Dinotopia - Dinotopia Lost

by Alan Dean Foster

  “How much farther is it to heaven?” Tryll asked innocently.

  Tarqua glanced back at her. “I do not know, little one. That is one of the things I am trying to find out. Do not worry. We are not aiming to climb nearly so high. Only in that direction.”

  “We’re just climbing to the top of the tallest temple, silly,” chirped her brother. Tryll stuck out her tongue at him. It was surprisingly long and quite flexible.

  “Not exactly” In the wake of the more agile bipeds Chaz huffed and puffed along as best he could. They had to pause often for him to catch up. “For one thing, we’re not climbing in a spiral but in a long, continuously ascending, more or less straight line. For another, we have already, by my estimates, climbed far higher than the top of the tallest temple spire.”

  “Then where are we going?” Shremaza whispered edgily.

  “I don’t know.” Chaz kept his eyes fixed on the metronomic sway of the Deinonychus's tail, a shifting shadow in the light of the ascetic’s torch. Fused vertebrae kept it from dragging along the floor. “This is the most peculiar dinosaur I have ever encountered. Dromaeosaurs normally are brusque and irritable. This one is calm and serene. Usually they love to fuss and argue. This one speaks only of living in peace and quiet. They tend to shun the Rainy Basin. This one lives alone on its fringe. I don’t understand him at all. I know only that his kind are but one step removed, albeit a very big step, from the rain forest carnosaurs.”

  “You don’t think ...” a wide-eyed Shremaza began.

  “No,” replied Chaz quickly. “He’s much too educated to have fallen back to the old ways. He just puzzles me, that’s all. But I don’t care if he’s from another planet so long as he helps us to rescue Will.”

  “It feels like we’re climbing to another planet,” Arimat grumbled.

  The beautifully hollowed-out corridor through which they were ascending gradually gave way to a natural tunnel decorated with stalactites, stalagmites, helectites, and other speleothems. At regular intervals the Deinonychus would pause to light one of the many torches set in holders attached to the walls.

  “I’m getting tired,” announced Tryll.

  “You’re getting tired?” Chaz’s short, stumpy legs ached from the strain of the steady climb.

  “Be of good cheer.” Tarqua’s hearing was as acute as his eyesight. “We are almost there.”

  “To heaven?” Shremaza inquired uncertainly.

  The Deinonychus chittered under his breath, a form of laughter. “Not quite so high. We are almost to the place I call the Balcony.”

  The struthies exchanged glances. Having no one to look at, Chaz kept his reaction to himself.

  The stairway opened into a huge, vaulted chamber hung with exquisite cave formations. Disturbed by their arrival, a turmoil of bats flashed past their heads, black confetti propelled by squeaks.

  Chaz’s beak sampled the air. “Stinks in here.”

  “Ammonia.” The Deinonychus led them deeper into the expansive cavern. “From the guano. Pay no attention to it and, like most disagreeable things, it will soon pass.”

  “I wish those humans would soon pass.” Keelk’s claws clicked rhythmically against the stone floor. “I wish they would let Will Denison go and leave in their boat.”

  It wasn’t necessary to ask for a description of the Balcony. A short climb and turn to the left brought them to it, whereupon the source of the name became clear.

  It was completely hidden from below. Anyone looking in its direction from within the temple complex would have seen only the protruding ridge of rock that completely blocked from view the gaping cavity in the mountainside.

  As they arrived they also saw the workshop: stone benches set with orderly clusters of tools, many of which were unfamiliar to Chaz. The walls were decorated with more of the fine bas-reliefs that adorned the buildings in the hidden valley. These depicted humans working with strange machines and devices.

  “There are no dinosaurs,” Chaz commented as he examined the reliefs.

  “No.” The Deinonyclms doused his torch in a rock cistern. Ample light poured in through the high opening in the cliff face, passably illuminating this portion of the cavern. “All that you have seen here was fashioned by an ancient human cult. They had access to great knowledge, much of which has been lost.”

  “What happened to them?” Chaz inquired.

