Paul lifted her hand and kissed it. ‘Oh, my love. My poor love.’
‘Oh, yes, I was going to tell you about the others,’ she said. ‘The Stone Age got them. Isn’t that a joke? They had enough fire power to destroy an army, and the Stone Age got them.’
He looked at her, puzzled.
‘I’m sorry,’ murmured Ann. ‘I’m not being very coherent … There are some pretty dreadful beasts in the forest, and the Lokh protect their village by digging a ring of camouflaged pits around it. The camouflage is very good. I’ve nearly fallen into the damn things myself … They have these pits, with sharpened stakes sticking up in them, in various parts of the forest. Every now and then they go out to inspect them and see what they have caught … They took me out to one of the pits one day. There was some plastic armour, sweeper rifles, transceivers and – and six skeletons at the bottom … The twenty-first century defeated by the Stone Age … The Lokh thought they were being kind showing me what had happened to my companions … That was when I thought I might go mad.’
‘Ann,’ he said, gently wiping the sweat from her forehead and feeling the terrible coldness again. ‘I’m a fool – an absolute fool. I shouldn’t have let you talk. Please, please rest now.’
‘Sooner than you think,’ she murmured. ‘Much … sooner than you think … Don’t reproach yourself, my dear.’ Her eyes were half-closed, and there was a faint smile on her lips. ‘It was worth it to see … my husband … again … Caxton Hall, ten-thirty … A red rose … You looked rather sweet – and a bit frightened.’
She began to cough, and this time there was some blood. The paroxysm exhausted her, but there didn’t seem to be pain any more.
‘Not long now,’ she said thickly. ‘I didn’t expect to see it up top so soon … The blood … Hold me, Paul. Hold me … It’s such a lonely business … Afterwards, the river … It’s so lovely to think of everything being washed away … Washed clean.’
He lifted her body and held it close against him, stroking her hair – the soft white hair – mechanically, while the tears trickled down his face and mingled with the cold sweat on hers.
‘My dear, my love,’ he sobbed desperately. ‘You’re not going to die. I’m not going to let you go … I’m not going to let you … I must think. God, I must think … A dressing – that’s it. A decent dressing. Then when we get to Baya Nor I’ll—’ He stopped.
There had been no sound, no sigh. No anything. She just hung slackly in his arms. He was talking to a dead woman.
For some time, he sat there motionless, holding her. Not thinking. Not seeing.
Presently, he was aware of Shon Hu’s arm on his shoulder.
‘Lord,’ said the Bayani gently, ‘she travels to the bosom of Oruri. Let her go in peace.’
Presently, they made a shroud of skins for her, and weighted it with stones.
Presently, as she had wished, Ann Victoria Marlowe, née Watkins, native of Earth, slipped back into a dark and cleansing river on the far side of the sky.
THIRTY-SIX
Paul Marlowe stared down at the sodden ashes of what had once been his home, and felt nothing but a great emptiness inside him. It was like a cold black void that mysteriously seemed to swell without exerting either pressure or pain. Too much had happened in the last few days, he supposed, for him to feel anything now. Later, no doubt, the numbness would go away and he would be able to assimilate this final tragedy. He wondered, curiously and clinically, if the feeling would be deep enough to move him to tears.
The journey back along the Watering of Oruri and then the Canal of Life had been accomplished safely without any further interference from man or beast – at least, he supposed it had. For after Ann’s death, he had been too traumatized to pay much attention to what was going on. He had sat calmly on the barge, staring at and through the impenetrable green walls of the forest, while day merged into night and night merged into day once more. Shon Hu had taken command of the party, deciding when to rest and where to make camp, and Paul had been as obedient and docile as a child.
But as the barge came nearer to Baya Nor the shock began to recede. Slowly he emerged from the deadly lethargy that had gripped him. He began to think once again, realizing that despite privation and tragedy, the journey had been successful, that he had made the most important discovery in the history of mankind, and that he was on his way home. It was the realization of being on his way home that unnerved him a little. Home, originally, had been somewhere on Earth – and he couldn’t clearly remember where. It was now on Altair Five – and he could visualize very clearly exactly where it was and what it was.
It was a thatched house, standing on short stilts. It was a small dark woman who was immensely proud of the growing bundle of life in her belly … It was a bowl of cooled kappa spirit on the verandah steps in the evening … It was the sound of bare feet against wood, the smell of cooking, the tranquil movements of a small alien body …
The barge was only a few hours’ poling from Baya Nor before Paul had pulled himself together sufficiently to think about Enka Ne. In making his journey to the Temple of the White Darkness, he had not only challenged the authority of the god-king, he had humiliated him. He had humiliated Enka Ne by destroying the pursuing barge and by tipping the god-king’s warriors into the Canal of Life.
