Beyond the golden stair

by Bok, Hannes, 1914-1964

  '*And have you appeared to the people of my world? Lucky peoplel"*

  '^No, I am Watcher of the world of imder-men. I have no aflBnity for your plane of madmen 1"

  Her words had flowed smoothly and limpid, though the twist of her motionless lips was bitter enough. Beautiful and desirable as she was, the sentences im-reeling from her rigid mouth tinctured her perfection with die grotesque and inhuman.

  Uneasily, Hibbert said: **Mareth, I wish you'd speak with your voice, rather than with your thought I"

  ^We employ our voices little here. Such is the practice of the lesser beings beneath us. We speak with the hps in the playing of nonsense games wherein we string together words without meaning, merely to behold the patterns of Hght which their utterance produces. You would have me talk by mouth because I seem strange to you, and the strangeness remains a barrier between us. But that is as I would have it!**

  She went on: "Now as to N'gine and those other clans, the sylphs and gnomes and salamanders, they inhabit one of the many interlocked worlds whose existence I have mentioned. If you think Khoire fantastic, how much more amazing you would find their homes I They are bodiless creatures in a world without substance—mere sentient energies—shadows of intel-hgence knowing Httle pleasure and pain. They can simulate the hmnan form, though not human themselves, but in hiunan guise they cannot handle material objects.

  "So near the vibrational pitch of your world is theirs that at times the two momentarily coincide. At such times they can be seen by those among you who are sensitive—either because bom with extraordinary quickness of thought, and remember that thought is a vibration—or sensitive because their perceptions are heightened by disease, drugs, or hypnotic influence. But these entities are seen as in delirium, or dreams and trances—giving rise to superstitions of angelic visitations, possession by devils, and the genii lo-corumr

  Hibbert mused: "Fox-spirit, vampire, werewolf, goblin, and nymph—our legends of them go back to the immemorial. Still, we hear reports of those myths being reenacted daily, the reports being promptly explained away with scientific jargon more outlandish than the events themselves."

  Then he asked: "But why should Watchers be needed in the world-under-men?"

  "Why should we not show its dwellers the path to the fullness of life which they seek? And they at least live in peace. We bridge the void between worlds, teaching them, immaterial as they are, to manipulate substance—"

  He cut in: "The poltergeists—so this explains theml**

  "Yes, those forces which wreak mischief on inanimate objects in your lands, and which your scientists explain away with laughable theories of heat-expansion and seismic disturbances—"

  Then: "Enough! I have told what you asked to know. I came here in curiosity. Though knowing of your kind from the Historians, I had never compared their teachings with concrete reality. Now I have seen you and know those teachings for fact indeed, and henceforth I will sympathize with Dweil's viewpoint. It was he who conceived the idea of calling N'gine and Kikoda through the Silver Gate—that they might make homage to the Great Ones"—she made the reverent gesture—"incidentally reminding them of a race in need and worthy of support."

  She surveyed him disdainfully and gazed past him toward the inner rooms as though her vision pierced the intervening walls and took note of the giant and Carlotta. She arose from her chair, her shimmering garments fluttering like opalescent smoke,

  "Now I must go, for Dweil knew not of my coming here. And I would rather be at his side than have him fret at my absence, make inquiries, and summon me.

  Hibbert could not relinquish her, with the Change and expulsion so imminent. He moved toward her, his hands held out hungrily.

  "Mareth, don t go!"

  Her look at his hands was like a blow. He lowered them. She asked: 'Tou still dare hope when I have warned you against it?''

  He shook his head. "No, I don't hold much hope. Just let me see you a while longer so that when I'm forced to leave Khoire I'll have some souvenir of you to take along, if only a memory."

  She hesitated. "Better for you to forget me.''

  "Forget you?" he cried. "No, I'll never forgetl III uncover one of those sects that you say keep in touch with Khoire, and I'll make them coach me in whatever I'll have to know and give me the Sacred Sign, whatever that may be! I'll do it and come back to you!"

  She gestured for silence. "So much you would do— for me! Yet are you not premature? How know you what your shape may be after the Change has taken you? In that new and unfamiliar shape, will you be able to move at all?" A glint of humor sparked her eyes. "Suppose you are simply extinguished?"