  “The picture writing they left behind is not conclusive,” Tarqua explained, “but from what I have been able to gather and infer, it seems that they came to this place bent on restoring a culture built upon the accumulation of artificial wealth. They found and mined many gems and metals. So busy were they finding and mining and raising impressive monuments to their false riches that they forgot to grow food or catch fish. So they began to starve. When they found they couldn’t eat the gold or jewels they’d slaved so long and hard to stockpile, they began to leave. Most rejoined the rest of Dinotopian civilization. Those who remained gradually died off. With their passing went all memory of this place.”

  Keelk marveled at their surroundings. “I bet Will Denison would find this interesting. His father is a scientist. Will wants to become a master skybax rider, but while his heart may fly, I think he has a scholar’s eyes.”

  “Truly? It sounds like his father and I would have much in common.”

  “I didn’t think you wanted to talk to anybody,” Chaz remarked.

  The Deinonychus’s gaze flicked in his direction. “I will always break silence when knowledge is to be had.” Turning from the Protoceratops, he strode out onto the natural stone porch. “I come here often, not only to study and learn from these ancient artifacts and pictures but to enjoy the view.” He beckoned with a clawed hand. “Come out. Are you afraid? It is perfectly safe.”

  Slowly they filed out into the light.

  “Ho-shah/” exclaimed Shremaza. “It’s beautiful!”

  Golden buildings and silver walkways agleam in the sunshine, the entire temple complex lay spread out below them. Brilliantly faceted gems and semiprecious inlays set in walls and rooftops glittered like stars in an upside-down sky. Ahead and to the right the crests of the Backbone Mountains marched north and east in majestic, snowcapped succession.

  “See, Mother!” An exhilarated Tryll pointed excitedly. “Isn’t that Mount Spiketail?”

  “I don’t know, child. Perhaps Keelk ... ?” When her eldest daughter did not respond, Shremaza turned querulous. “Keelk?”

  They found her farther back in the cavern, examining a large irregular device of unfamiliar appearance that seemed to crouch in the deep shadows. “What’s this? It looks more like a sky galley than anything else.”

  Tarqua’s tone was complimentary. “You are observant. This is indeed an aerial vehicle of my own manufacture, similar to yet very different from the sky galleys which ply the mountain vastnesses of Dinotopia. It is based upon an ancient human design and employs novel methods of propulsion and fabrication.”

  Chaz studied the outlandish mechanism dubiously. The function of the gondola, fashioned of reeds and ropes, was obvious enough, as was that of the rigging that draped much of the craft. The prow took the form of a wooden sculpture in the shape of an ennobled Deinonycbus. Clearly not their host, but perhaps some honored ancestor.

  Instead of balloons filled with helium, half a dozen metallic globes hovered above the body of the device. They were held in place and secured to the gondola below by finely woven mesh nets and elaborate rigging. It seemed they should fall and crush the rest of the craft. Instead, they strained visibly at their moorings, obviously capable of providing considerable lift.

  A single large wooden propeller protruded from the back of the craft. It was attached by means of a complex sequence of gears and shafts to a treadmill inside the gondola. Steering vanes, or rudders, flanked it on either side.

  Chaz rested his forefeet on the craft’s railing, the better to see inside. “That looks like a scroll reader,” he commented, nodding in the direction of t
he treadmill.

  “One that has been regeared and strengthened,” Tarqua admitted, “so that instead of cycling a printed scroll, it operates this geared mechanism here. Observe.”

  Exhibiting an agility Chaz could not have matched even in his dreams, the elderly ascetic easily hopped over the railing and into the gondola, whereupon he proceeded to explain the mechanics to the attentive Protoceratops.

  “The treadmill engages this gearing, which turns this screw, which drives the propeller, which pushes the vehicle through the air.”

  “Sky galleys have two such devices,” Shremaza pointed out.

  “Truly they do.” Tarqua looked over at her. “But since there is only one of me, I built this craft so that I could operate it alone.”

  “But you have no balloons to provide lift.” Chaz indicated the metal spheres. “Only those odd silver globes.”

  Tarqua was patient. “How do you know these are not balloons also?”

  “Because balloons are made from silk, not metal. Metal is too heavy to be woven.”

  “That is so. But these are not woven, you see. They grow naturally, in the depths of this cavern, and with proper care can be increased in size like cabbages.”