Possibly, for the sake of his prestige, Enka Ne would choose to treat the incident as if it had never happened. But that, thought Paul, was unlikely. It was far more likely that, as soon as he was able, Enka Ne would inflict some punishment or humiliation in return.
That was why Paul had not allowed Shon Hu and Zu Shan to bring the barge back to the city. He had made them stay with it on the Canal of Life, about an hour’s walking distance away, while he came on ahead to learn – if he could – something of the situation. If he did not return that day, he had left them with orders to go back into the forest for a while, in the hope that time would diminish the god-king’s displeasure and that he, Paul, would be able to establish sole responsibility for his transgression.
It had been raining during the night, but the day was becoming very warm, and the earth was steaming. And now, here he was, staring at an untidy scattering of damp ashes, patiently watched by the child, Tsong Tsong, whom Paul had left as company for Mylai Tui.
Tsong Tsong was as wet and miserable as the ashes. He had never been particularly bright or coherent, and he was now an even more pathetic figure, being half-starved. It had been the desire of his master, Poul Mer Lo, that Tsong Tsong should stay at the house. The child had interpreted the command literally and, even after the house had been burned down and Mylai Tui was dead, Tsong Tsong had kept vigil – patiently waiting for the return of Poul Mer Lo.
If Paul had never come back, he reflected, no doubt Tsong Tsong would have stayed there until he died of starvation.
He patted the small boy’s head, looked down with pity at the blank face, the dark uncomprehending eyes, and patiently elicited the story.
‘Lord,’ said Tsong Tsong in atrociously low Bayani, ‘it was perhaps the morning of the day after you went on the great journey … Or the morning of the day after that day … I have been hungry, lord, and I do not greatly remember these things … There were many warriors. They came from the god-king … It was a good morning because I had eaten much meat that the woman, Mylai Tui, could not eat … She was a good cook, lord, though cooking seemed to make her weep. Perhaps the vapours of the food were not good to her eyes … But the meat was excellent.’
‘Tsong Tsong,’ said Paul gently, ‘you were telling me about the warriors.’
‘Yes, lord … The warriors came … They made the woman leave the house. She was angry and there were many loud words … I – I stood back, lord, because it is known that the warriors of Enka Ne are impatient men. So, being unworthy of their consideration, and also much afraid, I drew back … My lord understands that it would perhaps not have been good for me to remain?’
‘Yes, I understand. Tell me what happ
ened.’
‘The warriors said they must burn the house, and this I could not understand, because it is known that Poul Mer Lo is of some importance … It was very strange, lord. When the woman, Mylai Tui, saw them make fire she became as one touched by Oruri. She shook and spoke in a loud voice and wept … She tried to run into the burning house, shouting words that I could not understand. But a warrior held her. It was very frightening, lord … And the house made great noisy flames. And then she seized a trident and wounded the man who held her … And then – and then she died.’
Paul was amazed that he could still find no tears, no pain.
He knelt down and rested his hand on the small boy’s shoulder. ‘How did she die, Tsong Tsong?’ he asked calmly.
The boy seemed surprised at the question. ‘A warrior struck her.’
‘It was – it was quick?’
‘Lord, the warriors of Enka Ne do not need to strike twice … I have been very hungry since then. There was some kappa, but it was black and had the taste of fire about it. My stomach was unhappy … Forgive me, lord, but do you have any food?’
Paul thought for a moment or two. Then he said: ‘Listen carefully, Tsong Tsong. There is something that you must do, then you shall have much food … Do you think you can walk?’
‘Yes, lord, but it not a thing I greatly desire to do.’
‘I am sorry, Tsong Tsong. It is necessary to walk to get to the food. I have left Shon Hu, the hunter, and your comrades Zu Shan and Nemo in the barge some distance from here along the Canal of Life. You must go to them. Tell them what you have told me. Also tell them that Poul Mer Lo desires that they and you shall remain in the forest for as many days as there are fingers on both hands. Can you remember that?’
‘Yes, lord … Do they have much food?’
‘Enough to fill you up, little one. Shon Hu is a good hunter. You will not starve. Now go – and say to them also that when they leave the forest they must be careful how they come to Baya Nor, and careful how they enquire after me.’
The child stretched his limbs and gave a deep sigh. ‘I will remember, Lord … You are not angry with me?’
‘No, Tsong Tsong, I am not angry. Go, now, and soon you will eat.’
He watched the small boy trot unsteadily down to the Canal of Life and along its bank. Then he turned to look at the steaming ashes once more.
He thought of Mylai Tui, so proud of the son she would never bear, and of Ann, enduring patiently in the heart of the forest until she could keep an appointment in Samara, and of the Aru Re, Bird of Mars, standing in its icy fastness through the passing millennia – a lofty, enigmatic sentinel waiting for the maturation of the seed.
