“Easy enough,” Lord Felph said. “We drop the ship into the canopy, then pound the brush with phased gravity waves, breaking through the upper foliage. When we’ve gone as far as the ship can go, we have to get out and make our way down. Any ruins will be down on the ground.”
“Upper foliage?” Gallen asked, concerned by the tone of Felph’s voice. He’d imagined this wall of purple vines was the upper layer, and the ground would be a hundred meters beneath it.
“The tangle is at least two thousand meters deep here,” Felph said. “The upper plants you see are mostly parasites, growing on the old-growth dew trees. But it’s the ground we need to reach. Down deeper, the dew trees have grown for thousands of years, so that now their trunks are petrified by constant seepage. Storms rage almost perpetually over this tangle—they’re caused by some rather odd geography, cold winds sweeping down from the arctic, clashing with wet air from the seas under the great tangle. Twenty thousand years ago, this area would have been warmer, dryer. A perfect Qualeewooh nesting site.
“But it’s a mess, now.” Gallen considered. “There has to be a way to get some view of the ground. We need a topographical map, something that shows the features under the tangle. If the Qualeewoohs built here, they would have built above ground.”
“Of course,” Felph said. “I’ve done some echolocation, but the results are confusing. As I’ve said, the lower trunks of the dew trees tend to become petrified, so they show as stone. What on the map looks like a tower is usually just the trunk of a dew tree.”
Gallen asked, “But people have found towers here?”
“One or two,” Felph replied. “But no one has found Teeawah, the city itself.”
“Do your maps show where ruins have been discovered?”
“Indeed,” Felph replied. “But it’s not the ones that have been discovered that we want. No one has reached the ruins of Teeawah. I’ll get the map, and let you tell me where to look.”
Gallen agreed. Felph ordered the ship’s AI to radio the palace, download copies of the maps, then display them on the ship’s holo.
The lights lowered; one viewscreen displayed an image in grays and reds. The map showed an area roughly four hundred kilometers wide and six hundred long, a wriggling, serpentine valley between the hills. Thrusting upward from it, like myriad hairs, were thousands of petrified trunks from dew trees. The five successful treks into the tangle had all been in the same general area, a great central plain here a few steep bluffs jutted from the foothills.
Yet as Gallen studied the map, he did not think the area looked promising. The bluffs weren’t large enough to support a city like the one he imagined.
“Why do you think the Qualeewoohs built here?” Gallen asked Felph, not because he needed an answer, but because he wanted the old man to confirm his own ideas.
“A rookery,” Felph said. “Aside from holy places which are more historic sites than anything else, I don’t see that the Qualeewoohs ever built anything except as a rookery.”
Gallen considered what little he knew of Qualeewoohs’ habits. At Felph’s palace the Qualeewoohs had built rookeries into the face of the cliffs—and this whole valley was ringed with such cliff faces.
“The Qualeewoohs like to set their rookeries high,” Gallen said.
“And far from water, to avoid predators,” Felph agreed.
Gallen imagined himself winging through the cliffs that ringed the valley. As he did, he whispered, “They want shelter from wind. It keeps their clooes warmer, and it makes it easier for the chicks to learn to fly—fewer drafts and crosscurrents.”
Gallen traced his finger along the cliffs. Felph began pacing beside him.
“They need some running water.” Gallen considered. “It’s too heavy to carry easily.” He reached the very mouth of the canyon at the far north. Two arms of the mesa jutted out, each running a northeast, northwest angle. At the very lip where the mountains met, lay a deep defile. A river would be there.
“Between the arms of these mountains,” Gallen whispered. “This is where I would look for Teeawah.” Gallen felt almost certain he was right.
“Congratulations,” Felph said. “Your very first try, and you have found it. Do you know how many hundreds of men have lost their lives in expeditions to this region? In all the Great Tangle, there is not a more treacherous pit than the one you pointed out. The place is crawling with sfuz who have tunneled their warrens around there for kilometers. I’ve tried to make the bottom of those cliffs many times.”
“What are sfuz?” Gallen asked.
