Naani, kneeling beside me, looked intently into my eyes, and I realized I was speaking more as Andrew than Andros.
"Oh, Naani!" I suddenly burst out. "Am I a madman, sitting in a chair in an ancient manor, dreaming this life, deluded by grief? Or am I deceived in this existence, imagining I once lived? In my dream, I wasn't certain. None of it seemed real."
"It's real," she said. "And if I am an illusion, I am a very persistent one. It's hard, living two lives at once, especially when one of them seems all shadows and phantoms. But it is real."
"Naani," I suddenly said, as the whole memory of the dream returned to me. "The baby died. You died; and then the baby died, and there wasn’t anything I could do. I had forgotten, put it out of my mind. It wouldn't have been so lonely if she had lived, because I had named her Mirdath."
Naani put one hand over her mouth, the horror of recollection in her eyes. "I remember the baby! Her cries have tormented me all my life."
I wept in great, gasping sobs then, as the whole weight of the memory came back; and Naani wept with me. After scores of centuries, two parents huddled together, mourning for their lost child, with only one another and the Country of the Seas surrounding them. But there was a sweetness in that mourning, as if we had both carried the weight of our sorrow forever, buried and unknown until that moment, waiting hidden throughout our lives for us to weep together.
***
We talked much that day of things ancient and new, and laughed as well as mourned.
"Here's a very old one," I said. "When does a man neigh?"
"Neigh?" Naani said. "A strange word." Then as if reaching far into the past, she said, "When he is a little hoarse?"
We laughed as if this were quite clever. Naani, unlike myself, scarcely recalled what a horse was, and could only conjure an image of a tremendous beast, towering and bulky, more a monster than anything else, but we laughed because we remembered it together. The words we used for neigh and hoarse were not in our own language, but in the English of Andrew and Mirdath.
I told her various things about the Great Pyramid, while she listened, enthralled, as if I reported sailors' tales of far wonders. When I mentioned the millions dwelling there, she said, "So many? And so crowded? How strange. With the lack of Earth Current, our redoubt was always underpopulated, like a rambling house. My peoples' spirits seem so thin compared to yours, so lacking in vitality. I don't think we loved properly, though we spoke of love often."
"I think that is always the way," I said. "Even in the Great Pyramid, thousands pass their lives without knowing true love. They do not see how two spirits can live together as one, lost in the mystery of perfect peace and desire, their bodies a natural delight, a splendor surrounding them even on the darkest days—the man with the woman, the woman with the man, he both hero and child before her, she a holy light and true companion. If one dies, the soul of the other fails. That is love. Anything less is just a borrowing of its name for animal desires. Any marriage not born of it, made for such pitiful ends as wealth, ambition, or attraction have no more part of it than the greed of a merchant or the appetite of a glutton.
"Why, Andros, you are a poet," Naani said.
I sighed. "I am a young man a million years old."
"We are becoming melancholy. Tell me more about your pyramid."
So I told how millions of laborers had excavated for many ages to carve the Underground Fields a hundred miles deep, and how countless villages, filled with numberless inhabitants, were spread throughout its many levels. I also told of our scientific discoveries in chemistry, monstruwatry, and metaphysics, of our rolling migrators, of the underground pipes criss-crossing the Night Land, drilled twenty miles and more into the earth to provide a natural water supply, and of the air ships and terrible weapons housed in our Museum of Antiquities.
"Our Underground Fields went less than five miles deep," Naani said, "but there were tremendous, natural caverns beneath those, that we called the Country of Husbandry. It was a lonesome, dimly lit region where we buried our dead. There were only a few inhabitants. Those I met lived solitary lives and went about that land quiet as ghosts."
"We give our dead back to the Earth Current," I said, "in the Country of Silence, the lowest field. A hallowed place, really. To me, it expresses all that is noble and everlasting in humanity. I have always been drawn to it, especially to the Hills of the Infants. I thought it was because of the death of my parents. Now I know it was a hidden yearning for you and our daughter."
She kissed me and looked deep into my eyes. "I love you with all my soul."
I also told her what I had learned about the history of the world from the gray metal book. When I spoke of the desolate, frozen world two hundred miles above the Rift, she became thoughtful.
"All that emptiness and darkness," she said. "It makes me feel insignificant. But I won't give in to it."
"Nor I. Size has nothing to do with significance. I think there is no true death, but the dying of days, and God watching, waiting to take us when our time is done, if we have served Him well."
"And did He throw us back?" she asked, "like fish tossed into a stream?"
It took a moment to remember what a fish was, but at last I said, "We were returned for a purpose, to find one another, to finish what we started."
"He must look favorably upon love, then."
"I think He does."
"Your mention of the metal book reminded me of something I read. Have you heard of the Moving Cities?"
"No. Tell me."
"According to an account my father found in the Records, the cities once continuously followed the sun west upon tremendous metal roadways, keeping just ahead of the night. No one lived in the darkness because of the unbearable cold. Those cities in advance of the others planted crops which were harvested in turn by those behind, then sent forward."
"The rotation of the earth must have slowed," I said, "so a day lasted a long time."
