The Fall of the Families

by Phillip Mann

  Odin unfolded in Pawl’s mind like a plume of smoke. “The Craint. Have you heard of the Craint, Master Pawl?” The small creature seemed calmer now.

  “The name. I know the name. They were an ancient civilization weren’t they?”

  “They were the greatest.”

  “Have you ever met one of them?”

  “No. I believed they had all departed. They were in decline even before the Great Push. The Diphilus knew the Craint. Some believe their empire once covered most of the known galaxy.”

  Pawl pulled a face. “Hard to believe. We’d have seen more signs of them. Empires always leave their mark.”

  “Perhaps we don’t know what to look for.”

  “Anyway, why did they disappear? An epidemic? War?”

  “Neither an epidemic or war. They discovered the secret of time.”

  “Time?”

  “Yes. Perhaps there are still some things I can teach you. Once you begin to move in time you are dead. Once you can see your past, your present becomes meaningless: just one moment among many possibilities. Once you can see your future, your present becomes irrelevant … and so you move on, to a different state.”

  “That is beyond me.”

  “No it isn’t.”

  Pawl thought. “If you can see the future does that mean there is no such thing as free will?” Odin could not reply.

  The Vanburgh had moved rapidly.

  As they watched it dropped through some fine clouds and lowered to a few miles above the dark green surface. They looked out on a scene of devastation. They stared at ruins and the ruins stared back at them with all the desolation of buildings that have spent many generations under water. The Vanburgh drifted over the face of the planet. It glided over a vast crater filled with bubbling grey mud. The mud was the only thing that they had seen moving on the entire world.

  “I suppose we are going somewhere,” said Pawl. “A ceremony. I wonder what that means? I wonder what they want of us?”

  “Not us,” murmured Odin. “You. I feel I have no part to play on this world.”

  They passed over the rim of the crater and stared at a white tower which rose in steps from dark green jungle. In some places the walls were cracked and the gleaming white masonry had fallen away to reveal a honeycomb structure netted with creepers.

  The Vanburgh began to drop lower. It cruised round the tower, gradually losing height, until it paused just a few feet above the highest trees. Then it descended. Branches whispered against the sides and scraped and broke as the Vanburgh dropped through the canopy.

  When eventually they came to rest, with their gravity rods spread like the legs of a spider, they were almost a mile below the top leaves of the trees.

  Outside it was black as the back of a cave. The only light which illuminated the surface was that which shone out through the ports of the Vanburgh. It was raining. Condensation, mixed with the sugary gum of the trees, fell continuously as rain.

  The door to the Vanburgh slid open and the ramp which led to the surface scissored into place. Pawl looked into the wet blackness and shivered. “Once this world was not unlike Thalatta,” murmured Odin. “Sea and islands, so I believe.”

  Together they moved towards the ramp but the voice stopped them. “Only Pawl Paxwax may proceed beyond this vehicle. He must proceed alone. Please select a light rod.”

  In a cradle beside the entry door stood several rods. As the voice spoke the tips of the rods began to glow and then shine with a steady bright light. Pawl selected one of the rods and found it light and strong. Holding the rod in front of him Pawl moved down the ramp and out from under the protective shelter above the door. Odin sent him best wishes but the message was cut short by the sudden closure of the door. Pawl was as alone in his mind as he was in his body.

  The rain slopped down as thick as paste. Within seconds his coverall was greasy and dripping. It clung to him like a skin of rubber.

  Pawl reached the end of the ramp and tested the ground with his rod. It was spongy. He moved away from the Vanburgh slowly, as though plodding through wet snow. Where he trod he left puddles.

  The vertical trunks of trees pressed close to the Vanburgh and he trudged round them, heading in the general direction of the tower.

  Pawl’s world extended only as far as his light. Shadows jumped. Behind one tree he met a family of pale, low-bodied aquatic creatures which flopped heavily away in search of darkness.

  Abruptly he found himself in front of the white wall of the tower. It gleamed as hard as tooth and soared straight up from the wet ground. The foundations lay many yards below him and had been buried centuries earlier.

  Working his way along the wall Pawl came to a low arch (it had once been the top of an arch). It glowed with gold writing which held its own light. Pawl reached up and was able to touch the figures which were incised in the rock. He pulled his hand away sharply, as though stung. Some of the gold adhered to his fingers, which now glowed.

  Pawl ducked under the shallow arch and into the great tower. Inside he shook himself, glad to be out of the heavy, syrupy rain. Holding his torch high in front of him he could see that the ground sloped down sharply to a lake of black water. Waiting on the shore was a boat.

  The invitation was obvious.

  Close to the water the humus upon which he was walking became even more spongy.

  Pawl climbed into the small boat and it rocked. Using his light pole he tried to edge the boat out on to the water. The boat moved, gliding suddenly, but the pole remained stuck in the soft soil at the water’s edge and Pawl found himself drifting out on the dark lake. Never before, even in his moments of deepest grief, had Pawl felt so alone.

  The steady beacon light retreated. Pawl sat hunched in the damp bottom of the boat. Gradually, as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he became aware of a faint misty glow.