“Hunters, like giant … monkeys,” Athena answered. “Or maybe more like spiders. They hunt in so many ways.”
Gallen could see that to describe them would be pointless. What was the winged creature he had just seen? A dragon? That name perhaps best described the beast, yet it seemed woefully inadequate. What name would describe a florafeem? A giant flying half a clam?
No words sufficed.
“The sfuz set snares for unwary animals.” Felph tried to be more helpful. “And they’re just as likely to track you down while you’re sleeping. But they can be far more canny: they train other animals to do their bidding. The word sfuz is a Qualeewooh word. Though we often translate it as hunter, it also means relentless.
“How do they kill?” Gallen asked.
“Nothing elaborate,” Felph said. “With tooth and claw, which may be painted with poisons extracted from other animals. But the sfuz are very strong. They’re adapted to an environment where they must climb up and down as easily as we move across the earth. And like other animals on Ruin, they’re fast—much faster than most. In the tangle, quick reflexes seem to be the preferred adaptation. The sfuz walk more quickly than we run. In close quarters, in short bursts, they run almost faster than the eye can see.
“If I am right, the ancient ruins are home to the largest single nest of sfuz on Ruin.”
Gallen said, “You mentioned that they train other animals, use snares—are these creatures sentient?”
Felph seemed to consider. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “The sfuz never talk to you, never seem to reason, but they know a hundred ways to kill you. Are such creatures sentient?”
“He is not telling you everything,” Athena said. ``The sfuz here in the tangle of Teeawah are fearsome. I have fought sfuz in other areas—but none like this! They regenerate. They can’t be killed!”
Felph laughed. “Don’t get the man excited. That can’t be proved. They may regenerate, but we don’t know that they’re immortal.”
“It’s true,” Athena said. “I killed one near my campsite. A few hours later, it roused and slew me!”
“There was a Glitch in the transmission your Guide sent,” Felph argued. “I’ve explained it before: when that version of you died, the Guide it wore sent the downloaded memories. The Guide must have been damaged in the attack. That’s all. A simple transmission error.”
Gallen felt skeptical. Immortal predators? Felph had said that no one had ever reached Teeawah, that the predators here were unusually nasty. Yet this seemed too much to believe. Still, he knew it would be dangerous. A question lodged at the back of Gallen’s mind, something he feared to ask. “Is there a reason why so many sfuz nest here? Does this jungle provide more prey?”
Felph shook his head. “We are talking about a region deep within the tangle, without light, where few animals can survive. I don’t think the tangle here could provide enough food for the population. The sfuz must be transporting food for hundreds of kilometers.”
“That would take a great deal of effort,” Gallen said. “Such effort doesn’t make sense for predators.”
“Agreed,” Felph said.
“So what if these aren’t just warrens under there?”
“What do you mean by that?” Felph asked.
Gallen stared at the topographic map. Everything suddenly seemed to make sense. “Imagine man has made a great discovery, the Waters of Strength, something that—I don’t know
—transforms him into something more than human. It lets him conquer self, nature, time, space. So he drinks the Waters, and all the men on earth leave.
“But then baboons come, and they too drink of the Waters. Only the Waters weren’t made for them. Maybe they’re not bright enough to understand what they’re for. When they drink the Waters, they find themselves able to regenerate. How important would those Waters become? Would you want your enemies, or your prey, to find them? Would you simply nest in that region, or would you fortify it?”
Lord Felph’s eyes grew wide at the implications.
“A fortress’?” Athena asked. You think they’ve built a fortress?”
Felph in contemplation. “Interesting.” He said. “I must admit I’ve never considered that possibility. Obviously you have a military mind. A fortress, to protect something of value …”
Gallen stared down at the map, pointed to an abutment on the side of the mountain. “This is where we’ll go in.”
Chapter 16
Maggie spent much of the day in her room, lost in thought. She could see why Zeus would be terrified after Lord Felph’s maniacal display this morning. The murder of Zeus’s clones, the sight of his brains spattering against the floor, had shocked Maggie to the core. Certainly it must have dismayed Zeus even more.
