Beyond the Gate of Worlds

by Robert Silverberg

  “You mean you’ll have to remain here through the storm,” corrected the senior officer. “We can’t risk having you rowed back to the Whale Road in this. You’d probably be lost, and the boat with you, and who knows if you’d ever find the Whale Road?”

  Enonyu said, “Look over these charts and try to remember what you saw before the typhoon came. Which of these patterns could you see ahead?”

  Strive as he might, Apenimon could not bring to mind the surface of the ocean the last time he had ridden his kite aloft. His mind had been on the approaching storm, on the widening dark line at the horizon. “I don’t . . . with the storm and all . . .”

  “Try,” said Enonyu. “Try.”

  A sullen Rat clan servant brought coffee mixed with honey and beer and set it out. He moved as if his joints pained him.

  “Here,” said the second officer, holding out tall glasses to the others at the table. “We’ll need this before the day is much older. ’ ’

  “What about signals?” the older officer asked. “Anything from the Whale Road or the Whales’ Breath? ’ ’

  “Not since the morning watch changed. It’s nearing the time to try again. I’ll order the largest mirror and the brightest candle-bubble to power it.” Enonyu glanced at Apenimon. “Do you want to come with us?”

  “We must have this alliance with the Maoris,” Sathale said to his Four High Priests. The Conclave had been over for five days and most of the Elders had returned to the clans. At Machu Picchu the first rains of a bad storm were falling. The funicular cars hung on their cables, empty and still, until the storm was over, the ships at Algoma were pulled out into the bay and moored to prevent their breaking up against the quays and piers. Merchants carrying goods over mountain passes were detained at travelers’ inns at the expense of the Clan Elders, and Spiders aloft in tethered and untethered kites had been ordered to return to earth.

  “Your expedition will achieve it,” Pathoain said.

  “I hope it will,” said Sathale. He was unable to meet Akando’s eyes. “Every hour our need for it grows. But look at that!”—he gestured in the direction of the windows—“The Hawks say it is the worst storm in fourteen years. How can we be sure that the expedition has not all gone to the bottom of the ocean? The Spiders over the coast lost sight of them the day after they sailed. ’ ’ He started to pace. “I don’t know what is best. Do we prepare another trio of ships, and find superior crews for them, and set them out as soon as the Cranes say the time is good?” He glared at Pathoain. “I don’t want you to tell me that all is well. The Cranes have not given their answers to my question yet, so we know nothing yet.”

  Pathoain remained discreetly silent.

  “Well,” ventured Akando when no one else spoke, “which is more important: a second expedition to the Maoris or more funicular stations and faster cars?” No one answered. “It seems to me that if the current ships have come through the storm and can complete the voyage, it would not be wise to follow with a second. The Maoris are ocean-riding people themselves, and they will be impressed at how well the three captains have managed. But if we send a second expedition, it will seem that we had no faith in our Whales or our High

  Gods, and that isn’t likely to turn the Maoris to our cause, is it?”

  “It is not so simple,” Dyami grumbled.

  “Of course it is,” said Akando. “We want the Maoris to regard us as equals, not backward clans clinging to the sides of our mountains while the False Inca makes treaties with the False Inca of the Green Banner or some other group of armed rebels from Urop.”

  The True Inca selected the most beautifully upholstered chair and sat down. “What have the Japanese said?” he asked.

  “They have said they want to go home,” said Bemosetu. “They have enough goods to carry to the Mikado and their own merchants, and they have agreed to stop at two ports in the countries to the north. That is a concession we ought to honor with permission to leave, True Inca.”

  Sathale shook his head. “With this storm, I would think that they d be grateful to us for requiring them to remain. Tell them we did not want to alarm them, for the signs were not sure until yesterday. That will have the advantage of being accurate, for the Spiders at the coast did not see the storm coming until then.”