  Chaz snorted in disbelief. “How can you ‘grow’ metal?” Tilting back his head, the Deinonychus gazed proudly at his spherical creations. “These are hydromagnesite balloons. They form slowly, as do the other more common cave formations you see about you. Employing the arts of the ancients, it is possible to greatly increase their size. When they have inflated to the degree necessary for my purposes, I carefully detach them and bring them here.

  “I replace the gaseous mixture they contain with hydrogen, which is freely available from natural vents that permeate this mountain. Helium is safer, but requires artificial production facilities which are denied to me. Once the balloons have been refilled, their fragile surfaces are coated with a special transparent varnish, which strengthens them greatly.”

  “What in the name of the Great Egg can you want with such a device?” Shremaza regarded the outre contraption uncomprehendingly. “Of what possible use can it be to you here?”

  Tarqua blinked at her. “Why, when I am ready to die I hope to use it to ascend to the proverbial heaven. Its lifting power is considerable.”

  “Metal balloons.” Keelk studied the gas-filled globes. “What remarkable conceits has nature.”

  “It does seem to contradict natural law.” Arimat had walked over to peer into the gondola. “Yet here it sits.”

  “There is room for all,” Tarqua told them. “High winds may make navigating difficult. But my real fear is that if we use it to rescue your friend, I may not have enough hydrogen left to return to the Balcony. The balloons are not perfect, you see, and tend to leak. If we reach the Northern Plains but are unable to return, how then will I ascend to heaven?”

  Stepping boldly forward, Keelk put a clawed forehand on the Deinonychus’s arm. There was a time in the archaic past when Tarqua’s ancestor would have killed and eaten her on the spot. Much had changed in the past sixty million years, however, and the Deinonychus listened while the young struthie spoke.

  “You are a fine person, Tarqua. Virtuous and moral. When the time comes for you to pass on to the next life, no matter

  which direction it lies I don’t think you’ll need a conveyance like this to carry you there.” Her mother looked on with quiet approval.

  “I confess there are occasions when similar thoughts occur to me.” The ascetic gazed fondly at the contrivance that had cost him so much time and effort. “Perhaps this is a better use for it.” Turning, he scrutinized the lowering sky beyond the Balcony. “The weather is not promising.”

  “Neither is Will Denison’s future,” remarked Keelk solemnly, “and his prospects are worsening by the minute.” Tarqua nodded solemnly. “The winds will be difficult, especially as we shall be sailing into them.”

  “Excuse me,” barked Chaz. “We? Am I a pteranodon, to take to the air? You can’t be serious.”

  “We’re going to fly, we’re going to fly!” Without waiting for instructions, Tryll and Arimat hurdled the woven railing into the gondola.

  “Ah, the unquestioning enthusiasm of youth.” Murmuring to himself, Tarqua leaped lithely into the rear of the craft and opened a door in the side. “If you are ready?”

  “Wait a minute!” insisted Chaz. “Ready for what?” He cocked a disbelieving eye at Shremaza. “Surely you’re not going up in that thing?”

  Ignoring the prattling Protoceratops, she fixed her attention on the sky boat. “I have often watched the skybax and their riders and wondered what it would be like to be able to look down upon the ground from a great height. I had hopes Will Denison could somehow convey the feeling to me. But why not find out for myself?” She stepped through the open gate and into the craft. More out of courtesy than necessity, Tarqua graciously extended a hand to help her aboard.

  “Listen here, now.” Chaz approached the vehicle but did not board. “What happens if we do manage to overtake Will and his captors? Has anyone thought about that? What do we do then?”

  “We could drop rocks on them.” Arimat always had been an aggressive youth.

  “Or pieces of log,” his sister added, not to be outdone. Tarqua looked on disapprovingly. “I abhor violence. Perhaps we can frighten them away somehow. It may be that in

  the outside world flying machines are not yet a common sight. In any event, I will devote all of my considerable intellect to the problem.”

  “Oh, now, that’s reassuring,” groused Chaz sarcastically. “We’ll drop down on them out of the sky, snatch Will up, and flee with him into the clouds where none can follow.” Keelk eagerly examined the rigging. “We’ll substitute this craft for his skybax.”