  Then she smiled, but sadly. She pitied himl His heart worshipped her while his body quivered with desire for her.

  Without knowing that he was moving, he took a step toward her and another step after that. But whatever the course of action which might have resulted from that instant of blind impulse, it was stillborn, for a clang from the doorway startled them both.

  Scarlatti bounded forth, his big hand on the gun in his belt. He shoved the door wide. Carlotta hurried in, divested of her gaudy wraparound in favor of her tattered old dress, which apparently still reigned first among her affections. And in the blackness of the mirrored hall, like flaming brush-strokes on a charred canvas, Patur stood waiting with a stranger.

  Chapter Eleven

  The Victim in the Tower

  The stranger resembled Burks closely enough actually to be Burks in Khoirean garb and a wig, and for the space of a breath that was who Hibbert thought he was. Then he realized that this must be Dweil, and a stab of jealousy made him wince. He could never hope to compete for Mareth against Dweil's perfection of body and therefore of mind, but the observation had Uttle effect on the urgency of his desire.

  He assured himself that jealousy was childish, and that he hardly wished to turn into a child. The only means of winning Mareth was to raise himself to Dweil's level. He had no illusions concerning his mental capacities, but if sheer force of will could lend any assistance, then Hibbert was going to emerge from the Change a second Apollo.

  After all, since outward appearance betokened the mind within, Dweil deserved worship rather than rancor. Hibbert resolutely thmnbed his nose at his jealousy, and was perturbed to find that it not only replied in kind, but settled down within him as though for a long stay.

  Mareth said: TDweill I was even now on my way to 140

  you!*' Her evident pleasure did not ease Hibbert's self-conflict.

  Dweil swept eyes gem-clear and gem-unfeeling over Hibbert, Scarlatti, and Carlotta.

  "N'gine and Kikoda told me that you were here. Had I known your intention of visiting these outsiders, I would have tried to dissuade you. The lower world is unclean, and one does not step in the mud without dirtying the feet.''

  Patur said gently: **You speak imkindly, Dweil, almost as though your own feet were muddy. And is it not from the mud that the radiant lilies spring?"

  Mareth laughed. "These? LiUes?** Then she said to Dweil: "But sometimes it is pleasant to pretend to be a child again and walk barefoot in the mud which, after all, can be washed away."

  Dweil scanned Hibbert imappreciatively. *^One may shp and falir

  Patiu- said mildly: ''It is not difficult to see why your forms are human, my children.'* He smiled and added: ''And mine!"

  Then he introduced the visitors to Dweil. Hibbert repeated to himself the arguments in Dweil's favor and smothered his jealousy enough at least to be cordial.

  Scarlatti boomed aflFably: "Mister Patur, you're just the guy I been wanting to seel I been kind of stewing about my old pal Burks, and I been wanting to ask you where he's gone to?" His air of deference did not beguile Hibbert, to whom his motivation was clear enough when the giant queried with less heartiness: "And when's he coming back?"

  Patur glowed. "My tidings will please youl The Great Ones have agreed that he may earn the right

  to dwell in Khoire if he is willing and able to p
ay the price which he named. Even now he is within the red tower awaiting—nay, forcing on himself—the necessary transformation."

  Scarlatti did some transforming of his own by converting a disbeheving snicker into a cough. ''Do you s pose I can maybe see him? Right away? And Car-lotta wants a look at him too."

  She responded to his prod with a series of nods.

  Hibbert said: "J^^ ^ short while ago, you were glad to be rid of Burks. Why are you so suddenly eager to contact him? To make sure that he's in no condition to interfere with your projects?"

  It was not difficult to credit Khoire's might of mind over matter, for Scarlatti's murderous glare slashed into Hibbert like an axe.

  ''Real Httle joker, ain't you?" he rumbled. **Always Idddingr

  Patur said unruffled: ''Surely in his present state, your friend would find any interruption unwelcome I Voluntary metamorphosis is not simple, even to those famihar with the procedure."