  “The Maoris,” said Dyami, “will see the advantage in forming an alliance with us. Between us is all of the Western Ocean as far north as Hawaii. They understand how useful this can be.” Having stated what all men in the room had convinced themselves was true, he went on, “Let us therefore prepare another expedition, a larger one, with more gifts, and start it on its way to them, saying that the second expedition is to demonstrate to the Maoris our good faith. We will not admit our concern for the first expedition, except to say that they have great skills for riding out bad weather. ’ ’

  Pathoain nodded his endorsement. “Excellent. What could be more reasonable than that?”

  “Akando?” Sathale asked, regarding the Fourth High Priest quizzically. “What do you think of that?”

  “I think it’s a waste of time. I think that if we send a second expedition without the certainty that the first has failed we will appear desperate and conciliatory, which would compromise our negotiations with the Maoris.” He could see the disapproval of the others. “But it is not my decision to make, True Inca.” “No,” said Sathale, his eyes focused in the middle distance.

  “That is the thinking of one who was a Raven, always looking for advantage in battle,” Pathoain jeered. “What use is your advice in these matters?”

  Sathale looked directly at Pathoain. “If you can do nothing better than excoriate one of your own, then perhaps it is you I should disbelieve, not Akando.” He straightened in his chair. “I want no more of this bickering.”

  “It was not my doing,” Pathoain protested.

  “Truly it should not have been,” said the True Inca, his inflection severe. “What of you, Akando?”

  “I have no argument with the First High Priest; I only have a different opinion from his.”

  “Very well. What do you make of the tales that there are devastation ants in the Flatlands? If it is so, then the False Inca can’t move against us until they have gone and some order is restored.”

  “I have seen the reports,” said the Second High Priest, “both of your messengers and of the Spiders patrolling the Spine of the World. I say that these ants are servants of the High Gods sent to protect us while we prepare to meet the onslaught of our enemies.”

  Akando shook his head. “We’re in danger. We have had three good harvests, and we have recently widened our markets for glass, so it is known that we are prospering. Helaoku is desperate; he has soldiers to feed and house and pay. He might well prefer that our gold does that rather than his own.” He saw resistance in the eyes of the other High Priests. “I can’t help it; I was bom into the Raven clan, as each of you was bom into a clan. I may have renounced the Ravens, but I cannot forget their instruction.”

  Sathale saw that another disagreement loomed. It was, he thought, going to be a long meeting.

  The skies had cleared two days ago and the ocean was once again placid, but there was still no sign of the Whale Road. Both Apenimon and Iyestu had searched for it while aloft, but could not find anything that looked like the ship, or its wreckage.

  “We have been blown south,” said Pallatu at the end of the second day of continual watching when the Spiders and three officers had been rowed from the Black Dolphin to the Whales’ Breath. “If they kept closer to the course than we were able to, then they might well be beyond sight even of your Spider spectacles.”

  “Yes,” said Apenimon, a bit too eagerly, for he wanted the Whale Road to be found almost more than he wanted to reach the lands of the Maoris.

  Pallatu broached the awkward subject. “How is your brother, Apenimon?”

  The elder twin shrugged. “He was sick for five days, so he isn’t quite himself yet.” He did not know what to tell Pal
latu, for Tulapa had sworn several times and showed no sign of relenting in his vow that he would not ride a kite over the ocean again, not for any reason, no matter who ordered it. “In a while he will be ready to ride up the tether once more.”

  “I hope you are correct,” said Pallatu, thinking of the dire warnings he had received from Meliwa about the long voyage. “I have ordered a corrected course to be plotted on the charts.” He coughed once for tact. “The storm has left us low on fuel; we didn’t anticipate such a long period against such heavy seas, even at one-quarter power. We’ll have to rely more on our sails for the rest of the journey, and that is not what I’d prefer to do.”

  “Do you mean,” asked Iyestu, who had been sitting in the comer listening, “that you wouldn’t mind finding an island where we could buy more fuel, assuming that we can locate one and it can provide what we seek?” Pallatu gave a sign of approval. “If you come upon one in your watching, let me know at once. Send a bottle down the tether, if the island appears promising.” He patted the charts. “I will double the deck watch to assist you.”