"I don't know," Naani looked a little puzzled at my reply. "You must be right, though. The cities could not have traveled quickly, but staying in one place would have meant freezing to death, so they lived always in the sun, as we live in the darkness."
We reflected on this a bit, and Naani said, "Andros, did you ever love another woman?"
I laughed at this, because she looked so serious. "No, I never did. I have lived a solitary life, as if even before my Awakening I remembered our love and knew no one I met could be you."
I felt a twinge of jealousy known to all lovers, as I asked in return, "And you? Did you love anyone else?"
She shook her head slightly, so her hair stirred against her shoulders. "I felt the same way. A kind of emptiness that left me uninterested in other men, even during the flirtatious years of girlhood. I always knew my one true love waited for me, and someday I would meet him. I never kissed a man, not once, except for my father or brothers."
"Nor I a woman," I said. "As if we knew."
"We did know."
We hugged, and my momentary uneasiness passed. But I pitied those who, not having met their beloved, play lightly with that which is a treasure, not keeping their heart for their darling, but squandering its holy glory on others. I think it must cause constant regret when they finally meet their true love and realize their failure. Yet I suppose in the end, if at last they find real love, that love eases their pain, as love does. Then, perhaps the pain of their regrets, which can cause either growth or decline, makes their love even stronger. I also believe if everyone met the love of their soul, debauchery would pass from the earth, leaving only love dancing through the years.
We fell asleep that night in each others' arms.
***
The next day we woke, both basking in our companionship. Naani changed my bandages after breakfast and eased me to a sitting position for the first time, with my back against the rocks. She rested in my arms, her hair more red than gold in the crimson light. We laughed like two children, and I have never been happier.
Later, I withdrew Ayleos' Mathematics from my pack, so I could bring my journal up to date.
"Andros," Naani said, placing her hands on her hips. "I really must know. Out of all the things you could have brought with you, why did you choose a mathematics book? I cannot think of anything less useful."
I looked down at the scarred, yellow cover. "I wanted to use the blank pages to chronicle my travels. I am always behind on my entries, though. If not for my excellent memory for numbers I could never put down how many hours we have journeyed."
"You remember the number of hours we walk each day?"
"Absolutely. It is a gift, and it only works for numbers. Otherwise I am just as forgetful as anyone."
"But why the book?"
I hesitated, feeling somewhat foolish. "I have always had it with me. I suppose I brought it because it gives me comfort. Nothing is more changeless than numbers. The monsters roar; the Forces of Evil surround the redoubt, but numbers remain the same."
"You are different than Andrew in that way. More thoughtful."
"Andrew had the fields and the forests. Perhaps I would spend less time in books if I could walk the English lanes again."
That whole day was as good as the one before, except when we spied a few of the Humped Men upon the shore, close to the flat rock where we had fought. We could not see what they were doing, but they soon departed, seemingly without thought or knowledge of us. Neither did they return.
***
By the tenth day I was strong enough to walk a bit, though Naani kept close to catch me if I fell. Either the powdered water held special healing properties or the people of the future recovered more quickly than men of ancient days, for a normal man with such wounds would have been forced to stay in bed a month or more.
Because of my bandages, I could not wear my armor, so I used my cloak for a garment instead. Naani had stored my mail in a niche in the rocks, and at my request, she brought it out. During my illness, she had polished it to a fine shine, but I felt sick when I saw how broken and bent it was.
"It can't be fixed!" I moaned. "But we have to have it."
"There must be a way," Naani said. "Could we use a stump for an anvil and heavy stones for a hammer?"
"I don't know. I'm no blacksmith."
"We can try."
It took a few moments for Naani to persuade me, but she persevered until I agreed to attempt it. We picked out the stones together and worked on the armor throughout the day, though my weakness forced me to take frequents rests. Naani hammered on the armor as much as I, though she could not strike as forcefully. We beat the broken parts smooth and took the dents out. When we finished, I was finally appeased, but the work had taken its toll, and I fell asleep early.
***
The next day we discussed the best way to continue our journey, for though I had not completely healed, we needed to reach home before our supplies ran out. Travel seemed impossible in my injured condition, but we both thought of a solution at the same time. We were talking about all the bodies of water in that country, which in turn reminded us of boats and lakes from long ago. We soon struck on the idea of floating through the land on the raft, where we would be free of the Humped Men and could sleep at our leisure.
I had no experience at boating, but we were soon standing over the raft, discussing what we could do to make it safe, for it was too small to use for very long. Mainly, we wanted to put something solid between ourselves and any monsters that happened to swim beneath us. To that end, we searched the tiny island for fibrous bushes to bind more logs together. We did not find any, though we discovered many small saplings to use for braces.
"We could cut my hair and plait it into cords. You wouldn't mind me being bald, would you?" Naani asked.
"I will not let you cut your beautiful hair."
"Because it would make me look like a boy?"
"Because it would make you look like a bald-headed girl. We could-"
I stopped abruptly and ran my hands through the long grass which grew all across the island. Much of it was as tall as my thigh. "If we could braid these into cords, it would work. It is certainly tough enough." I grinned at her and added, "I thought of this idea first."