  Politeness forgotten, Scarlatti accused, ^Tfou don't want us to see him! Why? Maybe you killed him, huh? Maybe you got the idea you can get us all apart from each other and knock us off one by one I"

  Patiu" was not shocked, though Mareth was, and turned from Dweil's significant look. Patur asked: "You did not understand what was shown you on the screen?"

  "Sure, I understood okay. I know a bluff when I see onel Trick photography never did scare me!"

  "Me, tool" Carlotta seconded vigorously, which merely convinced Hibbert that she was considerably frightened.

  T assure you that whatever Patur revealed to you was truth," Dweil said.

  "Okay, if its true and you haven't done anything to Burks, let me see himi''

  *Tfou are inconsiderate, but you are our guests, and he is your friend. It is within your rights.''

  "You damn weU bet it isl"

  Hibbert took another tack. "If Burks wants to be alone, you'd better let him alone. You know what he's like when he's crossedl"

  Scarlatti strode up to him and gripped his shirt at the chest. "And you know what I'm like when I'm crossedl" He grimaced at Patur and Dweil, who stood calmly by. He shook Hibbert and shoved him away. Hibbert reeled back, caught his balance, and started for Scarlatti with knotted fists. Mareth's skirts, swirling at the Httle breeze, caught his eye. She was fascinated by him as though he were a venomous spider, but at his look she shuddered and averted her face.

  Dweil said: "Come away, Mareth. You have seen more than enough of these strangers."

  'Xet's get going—Mister Paturl" Scarlatti snapped.

  The graybeard bowed with some difficulty and motioned v^th a wide sweep of his hand for the giant to proceed.

  Mareth made her decision. "Remain behind if you will, Dweil, but I will go with Patur and these three." Hibbert caught her imderlook at him, and she flushed. She added quickly: "Besides, their friend should prove of interest, for does he not do the bidding of the Great Ones?"

  The Khoireans all touched their foreheads.

  Mareth finished: "His example might convince me that not all these folk are so petty as we have supposed, but worth our efforts to better themi"

  ''It were discourteous to leave N'gine and Kikoda unattended," Dweil said.

  "Then keep them companyl"

  Scarlatti nudged Hibbert. "Get going. You're in on this." Hibbert had entertained no notion of remaining behind when there was further promise of Mareth's company. But why was Scarlatti so intent on keeping him under surveillance?

  They went out, and Patur and Mareth assumed leadership. Dweil stayed behind, watching them somberly.

  Hibbert whispered: 'Whatever you're up to, Scarlatti, don't try it! You cant get away with iti This place is different."

  Scarlatti said amiably enough: "So this place is different! Well, so am I. You better wise up to it." He intercepted Hibbert's glance at his gun. Tou better trot up there and keep Peachy-pie company."

  Despite the utter blackness of the corridor, as if the wayfarers were moles boring through coal, none of them was in shadow, each being brilliantly illumined as if floodlights were tiuned on him. Hibbert deduced that Khoire's special properties included the bending of light around comers.

  Patur raised a hand. "Take care! Follow carefuUyl"

  Still moving forward, he was swept aside as though the floor were a transverse treadmill. He blacked out! Mareth carefully stepped into that selfsame spot where he had last been seen, and also disappeared. Hibbert went next, then Scarlatti. Patur, Mareth, and the giant flashed into sight again, but where was Car-lotta? Thinly, Hibbert heard her frightened yelp.

  Patur reached through the blackness. His arm was hidden to the shoulder, apparently lopped off. He

  dragged Carlotta in from nowhere. She was panting and gogghng with confusion.

  **Everybody just whooshes out like they dropped through the floor, and then I seen this here arm without no body on it, coming at me like a snake, and it yanks me in here!'' She added puzzledly: "Only in here it ain't no different from out therel I don't get iti"

  She took firm hold on the giant.

  "We cut through one of the dimensional warps," Patur explained, ''thus in one step actually crossing miles of distance. I have shown you the honeycomb structure of Khoire, and apprised you of the fact that every surface of its cells is navigable. We but passed through the wall of one cell into another."*

  He pointed upward. Though they appeared to be in the same black passage as ever before, Hibbert could no longer distinguish the apartment's yeUow diamond of a door and Dwell standing before it. Patur had indicated a tiny red spark—^whether miles above them or just within reach, he could not determine, since the murk was without landmark or boimdary and therefore without distance.