  Apenimon stared down at his hands. “That would be useful. Once we sight land, you will need to have more eyes than ours alone.”

  Enonyu indicated the patches on the cabin walls. “These will have to be repaired quickly. If we encounter another storm— ’ ’

  “If we encounter a second storm the likes of that first one, we’ll have to accept that the High Gods don’t wish us to accomplish this journey no matter what the True Inca has mandated,” said Pallatu, and it was only partly in jest.

  “There should have been a sacrifice,” said Enonyu. “The High Gods and the Gods of the Ocean don’t want to be slighted.’’ He met Pallatu’s eyes coldly. “If we had made a sacrifice at the proper time, there would never have been a bad storm and the Whale Road would not be missing. If we don’t make sacrifices, sacrifices will be taken from us.” He got up and started out of the cabin. “I have lost a Rat servant overboard. The result of the storm. I know my duty, if you do not.” With that he was gone.

  ‘ ‘ Don’t worry, ’ ’ said Pallatu, after the room had been silent for a short while, “I’ll see that the tethers of your kites are guarded at all times. You have nothing to fear from Enonyu.”

  This casual observation startled Apenimon. “Do you think ... it isn’t possible that a kite would be cut free as a sacrifice, is it? Is it?”

  “It is very tempting, if a man wants to make a sacrifice,” Pallatu said. “But I will not permit it.” Apenimon looked aghast. But Iyestu grinned. “You mean someone might actually cut me free? Let me ride the winds without a tether as I do along the Spine of the World? Think how high I could go, and how far.” He clapped his hands in approval, paying no heed to the horror in his brother’s eyes. “Tell Enonyu if he wants to sacrifice one of us, I won’t complain if he cuts my tether, tell him, but I would be furious if he cut Apenimon’s.”

  “There’ll be no tether-cutting at all,” growled Apenimon, looking quickly to Pallatu for confirmation. “None at all,” said the Whale leader.

  When the storm was over, two messengers presented themselves in Machu Picchu, one a Fox, one a Raven, both of them demanding to speak to the True Inca. The Four High Priests and two Cranes worked out how this was to be accomplished without either messenger being insulted. Finally it was agreed that the one who had come the greatest distance would be the one to speak with Sathale first.

  The Raven was gaunt from his travels through the country where the ants had ravaged. ‘4 Helaoku has said he will have to send troops to keep order until new crops can be brought in. I think that is the least required, for many people are starving, and they have no place to go. At the worst sites, there was nothing left at all; the ants ate up livestock as well as all the plants, so there is very little left for the survivors to eat and nothing for them to farm or raise. It is said that herds are being driven in from the south, from the grasslands, but that will take time, perhaps as long as half a year for some. Whatever is done, it must take time, and time is against them. The Jaguar people who live by the Mother River have refused to permit soldiers of the False Inca to enter their villages, and this is considered to be a bad sign. They have said it was because of foreigners on the land that the ants came, that until the foreigners are gone the ants will continue to ravage; they will not change their minds.”

  “How long will it take for the land to recover to the point that the people who live there will not need aid? ’ ’ Sathale asked.

  “Not this year and not next. In three years, perhaps; orchards, well they will take much longer.”

  “And what does this mean for the False Inca?”

  “He will not be able to march an army across that territory, and if he has to go around the area—which is his only alternative if he plans to attack—it will take too long. He might want to bring his navy through the Teeth of the Gods, but we would have warning and we would be prepared. Besides, there is not enough food to keep an army on the march or a navy at sea, and there will not be until next summer at the very earliest. He cannot move now.” The Raven managed a terrible smile. “You have three years to increase your fortification, to establish more funicular routes, to build more telegraph stations. In three years, it would be folly to come against you if you make ready now, and he will understand that.”