She put on a pouting face. "Only because I gave you the notion by talking about my hair."
I kissed her and we began cutting arm-loads of the grass. These we took back to our camp, where Naani showed me the art of plaiting. In this way, we could create cords of any length. We worked happily all through the day, but when it came time to sleep, Naani had done three times as much as I. She kissed me gravely. "Don't fret. We can't all have the needed skills. It's nothing to be ashamed of."
I wrestled her to the ground and would have tickled her soundly if not for my wounds.
***
The next day, I used my diskos to cut down six trees. I felt almost whole again, though still slightly weak. We plaited the cords the rest of that day and the day after, and I announced to Naani that since I felt much better, I would stop eating more than my ration of tablets. She tried to talk me out of it, but I held firm, since by my estimation we had just enough to get us home.
On the fourteenth day upon the island, while Naani sat plaiting beside me, I cut seven more trees for a total of thirteen, which I trimmed down nicely with the diskos. I then cut twelve saplings, two of which I sliced thin to use for paddles. Using Naani's knife, I carved a foot-long crosspiece that I fastened with pegs and lashed to one end of the paddles. I then took a large piece of bark, shaped broad on one end and pointed on the other, and after making holes in it, tied its wide end to the crosspiece and its narrow end to the shaft. I made holes down the length of the bark and secured it to the shaft, also, thus making a decent paddle about ten feet long and two feet wide at its head.
I shaped the handle small enough to fit Naani's grasp, all the while teasing that she made my work more difficult by having such tiny hands.
Those hands she presently placed over my mouth to stop the mocking. I mumbled on a bit, and then she went on with her plaiting.
I made the second paddle larger for my own use, and when I finished, I was pleased with my work.
***
On the fifteenth day Naani thought my wounds were nearly healed, and we danced a slow waltz across the beach. Neither of us remembered the steps properly, but we turned gaily to that ancient dance, until we fell laughing in a heap upon the shore.
It took us nearly six hours to roll the trees down to the water, where I began adding them to our existing raft, lashing the saplings across the trunks, with the center tree farthest forward and the others tapering back like a ship's bow. I finished the last of the lashing the next day and completed our craft by setting up two rests for the paddles. We put our gear on board, along with the pole Naani had used in her flight from the Humped Men. I kept my diskos on my belt at my hip, but placed my armor in the middle of the craft.
Naani took my arm as we stopped for a last look at our little campsite. I sighed, and she stood on tiptoe and kissed me on the cheek. "If there were never any more," she said, "this would be enough."
Arm in arm we turned to the water and launched the raft.
XVII
THE DARK AGAIN
Steering the raft proved much easier than we had imagined. The paddles worked well and balanced nicely in their rests. We stood to row, Naani at the front paddle, I at the back, both of us pushing steadily, the raft traveling at a speed slightly faster than we could hike over the broken landscape. Standing did not bother us since we were used to walking, and our only complaint lay in the monotony of paddling, which consisted of little more than rocking back and forth on our heels.
At the twelfth hour, we let the raft drift while we stopped to eat, but soon returned to our labor. Because we felt safe, we talked continuously. Naani often glanced back at me with love, sometimes pursing her lips with a kiss to tempt me, then ordering me back to my work when I tried to desert my station to approach her.
&nbs
p; At the eighteenth hour we pulled in the paddles, set our cloak beneath us for our bed, and let the lapping of the waters rock us to sleep.
***
We woke at almost the same time eight hours later, and for a moment could not remember where we were. We sat up and grinned, filled with joy at the sight of one another's faces, then kissed, washed in the seawater, ate, and returned to our paddling.
All that day we traveled the coast in peace. The only incident was when we saw an enormous beast lumber out of the sea onto the shore. Since the creature was a considerable distance away, it did not frighten us, especially when it seemed content to browse the forest. Still, I would not have wanted the raft to be in its path when it left the waters, for one of its gargantuan feet was easily broad as our vessel.
Despite its size, it seemed natural enough, like all the animals in that country. I think the prehistoric world must have been filled with such beasts, born of circumstance and environment. But I do not think chance is the only factor. I also believe some spiritual energy may control the shape of all living forms. Even though this Force may sometimes be perverted by foul or foolish breeding, as in the case of the monsters of the Night Land, it still provides direction. I picture it as an exacting principle, as constant as a mathematical table. Having seen spiritual forces within the Night Land, it seems reasonable to me that the human spirit is peculiar to itself, either as the cause of human life or its result. I believe humankind may be fundamentally consistent in certain ways, undeviating in those regards despite modifications in form. I also think this was true even at the first, when humans were undeveloped in the things of the spirit. Perhaps the spirit affects the flesh with an energy confined only by humanities' peculiar limitations. Our development may lie between two points that are not so far apart, for despite their differences, the people of the future were quite similar to those of the past. Perhaps humans can change quickly from one point to the other, moving from brutality to refinement and back within a few generations.
The Night Land, a Story Retold Page 28