  'The red towerl" Patur said.

  It was a tiny cube Hke a die cut from a pigeonblood ruby, numbered with oval windows, and judging by the placement of its door, was hanging inverted. A fragment of bridge jutted from it, splintering off into space.

  Patur held up his hand again. "We take another bypathl Proceed warilyl" He made another of those pecuhar yawing movements, simultaneously forward and aside, yet not at all diagonally. As if the mind which dreamed him had been waked, he was blotted from sight. Single file, they followed.

  With an eflFect of opening their eyes, they found themselves in the middle of a wide and rubrous path, the bridge of that red tower which had been so far above. It was without raihng and transparent, seemingly a sheet of tissue-thin tinted glass. There was no vestige of any doorway behind Hibbert.

  From the red tower, the bridge shafted straight to another cubed structure, from which in turn rayed spans Hnldng a vast number of others. Similar in their squared shapes, they varied in size and color, some yellow as buttercups or as Ming amber, others dusk blue, peacock green, orchid pink, and regal violet.

  None were grouped with regard for structural unity. Their axes sloped in divergent directions. They were like a child's toy blocks scattered pell-mell on imeven ground and fallen to rest on end and edge and comer.

  Who Hved in them? Perhaps he might never know. Their existence engraved more deeply in his mind the differences separating him from Mareth, close to his touch though she might be.

  He heard a soft but pervasive humming as if from high above, a gigantic World-mother looked down and crooned a wordless lullaby. Mareth noticed his wonder.

  She said: 'Tn your homeland, it is daylight still. The sound you hear is the hght of your sun. Our calendar is much the same as yours. We also calculate our hours and days and years by the same sun and stars. But we cannot see them, only hear them. We can gauge their position in the heavens by the difference in their tones—the filtering effect of your atmosphere according to their place in the sky.'*

  She smiled. "Ah, the symphonies wrought by the passing of clouds which obscure the sun! And the

  delicate songs of the starlight, and the counterpoint of the moon winging across theml"

  ^Xookl"* Carlotta cried, waving. TFlying saucersl'*

  Away to o
ne side, beyond the twisted web of the bridge-linked towers, Hibbert glimpsed beads of light which swelled into enormous bubbles. Like those which he had glimpsed once before, their highlights were curiously human in shape, as if people were riding them.

  From the door of an azure tower, a beam of light shot forth like a reaching hand. The string of spheres rode the beam as the moon treads its path across the waters. They skimmed down over tower and bridge into the blue building Hke bees homing to the hive.

  **Our vehicles,'' Mareth said, moving on. Hibbert lingered to stare, and the others continued ahead. He hurried to catch up.

  They entered the red tower and paused at a brazen door on which Patur was rapping considerately. There was no response from within.

  The oldster temporized. He said: "I have counselled against your seeing him. It might be well were we to turn back.''

  *T got to see him!" Scarlatti insisted. Patur still hesitated, so Scarlatti took matters in his own hands and pushed the door open.

  They looked iato a room which was all of one color and so evenly illuminated that floor, walls, and ceiling merged into a roseate blur and there was no means of computing its size. Centered in that blur and apparently afloat in it like the dull-hued heart of it, was Burks, not as Hibbert remembered him or last had seen him.

  He was naked and curled in a compact huddle like

  a sleeping kitten or an embryo chick in its shell. Though he faced his visitors and his eyes bored into them, he gave no sign of recognition nor awareness of them. His skin was not its former healthy tan but a gray mingling of blue white and bistre white which is the color of dead flesh.

  In the interval since he had bidden them farewell, a little more than two hours ago, he had suffered a well-nigh incredible loss of weight. His bones protruded sharply. In his silence and cowering gauntness, he was like one of the mummies unearthed from the Arizona pueblos.

  But he was not deadi The curving parallels of his ribs lifted and lowered with the spastic twitches of his breath, and though his eyes betrayed no knowledge of his callers, they were not filmed but burned phosphorescently blue as if they were furnaces filled with chilly marsh-fires.