So much had happened that he was drunk with privation and with grief and with wonder. The sun had not yet reached its zenith, but he was desperately tired.
He sat down on the small and relatively dry patch of earth that Tsong Tsong had vacated. For a while, he stared blankly at the ashes as if he expected Mylai Tui, phoenix-wise, to rise from them. But there was nothing but silence and stillness.
After a time, he closed his aching eyes and immediately fell asleep – sitting up. Presently he toppled over, but he did not wake.
He did not wake until shortly before sunset. He was stiff and lonely and still filled with a great emptiness.
He looked around him and blinked. Then he sat up suddenly, oblivious of the throbbing in his head.
He was surrounded by a ring of tridents, and a ring of blank black faces of the warriors of the royal guard.
For a moment or two, unmoving, he tried to collect his thoughts. Obviously the warriors did not mean to kill him, for they could have accomplished that task quite easily while he was still sleeping. They looked, oddly, as if they were waiting for something.
He was debating in his mind what to say to them when he saw, through the descending twilight, a vehicle coming jerkily along the Road of Travail. At first he thought it was a cart. But then he saw that it was a palanquin, carried by eight muscular young girls. The equipage left the Road of Travail and came directly towards the ring of warriors.
Paul stood up, gazing at it in perplexity. He remembered the first time he had seen the shrouded palanquin that contained the oracle of Baya Nor. It had been on a barge on the Canal of Life, when Enka Ne, otherwise Shah Shan, was taking him to the temple of Baya Sur to witness the first of three sacrifices of girl children.
As if at a signal, the girls carrying the palanquin stopped and set it gently down. The curtains shrouding it did not move. But from inside there came a wild bird cry.
Then a thin and withered arm poked out from between the curtains, pointing unwaveringly at Paul. And an incredibly old yet firm voice said clearly: ‘He is the one!’
Dazed and exhausted still, Paul was aware of a great roaring in his ears. He felt the hands of the Bayani warriors catch him as he fell.
THIRTY-SEVEN
He was in a darkened room, lit only by a few flickering oil lamps. A man with a white hood over his face peered at him through narrow eye-slits.
‘Who are you?’ The words came like gun-shot.
‘I am Poul Mer Lo,’ Paul managed to say, ‘a stranger, now and always.’
The man in the white hood stared at him intently. ‘Drink this.’ He held out a small calabash.
Obediently, Paul took the calabash and raised it to his lips. The liquid was like fire – fire that consumed rather than burned.
Something exploded in his head, and then he felt as if he were being dragged down into a maelstrom. And then he felt as if he were floating freely in space.
When he became conscious again, he realized vaguely that he was being supported by two guards.
‘Who are you?’ shouted the man in the white hood.
Paul felt an almost Olympian detachment. The situation was curious, but amusing. For all his aggressiveness, the man in the white hood was definitely dull-witted.
‘I am Poul Mer Lo,’ repeated Paul carefully and with a little difficulty, ‘a stranger, now and always.’
‘Drink this,’ commanded the inquisitor. He held out the calabash.
Once more Paul took it and raised it to his lips. The fire flowed through his body, roaring and all-consuming. His thoughts became tongues of flame. A curtain of flame danced and drifted before his eyes, slowly burning itself away to reveal a great bird, covered in brilliant plumage, with iridescent feathers of blue and red and green and gold.
But the bird did not move. It had no head.
Once more the maelstrom dragged him down. Once more he felt as if he were floating freely in space. This time there were stars. They whirled about him as if he were the still pivot of a turning universe. The stars were whispering, and their message was important, but he could not hear the words. All he could do was to watch the speeding gyrations, the beautiful cosmic merry-go-round, until time itself drowned in the broad black ocean of eternity …
Until he was suddenly aware once more of a darkened room and a few flickering lamps. And a man with a white hood over his face.
The headless bird had disappeared. And yet … and yet he was still aware of its presence.
‘Who are you?’ The words rolled like waves, like thunder.
He did not know what to say, what to do, what to think, what to feel. He did not know what to believe; for identity had been lost and he seemed now to be nothing more than the vaguest thought of a thought.
‘Who are you?’ The waves crashed on the farther shore. The thunder rolled over a distant land.
And then came answering thunder.
And a voice from far, far away said: ‘There shall come a man among you, who yet has no power and whose power will be absolute. And because no man may wield such power, the man shall be as a king. And because none may live for ever, the king shall be as a god. Each year the king must die that the god may be reborn … Hear, now, the cry of a bird that has never flown … Behold the living god – whose name is Enka Ne!’
Cloud Walker, All Fools' Day, Far Sunset Page 56