  “Then it’s settled.” Shremaza turned glistening, limpid eyes on Chaz. “We may need your help, translator. Are you coming?”

  “Oh, my,” Chaz mumbled. “Are these, my legs carrying me forward? Are these, my feet stepping up into this preposterous contraption? I am betrayed by my own body!”

  Keelk bent over to place a forehand on the Protoceratops's frill. “Thank you, translator. I’m glad you’re with us.”

  “I’m not,” he muttered. “Actually, I’m back on solid ground, acting sensibly, watching you bounce and lurch through the air like a bug trying to negotiate a thunderstorm. But my body, it seems, has other ideas, and my brain has no choice but to go along for the ride.” Ignoring his complaints, Tarqua closed and latched the door behind him.

  “I’m not much on heights, you know.” Chaz studied the comfortable, tightly plaited interior of the craft. At least the rails and walls were higher than his head. Unless he stood up on his hind legs he wouldn’t be able to see the ground. And he had no intention of standing up.

  Using the middle claw on his forefinger like a knife, Tarqua began cutting the ropes that secured the straining craft to the ground.

  “Calm yourself, translator. The vehicle is perfectly safe.”

  “I suppose.” Chaz flinched as the gondola lurched forward. “I guess you’ve tested it many times.”

  With the last anchor rope cut, the silvery hydrogen-filled hydromagnesite balloons began to drag the heavily laden craft toward the Balcony and the open air beyond.

  “Actually,” Tarqua replied with serene nonchalance, “this is the first time it will have been airborne.”

  “What}”

  “Oh, yes.” Hopping onto the treadmill, the Deinonychus

  began to run, loosely, easily, with fluid, measured strides. The treadmill scrolled, the gears meshed, the propeller began to hum, and the craft accelerated forward as it rose from the stony surface.

  “Then how do you know it will fly?” an increasingly agitated Chaz sputtered.

  “Because we are flying,” the Deinonychus replied, quite unperturbed.

  Chaz turned away, closed his eyes, and pressed his face against the nearest wall. He could feel as well as hear
the wind whistling outside.

  “I am not here,” he recited under his breath. “I am not doing this. I am at home in my bed, preparing the next day’s lessons. I am not here, I am not...”

  Indifferent to his insistence, the sky boat soared out through the breach in the cliff face, over the edge of the Balcony, and up into the open sky.

  They pitched sharply and the Protoceratops moaned.

  “Interesting.” Tarqua sprinted furiously, without evident effort. The treadiflill’s footpad cycled beneath him. “There are bumps in the air. I have heard of such.” The lighter-than-air craft continued to pick up speed.

  Beneath them, slot canyons rent the high plateau like dark veins. Most were less than a foot wide. Locating one of the gondola’s corners, Chaz pressed his face into it as far as it would go and stood silently, isolated and shivering. Part, but not all of his reaction, could be attributed to the fact that as they rose higher, the air cooled noticeably. He did his best to ignore the elated singsong of the struthies, all of whom were glorying in the experience.

  Wind began to catch and buffet them. Rain fell fitfully from dark clouds while thunder echoed all around. There was lightning, but only in the distance, off to the north.

  If our situations were reversed, Chaz told himself angrily, Will Denison wouldn’t be cowering in a corner like this. Of course, Will was a skybax rider and as at home in the clouds as on land. Flying held no fear for him.

  What was that fear? A mental condition. Couldn’t Chaz control a simple mental condition? His trembling eased, then ceased altogether. Tarqua had done his work well. The sky boat rocked and bounced, but not so much as a single plait came loose. Chaz began to approach a state somewhere between utter panic and stoic resignation. It was a great improvement.

  The resin-coated hydromagnesite balloons drew them ever higher. Thin as paper, they gleamed like steel in the fitful light.

  On an off day, this might be considered fun, Chaz told himself. Instead of simpering in terror he should try to enjoy himself. Give himself over to the experience. The struthies were leaning against the railing, pointing out sights below and squealing delightedly at the adventure. When Tarqua began to tire, they each took a turn on the treadmill, with the result that no speed was lost. The Deinonychus adjusted the gearing to suit the strength of each individual runner.