  The glow was brighter on one side and Pawl, steeling himself, dipped his hands in the icy black water and attempted to propel the boat in the direction of the light.

  The glow became more distinct. Golden figures. Like the writing on the archway. Slowly the boat drifted close until Pawl could distinguish a stone wall. The drawings were incised on the wall. Here were figures like men riding creatures like horses; and yet they were neither men nor horses. Here was a giant bird with spread wings and trailing legs. Here a wheel. Here a cross, but with one of its four arms replaced by an oval. Here were eyes of all types and the unmistakable portrait of a Hammer running.

  For some reason, that image made Pawl feel more comfortable.

  Any further exploration of the wall was stopped by a sudden jerking of the boat. Something had bumped it from under the black water. Then the prow was tugged and Pawl lost his balance and fell into the bottom of the boat.

  The boat was moving. Something was towing it or pushing it. Already it was away from the wall and gathering speed. The boat left a foamy brown wake as it drove into the darkness.

  Pawl sat low in the boat; he could see nothing above, nothing ahead, and nothing to the sides. Occasionally he detected a change in the direction of the boat, though he could not tell why the change occurred.

  But then came the moment when he could see a luminescence in front. It became a semi-circle of light. It became a tunnel lit by brilliant points of light.

  The boat plunged into the tunnel and immediately Pawl felt strange things crawling all over him, plucking at his eyes and hands and hair. He screamed, and in response the boat slowed. It slowed so quickly that a bow wave was sent splashing away from them. It bounded off the tunnel walls and slapped the boat on its return. Pawl could see the walls. They were still crowded with pictures.

  In front of the boat the water churned and two creatures broke surface. They were humanoid, but with large scaly heads and sloping shoulders. They each had huge webbed hands which flexed. Long fins of stiff ginger hair rippled from their necks down to the water. One of the creatures turned and looked back at him. Its eyes held no quick light of intelligenc
e.

  Apparently convinced that all was well, the creature turned forward again and slapped its comrade on the neck. Both creatures dived. With a tug the boat began to move again, but slowly.

  Calmer now, Pawl could see the thin white threads which hung down from the shining insects. By sweeping his arm back and forth in front of the boat, he was able to clear most of the threads. A few of the insects were detached and fell down to the surface of the water, where they floated.

  Within minutes of recommencing the journey, the tunnel grew brighter. He was moving round a curve and the brightness was ahead of him.

  He emerged into a place of glittering brilliance. He turned his head away from the harsh glare and closed his eyes, but the brilliance danced in redness. Pawl felt the moment when the boat slowed, no longer pulled. He felt it drift. Through slit eyes he was aware as the light diminished, and finally he could open his eyes.

  Pawl found himself in a large domed chamber and the walls swarmed. There were figures on the walls and as the boat drifted the figures moved, adjusting themselves. In the centre of the lake was a low island and on the island a broken statue. The statue had once been a bird. One wing remained, raised, arched as though cupping the wind. The proud head, aquiline and almost human, lay where it had fallen on the dark shore. The remaining wing was in the water and raised its stone feathers a few feet above the black waves. Suspended above the statue, above the place where the head should have been, was the source of the cave’s light. It was a crystal, a beautiful pale diamond. At its heart lay a teeming violet like molten glass. But there was no heat.

  In wonder Pawl looked round the wall. He recognized more of the species: a Spideret; a Gerbes like Odin; many humanoids, one who held a book and seemed to be offering it, and one who had snakes for hair. Pawl was staring at this when there came from above him a giant beating of wings. He looked up and there descending was a creature half-human, half-bird with its vast wings spread. It set its wings and glided round the walls, casting a hard dark shadow.

  Long legs emerged, like the legs of a stork, and the creature hovered, both wings beating, and then settled on the dark shore of the island. It folded its wings. With high-legged steps it turned and faced the small boat. The face which stared at Pawl was both human and alien. The eyes were human and the lips. But the nose was a beak and there was no jaw and the face merged into the feathery neck.

  The lips moved and the feathers fluffed and a rich voice spoke.

  “So, you have finally come. I have waited a long time. Come here, Pawl, and let me look at you.” Obedient to the creature’s words, the boat was pushed from beneath towards the shore.

  Its prow dug into the dark moist shingle and the boat stopped quickly, almost throwing Pawl off balance. The giant bird stepped back, lifting its legs high and setting them down with delicate precision.

  “Are you a Craint?” asked Pawl, looking up.

  “Of course. I am the last. You are honoured. You are looking at a living fossil. Come on, get out. Let me have a look at you. I don’t see well. You must come close.”

  Pawl felt a moment of alarm, and then dismissed it. As ever he was vulnerable. He was in a game not of his making. He threw his leg over the side of the boat and climbed out. The shingle slid beneath his feet and he found it difficult to climb up the shore. He slipped and fell. As he was struggling back to his feet a wing dipped down close to him and he was able to grasp it. It was hard as steel but flexible, and gave him strong support.

  “Heave-ho,” sang the Craint and dragged him up on the solid ground. “I have met many of your kind. Long, long ago. None of them could walk properly.”

  “You mean you have met members of the Paxwax before?”

  “No. No. Humans. We called you the small-footed ones. We took an interest in you because you had faces like us. Come on.”