  “Yes,” said the True Inca. “I was assuming much the same thing. I am grateful to you for what you have done.” He rose from his chair. “I will see that you are rewarded. Akando, who was a Raven and is now Fourth High Priest, will adopt you as his son.”

  When the Fox messenger arrived not long after, he appeared better fed, but just as exhausted as the Raven; he had come through the mountains in the south, where the ants had not struck, starting at the mouth of the Silver River and coming north and west across the Spine of the World. He took the seat offered him, sprawling a little, though it was incorrect to behave this way in the presence of the True Inca. His upper arm was bandaged .

  “Were you injured?” Sathale asked.

  “Nothing to matter,” said the Fox messenger. “I was foolish enough to get caught in a rockslide just above Titicaca. It’ll heal in a few days. The Cranes helped me.” He narrowed his eyes. “My hurts are not important. I bring you news that may be.”

  “Do you?”

  The Fox messenger nodded. “The city at the mouth of the Silver River has been one of the major centers of foreigners in the lands of the False Inca. It has a graph and four ship-building companies, which is what the foreigners find most valuable there.”

  “Yes,” said Sathale.

  “There’s been talk for some little time about a rebellion brewing in the lands of the False Inca of the Green Banner, and the foreigners in the city on the Silver River have been more outspoken than those in other places, especially those at the mouth of the Mother River. I have learned many things about the False Inca of the Green Banner. His western territories have been in disorder for a few years, if what we have learned is true—it is certainly consistent. In the last month there is another factor to consider: the False Inca of the Green Banner has summoned home all troops in the lands of the False Inca. He has sent ships to bring them back. A few have already left Helaoku’s ports and more ships are arriving from over the Eastern Ocean. It was stressed to the foreign soldiers that they are needed urgently on their own soil.” He grinned. “I saw four ships leave, bound for the Mediterranean, that sea they say is the center of the world. They are expected in a place called Antioch as fast as they can get there.” “Antioch. I think I know where that is,” the True Inca said. “If that’s where they’re going, then the False Inca of the Green Banner needs their help.”

  “Whatever the case may be,” said the Fox messenger, “they are not in the lands of Helaoku, and it is at a time when the False Inca needs aid.”

  “Yes,” Sathale said. “Taking the foreign troops home is a new development. And it may be that the rebellions you have heard of are at the
heart of it, but . . .’’He looked away toward the window. “Where is the rebellion? Is it in Urop? If it is, why are the soldiers being carried to Antioch when they might better be sent directly to the rebellious territories, territories that are closer to the eastern shores here than to Antioch? Is the rebellion in the east, as the two Japanese captains told us, or is it in the west, as the rumors have suggested?”

  “Or is there more than one rebellion,” suggested the Fox messenger. “There could be more than one, could there not?”

  “The High Gods take pity on the False Inca of the Green Banner if that is so, for there will be no retreat for him, and no hiding place.” Sathale turned and regarded the Fox messenger, a glint of humor in his eyes. “Or might he try the lands to the north? Do you think they would make the False Inca of the Green Banner welcome in Mexico?” To the messenger’s puzzled astonishment, the True Inca started to chuckle.

  They made landfall at last, at a cluster of islands that were regarded as part of the Maori outposts, peopled by their cousins the Morioris. In the city of Waitangi they were received with cautious grace by the headman and his council. Both the people of the True Inca and the cousins of the Maoris were unsure of how to proceed.

  “We do not know this True Inca of the Spine of the World,” said the headman, after Etenyi had struggled through an introduction. “We have sometimes seen ships like yours and encountered others dressed as you are. We know the ones who trail ropes into the sky as they cross the oceans.” He glanced at the two ships. “There was a storm, very bad.”

  “We know this,” said Pallatu through Etenyi. “We went through it, and one of our ships was separated from us. We have not found it again.”

  There was a great deal of murmuring and headshak-ing among the council of the headman, and one very old fellow, so lavishly tattoed that he appeared to be blue all over, slapped a length of wood against a large wooden bell.