If Maggie were Zeus, she’d leave, too. Indeed, this whole morning, Maggie had been thinking: whatever her promise to Lord Felph the night before, she saw now he was mad. She’d come to Ruin searching for a place to bear her child in peace. She’d hoped Felph’s palace might afford security.
Now she had to wonder. Felph frightened her; but what had he really done?
Destroyed clones—lumps of unaware flesh. Violence against clones, however terrifying was not the same as violence against a person.
Still, Felph seemed threatening.
Or was he simply trying to teach a lesson? Felph claimed he wanted to teach his children responsibility. They’d never had to learn the consequences of their actions.
Silently, Maggie damned Felph for what he’d done to his own children. Never mind that he claimed to love them. He was as manipulative as anyone she’d ever met.
Yet she didn’t entirely trust Zeus, either. She’d been warned that he was more than he seemed. She knew she couldn’t trust appearances.
Maggie lay on her bed most of the afternoon, unable to rest. She wished Gallen were here, or that she’d gone with him. She craved the security of his presence.
At the same time, she recognized that this would give her an opportunity to get to know Felph’s children. It might be necessary to rescue them from their father. Such an operation would be messy, if Felph refused to let them go.
Maggie imagined various confrontations with the old man. He was moody, unpredictable. He kept a gun in his pocket.
Gallen might have to kill him. But what would that accomplish? The Controller in Felph’s head kept contact with the artificial intelligence in Felph’s revivification chamber. If Gallen killed Felph, the Al would download his memories into a clone, resurrecting the man. Security droids could secrete Felph in hidden wings of his palace, where Gallen wouldn’t be able to strike.
Maggie might have to dismantle the Al in the revivification chamber. If Gallen had to kill Felph, it would be better to leave the man dead.
But killing Felph would not be enough. Certainly, Felph had formidable resources. As they’d flown the florafeems, she’d seen silver torsos of security droids roving the perimeter of Felph’s grounds. While Felph might reasonably claim that these droids kept predators off his grounds, those droids could also keep his children on his property. So if Felph’s children were to escape, those droids would have to be neutralized.
Maggie knew her thoughts were traveling down dangerous paths. Sabotaging the ground’s droids, murdering Felph. The ideas seemed paranoid. Yet defeating the killer droids, murdering Felph—both were jobs that would require certain technical knowledge only Maggie could access. The mantle she wore held the key to freedom.
So much for searching for a safe place to have her baby. Felph’s palace, as luxurious as it seemed, might be nothing more than a glorified prison. Certainly, Felph’s children were virtual slaves. The stone walls suddenly seemed suffocating.
Yet even now, Maggie couldn’t be certain Felph was the Monster she imagined.
Was Zeus merely trying to play on Maggie’s sympathies for his own reasons?
Maggie found herself in a quandary. She wanted to question Felph’s children, yet Zeus’s hints made her feel insecure talking to anyone. Zeus had said that Hera was certainly Felph’s spy. Then there was Herm; Maggie did not trust the winged man. He always wore a slight smile which said, “I know more than you. I have secrets.”
So, Maggie was in a turbulent frame of mind as she made her way to the North Garden.
The evening came peacefully, Darksun dipping over the west hills in a blaze of gold that painted high clouds in shades of saffron. Almost immediately, even before the sun fell, Brightstar began to blaze, gaping like a hole in the night.
Maggie walked down the stone paths, along hedges that carried rose blooms in a hundred shades of blue. The scent of freshly tilled earth, of grass trampled under the wheels of gardener droids, all mixed with the scent of myriad roses.
Felph’s roses were exotic. Some had been genetically altered to exude a bouquet of natural scents, like lemon, ginger, or tangerine. Other blooms had odd-shaped petals. Maggie had seen frilled roses on Tangor, roses that looked more like carnations. But Felph’s collection included tufted roses with cottony petals. Others had enlarged stamens and small silky petals, like orchids.
