by Larry Niven
“Why have I heard this name, Feathersnake?” Flensevan asked.
“There were legends,” Pink Rabbit said. “A feathered serpent. The name gives me chills.”
“No need for chills,” Burning Tower said. “We seek only our own.”
“There is treasure in plenty, here and on the wagon train, and we are all safe,” Clever Squirrel said. “And I ask again, will we argue until the next storm comes?”
“I won’t,” Sandry said. “I have more pleasant tasks. Squirrel, choose some trade goods, and a talisman for Zeph.” He looked to see if anyone questioned his right. None did.
Sandry and Squirrel reached the city gates at high noon. The guards shouted excitedly. “Sandry!” one called. “Lord Sandry!”
“The same. Let us in.”
“We have sent for the mayor. He will wish to greet you himself.”
Leaving us standing here in the sun, Sandry thought. At Aztlan they had the Caravanserai. And in Lordshills we have the guard rooms.
But the mayor came quickly, with a train of officials. He wore his robes of office, and all of them wore jewelry.
“Greetings, Mayor,” Squirrel said. “I see you no longer fear the birds.”
Mayor Buzzard at Play fingered his pectoral jewels. “Yes, things are back to normal. The birds no longer come when manna is exposed. But there is so little manna here!”
“That will change,” Sandry said. “Ern is coming with a wagon train of charged talismans. And we have many with us as well.”
“You are not with Ern,” the Mayor said. “You left by the east Gate with a wagon train. You return on foot to the River Gate. I believe you have a story to tell.”
“We do,” Sandry said. “A story, and treasure to show, but all that will be later. For now, we need wagons and draft animals.”
“These are scarce,” the mayor said.
“We have goods to trade.”
“And credit with Jade Coin,” Buzzard at Play said. “I am aware.” He stood aside and gestured to the guards to open the gates. “Welcome to Crescent City, Lord Sandry.”
Chapter Thirty-seven
Dreams
The inn was called the Black Stone. It faced south, and from a small balcony there was a view of the sea, calm in the afternoon sun. Burning Tower sat alone at a table on the balcony. She wore a new skirt and blouse, buckskin and cotton, nothing like the finery of Aztlan, but it felt good to be dressed properly. A pretty waitress brought her tea. Her name was Laughing Rock. Regapisk had introduced her when he brought Tower and Sandry to this place where he had insisted that they would stay.
“Lord Reg is safe, then?” the girl asked.
“Very.”
The waitress smiled. “I had hoped he would come back.”
Tower nodded absently. Tonight, she thought. Tonight.
“Did he have many adventures?”
“Yes.”
“But he did not marry?”
Burning Tower smiled thinly as she thought of the Lady Annalun and her charges. “No, he did not marry.”
“What happened to his friend?” the girl asked.
“He died.”
“Oh. I guess you don’t want to talk about it.”
“Not now, thanks,” Tower said.
“Of course not now, I am sorry. But I became very fond of Lord Reg,” Laughing Rock said.
“Many have,” Tower said, but she said it under her breath.
The waitress went away. Of course she wasn’t just a waitress—she was the owner’s daughter, and Regapisk had insisted on coming to this inn and restaurant. To repay a kindness, Reggy had said. Sandry had looked startled.
Sandry often looked surprised at Regapisk. There’s so much I don’t know, Tower thought. About my husband, about Regapisk, about the Lords.
“It’s ready.” Clever Squirrel called from below.
For a moment, Burning Tower was startled. “Oh. All right.” She gathered her things and went down the stairs to where Squirrel was waiting.
“You look great,” Squirrel said.
Tower tried to smile. “Not much like a bride. Not in this outfit. Maybe I should have let them buy me a wedding dress. Sandry wanted to.”
“What for?”
“That’s what I thought—what for? I will never look as pretty as I did in Aztlan, and no one will ever have a more lovely gown. Now it’s all in ruins.”
“Are you crying?”
“Maybe a little,” Tower said.
“Over losing your gown?”
“Well, and everything.” She bit her lip. “Will he still love me? Am I really married?”
Squirrel looked serious. “Sister, you are married. May I never meet anyone more married! Before your gods and his, before Aztlan, with the Emperor and Coyote himself as witnesses! Don’t worry about what you wear. Whatever you put on, you won’t be in it long! Not after you use that charm thing of yours.”
“I don’t want to use it.”
“Oh?”
“I’m afraid. Suppose I need it?”
“You don’t need it,” Squirrel said. “You look great! And I never saw a man more obviously in love.”
“He’s not here!”
“He’s not far, and you insisted on shopping and bathing alone!”
They had reached the sweatbath. Squirrel ushered her inside.
Tower lay dreamily on the bench and felt the heat of the place. The walls faded, and she was somewhere else. She had never been there before, but she could see every detail. Trees, but all in gemstone hues. Something white flashed through the stone trees.
“Where?”
“Hush.” Squirrel’s voice. “You rode past it on the High Road.”
“Is this your doing?”
“It’s your vision.”
“Why am I having it?”
“Coyote sends it,” Squirrel said.
Nothing seemed to be happening. Just the stone forest, and something white at the edge of her vision. After a while she went to sleep.
There was a gorgeous red sunset when they came out of the sweatbath. “Even the skies put on a show for you,” Squirrel said.
Tower laughed nervously.
Squirrel hurried her along the harbor street to the Black Stone Inn. Black Stone himself stood in the doorway. “Exactly on time,” he said. His grin was infectious. “Your Lord awaits you inside.”
Black Stone led them through the main hall of the restaurant. Half the city officials had gathered there. “They hope to hear your tales of Aztlan,” Black Stone said.
“But—”
He grinned. “They can wait.” He showed Tower and Squirrel into a narrow hall. At the end of the hall was a closed door. Squirrel opened the door and pushed Tower inside. The door closed behind her.
