the Dust Devil village.

  Squirrel and Fur Slipper had that vision of theirs again, stronger this time, but now it’s about someother village up ahead of us. They’re sure it’s a warning, but I’m not. I was all ready to start a fight at Dust Devil! And that would really have been bad. It would be worse now that we’re in the Emperor’s lands!

  Why are they having these visions? And they both have them. They’re confused, but they all point to the same village—Dust Devil before, then another we’ve passed. Nothing happened at either place. Now there’s another one ahead. I feel like a fool getting the men in armor and standing watch every night, but those women are so sure! And I know magic works, sometimes.

  Sixty-first day since leaving Crescent City. No trouble at that last village. I don’t trust my shamans anymore. Just outside the village, we found a stone head taller than any of us. It looks west, back toward Crescent City. Its face is carved in lines of terror. Clever Squirrel sat before it while we made camp. She says she talked to it. She tells a wild tale. Sometimes I think Clever Squirrel is testing my gullibility.

  Sixty-second day. We’ve reached another of the Emperor’s posts. This is a small one, four men, a little squared-off house, a little round chamber with a fire pit. Their speech is hard to understand, but I’m learning. They’re all very glad to see us. The old captain tells us that Clever Squirrel’s stone man was next to the fort when he first came, thirty-one years ago. He lives here, and one of the troopers is his son. He says it’s a good life, a little lonesome lately because therehaven’t been any wagons from the south. When I told him why, he was shocked, so I guess that last village didn’t pass the word up the line, or not faster than a wagon can travel anyway. He said the Emperor would do something about it. I told him I already did some-thing—I killed the cursed birds.

  There’s colored sand available. The imperial troopers will sell charged talismans, prices cheap compared to what we’d have to pay in Condigeo or Crescent City. Tomorrow Squirrel will talk to her mother.

  Chapter Five

  Sand Paintings

  Clever Squirrel had assembled her working materials the previous evening. At dawn she painted her mother’s portrait by drizzling various shades of sand from her fist. When the painting was done, it had a cartoonish look.

  She waited. Regapisk pestered her until she sent him to find more black sand. Warriors and traders of three civilizations came to watch, grew bored, and went away.

  Regapisk came back. Squirrel used black sand to outline her mother’s face. From time to time, she added detail to wrinkles around the eyelids or the curve of a lip or a fall of black hair.

  Burning Tower brought her corn bread. “Still nothing?”

  “Do you imagine you see motion?” Squirrel’s tone was acidic.

  “It’s a very good painting of her,” Tower said.

  “Thank you. I was taught to paint the essence and leave it at that, but how can one not fiddle? Mother!”

  The sand stirred in a fitful breeze.

  The lookout post was on the tallest of a cluster of rocks. The kneeling guard was watching Squirrel’s painting, not the world outside. Secklers squatted, waiting with uncharacteristic patience.

  Squirrel muttered, “Call at dawn, we said. I haven’t lost track of the days; I checked the stars last night. Today is Coyote’s name day…. Hello, Sandry. Have some bread.”

  “Thank you. I grew impatient.”

  “I’m ready to kick this painting apart. Wait—did you see—Mother!”

  Twisted Cloud’s painting twisted in a delighted smile. A voice in the wind said, or perhaps only suggested, “Daughter! You still live!”

  “I was worried too. Where have you been?”

  “It’s only just past dawn. I can’t paint in the dark,” Twisted Cloud’s image said. The voice was distant but clear.

  “It’s well past dawn!”

  “Is it? Wait—now I think I understand. ‘The east sinks to reveal the sun,’ my father Hickamore used to say. He taught that the world is a rolling ball. I’m west of you. The world’s shadow—”

  “Oh. That explains—Yes, Tower. Mother, Lord Sandry of Tep’s Town has asked Burning Tower to wed. She needs to ask her parents.”

  “Excellent news! Hello, Tower!”

  “Can you see me?”

  “I’ll pour more sand. Tell her I’m at Road’s End, but Willow and Whandall are at home, at New Castle. I will go and tell them. Daughter, we speak again in a moon or so, don’t we? On your birthday?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll visit them then. What other news? How goes your voyage?”

  “Green Stone should be arriving in Condigeo even now,” Clever Squirrel said.

  “With great wealth! New trade!” Tower shouted.

  “And Burning Tower reminds me that we have discovered new items to trade. There is wealth on the Golden Road.”

  “Whandall Feathersnake will be pleased. And the birds? But why are you not with Green Stone?”

  The images rippled.

  “The manna is falling,” Squirrel said. “Mother, we pursue the source of the birds, but we’ve cleared the Hemp Road for at least this next year. We’ve seen two moons of nothing much happening, and one to go before we reach Sunfall Crater.

  “That is a place of high manna, and we can talk as long as we like there.”

  “And fight a god,” Sandry said.

  Squirrel waved him away. The portraits were losing animation; they looked like sand. “Mother, we will magic a wagonload of old talismans at Sunfall and come home rich. We’ve seen more of desert than we care for. There’s water enough, most days, and forage for the bison. We eat mostly prairie dogs. Every so often a terror bird turns up, and then the Crescent City soldiers get some practice and we get soup. I’ve gotten good at finding mustard greens and such.”

  “Oh, daughter, you’re seeing territory I never will!”

  “Well, yes. Huge piles of sand shaped like crescent moons. Great squared-off mountains of red rock. A rim that stretches across half the world. We climbed it. Wonderful plants, like huge pincushions trying to become trees. The maguey plant that ma
y be more useful than hemp. Things to remember the rest of my life. Oh, and yesterday was interesting—”

  “There you are, Tower. Hello, dear! Is Sandry with you? Let me paint him as he was on the boat.”

  “Hail, Twisted Cloud! Not green, please!”

  “He says, ‘Hail, Twisted Cloud!’ and requests that you don’t turn him green.” Squirrel grinned. “And yesterday, Mother, we found a stone man wading neck deep through the earth. We saw only the head and the churned wake from his passage. I talked to him. He’s running away from two disasters, running very slowly. Fire falling from the sky almost got him, he says, but that had to be thousands of years ago. He’s running away from a god’s rage to come. Given who he is, it might fall any time in the next ten thousand years.”

  “Do you know what god?”

  “No. Only that the stone man fears him.”

  “With good reason,” Sandry muttered, but no one was listening.

  Another moon passed.

  Chapter Six

  Sunfall

  Sandry wrote:

  Eighty-four days since we left CrescentCity. The days are growing shorter now, and have for a moon, but day is longer than night. CleverSquirrel says day and night will be equal soon, and the day after that will be her birthday. I don’t know if it’s really her birthday. It’s all mixed in with Coyote.

  Ern says we near the end of our journey, and Fur Slipper and Clever Squirrel are beside themselves. They feel the manna.

  I know the manna grows stronger, because Spike is grown awesomely large and Burning Tower spends more and more time with him. She says she has to, tokeep him calm, but I am afraid. I think she loves him as much as she loves me, and soon enough she’s going to have to choose one of us. I think she will choose me! But as the manna grows stronger, her bond with that cursed animal grows as well.