The climbing roses scaled elaborate arbors carved from white marble, which arched over her head, forming extravagant walls around her, until she came to the center of the garden, secreted deep within the hedges. There, on a small hillock, an onyx statue of a huge peacock, his tail in full display, stood regally near a rocky pool while statues of peahens seemed to delicately feed in the grass around the pool.
The waters of the pool did not have a fountain, as she’d expected. Instead, the water merely burbled up from below ground, adding small liquid sounds to the scene. A few sparrows winged over the pool, dipping into the water. As Maggie watched, a nereid splashed, swimming on her back, breasts bobbing in the water as her tail flapped lazily. Maggie stood watching the thing, unsure. If it were some genetically altered creature or merely a viviform. Whatever she was, the nereid was lovely. She had a creamy complexion, sweet face, hair of a sea green, blue eyes filled with delight. The nereid splashed about, as if unaware of Maggie’s presence, and Maggie decided that the creature must be a viviform, a work of art that only mimicked life.
Maggie waited on a stone bench for twenty minutes, till Darksun set. Then Zeus appeared with a basket. Maggie could smell sweet scents within—fresh bread and fruits. Zeus hardly said hello before he opened the basket, brought out a bottle of wine and two cups, filled them. He set the plates, then began opening silver containers of food.
“Grilled skog in raspberry sauce with fresh mint,” he said, not at all enthusiastically. The next plate contained rye bread, covered with cheese and poppy seeds, followed by vegetable dishes and a compote of mixed tropical fruits, cooked in brandy.
All these Zeus served with a singular lack of energy, a self-absorbed air, so Maggie wondered what sort of inner storm might be brewing in him.
After he’d set the first bowl on the stone bench and became so brooding he forgot to remove the lid, Maggie took his hand. “What’s troubling you?” she asked. “What are you thinking?”
Zeus hung his head. Here in the dark, with only moon and starlight shining on him, she could not see his eyes. They were lost beneath lanky hair. But when he startled, glanced up, starlight gleamed in his dark eyes. It surprised her. She had not been prepared for the intensity, the passion in his eyes. “I … I feel guilty,” he whispered. “My problems aren’t yours. I should not have tried to involve you in
this. Forgive me. It was … so thoughtless.” Zeus uncovered two platters. The only sound to pierce the night was the ringing of silver.
“It wasn’t thoughtless,” Maggie said. “I know you wouldn’t do it lightly. Are you frightened?”
Zeus gave a laugh. “Frightened, of my father? No. The man loves me—he says. He loves me so much, he will never let me go. But I am not frightened of him.
“Forgive me, Maggie, this is none of your affair. You should not become … embroiled.”
He fell silent again. She said softly, “Let me judge that. I understand your pain. I was imprisoned by a Guide once. I know what it is to be a slave.”
Zeus looked up at her; hope kindled in his dark eyes. “Then you know how it feels, year after year, longing for release! I think, I think this morning some mad fit took me. I swear, I ran naked out into the sunlight for the first time, and I wanted to throw myself from the citadel in joy, to feel perfect liberty, to be unencumbered.”
Zeus got up, stalked to the edge of the fountain, and looked out over the gardens to a line of stars that lay heavy on the hills. “What a fool I must appear. I thought that because Felph removed my Guide, he would let me go free.”
He stood, hands clasped behind his back, staring up.
“I could help you,” Maggie said. Thinking furiously. She had determined earlier to reserve judgment, to let him reveal himself slowly. But now, here in his presence, hearing the intensity behind his words, she didn’t doubt that he fervently wanted to be free. She’d been imprisoned by a Guide for only a few days. What would it be like to remain imprisoned for years, craving freedom, in the way that Zeus had been genetically engineered to crave?
Zeus shook his head, then wandered back to the bench. From his basket, he silently brought out a single candle, lit it, and set it between their plates. Once again he became lost in contemplation.
“Please,” he said after a moment, “let us not mar a fair dinner with foul conversation.” He raised his glass of wine in salute. “To my fair Maggie, who through her kindness has already won for me all the freedom I’ve ever known.”
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