  The Craint turned and began to stalk away from the beach and up towards the centre of the small island. Pawl followed.

  “Let us get our business over first. Then we can talk.” The Craint picked its way carefully up to the central statue. It spread its wings and beat them, sending up a cloud of sand and dust, as it lifted. It came to perch on the place where the head of the statue should have been. “You will have to climb. It shouldn’t be too difficult; many have done so before you. There are handholds and steps.”

  Pawl scrambled round the statue and came to a flight of shallow steps which led up the side of the bird and on to its back. The statue was not made of stone. At least it did not feel like stone: it was slightly soft and warm. When Pawl first touched it he snatched his hand away for it felt like flesh. Perched above him the Craint threw its head back and made a bell-like noise which could only be laughter.

  “Climb, silly man. What you are mounting lives half in your time and half in ours. Come on. You can’t hurt it.”

  Pawl climbed and soon found himself crouched on a narrow platform where the head of the statue should have been. The Craint had moved out on to the wing.

  “Stand up straight. We are going to make a life graph of you for all the later generations of this universe to see.” Pawl stood, shakily.

  The great glowing diamond which had flickered above him all the while began to descend. As it lowered, its facets opened like a crystal flower. The petals closed round him and Pawl found himself staring out of the world through a flickering violet haze.

  Above him light blossomed like flame. It ran down the filaments of the crystal panes like silver foam. It engulfed him with the brilliance of the sun. It was like being stroked by stiff feathers. It seemed that the light teased its way into his cells and through his bones. He felt light run along his nerves like ecstasy, which is both savage and tender. He felt his body fill with the light until it radiated out from the ends of his fingers, through his pores, through his mouth and nostrils and clenched eyes, from his groin and from his hair. He was a blazing man … and with one spasm the light left him and he was himself again, Pawl Paxwax, tall and misshapen, with yellow eyes and scant hair. And yet something had gone from him. In that great surge of light-energy something of him had become detached and had departed, though Pawl, for the life of him, could not say what. Nor did he feel any loss.

  He stood while the crystal walls cleared and the violet, molten light dimmed. The walls lifted and, when they were above him, folded together again to form the diamond.

  He could see the boat rocking gently by the shore. Close to him was movement and the tall Craint lifted its head from beneath its wing. Two large brown eyes stared at Pawl. The wing opened fully and gestured to the wall opposite. The walls were still crawling with figures, each brilliant and glowing, but one place was brighter than the rest. Here was a tall figure. Its hair was long and loose. It stood with shoulders slightly hunched as though leaning against the wall. With a shock Pawl recognized himself, as he had been when younger.

  “So there you are, Master Pawl. Not too bad, was it? And now you are immortalized. You are one of the makers of the life of the Galaxy. Now, whatever happens to you, something of your spirit will not be lost. When, in the fullness of time, a new order grows, creatures not unlike yourself will come in here, and look round the walls and will draw strength from you and the rest.”

  “What are these?” asked Pawl, pointing to the other figures.

  “You have no word for them?” said the Craint. “No, let me see. You might call them pioneers of life. How is that for a translation? Does it say much to you?”

  “Not much.”

  “All of these individuals were pioneers of life in their own way. Each of them showed what was possible. From the very earliest times of life. Even amoeba are here.”

  “And you have collected them?”

  “The Craint did. It was our greatest work. But I do not like that word, collected. These are not flowers pressed in a book or petal-wings pinned to a board. These are prints of the spirit. These will be the last of life when the galaxy dies.”

  “Ah?”

  �
�You sound doubtful.”

  “I do not know what to believe.”

  “Remember this. There are many kinds of life. You are one kind. You and the Spiderets and other creatures who live in the same time shell. Then there are us. We used to be like you but then we changed. There are some to whom you are only dreams. There are some to whom the life and death of one universe is merely a breath. There are others who are only thought, really. But one thing you must learn here and now and never forget. All life is joined. It is such a simple thing. We are all as close as the bell and the sound the bell makes. Does not that feel comforting?”

  “Comforting? I do not know. It sounds like the religions I was told about when I was a student on Terpsichore.”

  The Craint laughed and it was a ringing generous sound. “Ah yes. Religions. You are a very religious being. All are that find their way to this hall. But religion is really only part of growing up. Where religion ends, reality takes over. When you can see reality you will accept nothing else.”

  “How many realities are there?”

  “There is only one reality.”

  “But many life forms?”

  “Many, many life forms … and many illusions.” The Craint stretched and spread its wide wings.

  “Why was I brought here?” asked Pawl.

  “For this.” The Craint pointed to the glowing image on the wall. “All the individuals you see here were on their way to what you call Thule.”

  “It is an old world, then?”

  “It is as old as this universe – which is to say it is as old as time itself. It was the first world found in this galaxy. Every galaxy has its Thule.”

  “Am I expected there?”

  “You are awaited, and I have waited for more than ten thousand of your years. Eventually I knew that you, or one like you, would come.”

  “Then you can see through time.”

  “Time is a game, a play of words, a matter of battles at sea and children playing draughts; it is nothing, really. But you need it to bring order….”