Sandry was there. He had taken off his armor and was dressed in new clothes that didn’t fit him very well. Tower thought he had never been so handsome. He stood and opened his arms.
After a while she became aware that she was hungry. A table was set for two, and everything smelled wonderful. Food and wine.
“We’re alone?” she said.
“Alone, and there’s another way out.”
“But the mayor and all his court will want to speak with us. They said so!”
“And they will,” Sandry said. “Tomorrow. There is a feast, and we’ll have to go to it, but it’s in the afternoon. We have the night to ourselves, and we can sleep as late as we want in the morning.”
“Oh.”
“Aren’t you hungry?”
“I thought I was a minute ago.” She fingered the charm box in its leather pouch at her belt. The air in the small dining room seemed heavy. I don’t need this, she thought.
“I guess I should eat.” She sat at the table. Sandry hesitated, then sat across from her.
Bison steaks. Vegetables, including some she didn’t recognize. Honey cakes.
“Plain fare,” Sandry said. “They’re still recovering from the siege. This may be the best meal anyone
is having in Crescent City tonight.”
“Oh.” She smiled. “I thought I was hungry. Now I’m not so sure.”
“There will be wine and honey cakes in the room,” Sandry said.
She ate another bite of the steak. “Are we really alone?”
“Reggy will stay at the salt farm tonight. We’ll see him tomorrow.”
She cut off another bite and chewed mechanically. He’s as nervous as I am! she thought. Sandry! Lord Sandry, warrior, king of Aztlan! That made her feel better.
“Only once have you been more beautiful,” Sandry said.
“That was a wonderful gown.”
“Actually, I was remembering you in your costume, on the high wire, the first time I ever saw you,” Sandry said.
“That’s sweet.” She stood abruptly. “Is that the door?”
Tower jerked awake with a water stampede roaring darkly through her mind.
It was nearly dawn. Sandry lay sprawled in exhaustion across the bed. Burning Tower rose, careful not to wake him. She pulled on a robe against the chill of the morning and went out to the balcony.
A thick fog rolled in from the sea, so thick she could not see the street below. As she stared into the fog, shapes appeared.
The stone forest. A flash of white. It came closer. Spike, running free in the stone forest. The bonehead looked at her and tossed his head, the great horn lifted high.
Tower thought she heard a soft nicker, not of rage or hatred. Perhaps wistful.
“I love you,” she whispered to the beast.
Sandry stirred, and Tower looked back at her sleeping husband, then at the vision ahead. “I love you, but I won’t miss you at all.” She turned away from the vision.
Notes
Much of the research for this book was done by Roberta Pournelle, who found most of the primary sources we used to build our version of Aztlan/Aztec culture, as well as the codex exhibit.
The authors did considerable research for this book. We drove the path that would have led our wagon trains to Chaco Canyon, though we didn’t veer around the Salton Sea, as wagons would. We climbed around Chaco Canyon and the Petrified Forest. We skipped Meteor Crater because we’d both roamed through it years ago. With Roberta Pournelle’s help (because Niven was in a wheelchair), we toured a traveling exhibit of Aztec lore at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art, a wonderful array of buildings built above the Black Pit. We collected a sizable stack of reference material on Aztecs, and it was there we found Aztec sweatbaths, an overburdened merchant with a parrot, giant stone heads, and many other wonders. The exhibit was put together by the museum, and it brought to one place materials scattered in twenty museums about the world, including a codex from Germany.
Niven was led through petroglyphs inscribed on cliffs in California, by Aleta Jackson and a host of rockhounds. He researched Navajo magic in Salt Lake City. He owes much gratitude to his guides.
As in The Burning City, we took what we found and made what assumptions seemed good to us. We have tried to account for many odd and seemingly contradictory twists in ancient legends, as well as the capricious character of gods like Coyote.
Of course, this book is still fantasy, and not much of it should be taken as history.
Or the reader may ignore this warning and assume that later civilizations are the heirs of magic-using civilizations of fourteen thousand years ago, when the manna was dying, most gods had gone myth, and humankind was learning to live in a magic-depleted world.
For instance: Hogans are well described in Navajo lore. If later Navajos believe that a properly built hogan was a living thing, fourteen thousand years ago it may have been so. So also with locusts used as scouts, and the rule that everything comes in fours.
Terror birds were quite real. They didn’t become extinct until long after humankind was speading through the Americas. Even the skeletons found in the southwest and Mexico are scary as hell.
In Aztec myth, Aztlan is the island origin of the Aztec people. After they left the island city, they roamed for ten thousand years before certain signs allowed them to build a new home. Their war god was a hummingbird—a nasty-tempered, quarrelsome little bird, however pretty. The god was called Left-handed Hummingbird for reasons unknown; we think our explanation is as good as any.
Chaco Canyon, in the middle of the North American continent, is about where Aztlan ought to be. It’s a desert now, but a river once ran through it. It was a mighty trading empire: food had to be imported from scores of miles away, and trees too—they used lumber in building. One problem: Aztlan is certainly not an island.
The Salton Sea was real enough, and it drained into the current Sea of Cortez. The Colorado emptied into it, running not as deep as it does today, but the canyons must already have been impressive.
The Petrified Forest was woefully depleted during the days of the American robber barons, so much so that there’s no telling how extensive it might once have been. The servants of Aztlan’s Emperor might have stripped a far more extensive stone forest.
And the Aztecs worshipped a feathered serpent.
The assumption of this series has been that ancient legends are garbled accounts of true events that happened in a time when magic was still a major force. Magic is fueled by manna, and manna is a very nearly nonrenewable resource. Today we use science to accomplish wonders; but, as C. S. Lewis once pointed out, science and magic were born twins.