Gods of Green Mountain

by V. C. Andrews®

  Had they come so far to give, when already gifts had been lavishly bestowed? This was no barren, arid El Sod-a-Por. This was a world already rich in material things. Logan momentarily frowned and looked somehow a combination of his father and his maternal grandfather.

  Between them they had such a close communication, Lamar could read his thoughts. “Those penned animals down there must be meant for slaughter,” she reminded him, “such as we used to do with the puhlets and quickets and quackets. And if you noticed, there are a few places down there where the ground is not fertile-looking—the pufars could benefit those people. Yet, there are so many people down there. It may not be wise to give them the means to live as long as we do. We can hold down our population—but can they?”

  Another young man expressed his opinion: “But look at us—we who are the best have evolved from annuals into perennials, and the quality of what we are does the deciding, not our own choice. The pufars know how to keep the scales balanced. And those peoples down there are not stupid—they too will become wise in ways of control, just as we have. And to let a great genius die and never live again is a sin of irresponsible waste. The seeds of the flowers themselves know in which soil they thrive best, and they do their own selecting, and impart to a chosen few the best of everything. But even the annuals are given special blessings of extraordinary good health and above-average appearance, and sometimes they too are spectacularly beautiful, so no one is ever certain which species he or she is—that’s the beauty of it—and to hold on to youth and vigor for so long, isn’t that alone a miracle in itself? Don’t those struggling, warring peoples down there deserve the chance to develop into what we are?”

  It was voted upon and unanimously agreed. It would be unfair to leave and not bestow their gifts, needed or not. The star-flowers were wise—they would decide if they would flourish and give lavishly, or die without bestowing one thing.

  As Logan looked the great world over, searching for just the right place to land their ship safely and scatter the seeds, and put their plants into the soil, he didn’t know his ship was being observed too. Not one on that blue spaceship realized that they themselves were partly responsible for the frenzied activity going on below.

  Those in the ship didn’t hear the screams of terror, the broadcasts of UFOs quickly denied by all those in authority. “You are not seeing a spaceship…what you are seeing can be explained as a natural phenomenon caused by the play of light and atmosphere peculiarities that happen on rare occasions.”

  Over a huge dun-colored plain the blue spaceship skimmed, very reminiscent to the space travelers of their old Bay Sol. They looked at each other and smiled. A desert—though not as barren as Bay Sol, for even here some living growth reached toward the sun. A perfect place!

  However, clued as they were to the nature of the people who inhabited the earth below, Logan kept his ship high until all was ready for the landing. He chose the very early day, just before the dawning of the single sun, while the fierce inhabitants of this warring world were still sleeping.

  But those in control on the ground were not sleeping; very much they were aware of the hovering blue spaceship that filled them with apprehensions unlimited, with fears rampant, with speculations wild and fanciful. Hotlines were ringing, and leaders of nations were conversing in excited voices while the news media tried to soothe the public into believing they weren’t really seeing a UFO—just a strange and rare atmospheric condition. Even a president took to the airways, soothing, calming, rationalizing…no reason to panic—everything was under control. “Flying saucers just don’t exist!”

  Just before dawn, on a broad flat sweep of the Arizona desert, Logan sat his ship down as lightly as a feather. As their captain and the great-great-grandson of Far-Awn, it was his honor to be the first one to set foot on the homeland of their god. Just behind him came Lamar in her white uniform, with her dark hair concealed beneath a white helmet blazed with gold. They were not the pint-sized men and women the mountain God had known just before his death. If he could have seen them now, he would have judged them as half his size. Even they didn’t realize how rapidly they grew in proportion to every other thing that grew on their planet.

  “Look how curious these things are,” said Lamar, glancing toward the multiarmed, rutted green things that jutted straight up out of the ground. “And look, Logan—everything here wears a coat of armor made of needles!” She would wander off and look over everything closely, but Logan caught her arm restraining her. “No. We will plant and we will seed, and then hurry from this place, and be finished before the sun is up fully and the giants awaken. I have an uneasy feeling, like we aren’t welcome.”

  Standing very still and close to him, Lamar could sense it too. But her sparkling amethyst eyes scanning quickly around saw nothing dangerous, or anything that moved or threatened. She shrugged off the eerie disquietness that was stealing from this momentous occasion the pleasure they should be experiencing. Keeping close to Logan’s side, she began digging little holes for the star-flower plants. When all were in the ground, for good measure they dumped every bag of seeds, scattering them widely without any pains in their hurry to get away. There was no need for water—the plants would grow under any circumstances if they chose to, and if so, they would automatically adjust in proportion to their surroundings.

  The single sun was just peeking over the eastern horizon by the time they had finished. All about them they sensed a tension, taut threatening, but they had their ritual to follow, and follow they would. So they knelt on the ground in a circle and repeated the prayer their god had taught them before he died. “Our father, which art in heaven, hallowed be thy name…”

  So it was done. “Let’s go!” called out Logan, ordering everyone to pick up their tools and hurry back to the waiting ship.

  Once they were aboard the ship, it was lifted into the air very quietly, whispering up into the clouds, higher and higher. There they hovered before igniting full power, so they could beam back a triumphant message to those waiting far, far away.

  “Your majesties, our quest is accomplished! The star-flowers are planted. The seeds are scattered on the ground where once our dead Gods walked!”

  It was only then the sun children of El Dorraine noticed in their rampant enthusiasm to finish quickly, they had used every bag of seeds, including one they had planned to save and use on the moon, for that gray-white desolate place really had a need for them.

  “Oh well,” reasoned Logan,” it will be only a matter of time before the giants themselves will reach their moon, and they can plant them, and the star-flowers will make oxygen where there is none, and give forth their own nourishing atmosphere. You know, if there are true gods, we have just finished planting and seeding them.”

  It was then he turned his attention to Lamar, broadly smiling as he did. “Hey, Lieutenant, since our mission is accomplished, I thought I might casually mention that I love you…and as soon as we are home again, we could plan our wedding.”

  She stared at him, going very pale, and taken aback from the suddenness of his proposal—or was it a proposal? “Logan…are you serious?—I might very well be just an annual…”

  “What’s the difference? I love you…I think you love me, and if you are but an annual, would you care to spend that single season with me?”

  Her hand fluttered to her heart that was racing madly, then up to cover her smile of delight…and then both arms were flung around his neck. “With you? What have I been trying to tell you over the years? That you are the only one I want—and I was scared to death you would never want me!”

  On distant El Dorraine, the message of success was flashed out on all the news-reflectors. Joyfully the people took to the streets, cheering in gratification. It was done! It had taken them years and years of hard work, dedication, and determination, and undaunted faith—and they had succeeded! They had repaid their Gods at last for blowing them up from the ground and making them into ambulatory men. And those very sa
me gods had given them another, even greater gift, by wiping away all the gossamer cobwebs of doubts that had whispered in their minds and ached in their hearts. They were not meaningless, biological accidents, with no other destiny but to live, work, and reproduce and then die, forever lost. They were here to acquire knowledge, so they would come again, better than before. They were in the image of the Gods themselves, with great purpose, and unlimited reasons for perpetuating their lines.

  Though now their last God had been dead several hundred years, they were not desolate or depleted—for he had lent them his god. Someday, however long it took, they would find him too. Of that they were sure. Had not some of them once stood on the very palm of their giant god—would not someday the same experience happen again?

  And while they were searching the stars looking for him, and exploring each universe, they would plant and sow—be it near their own sun, or ever so far. Be it too hot, or be it too cold, or too dry—it wouldn’t make a bit of difference. The star-flower plants could grow from a rock.

  The queen, Sharita, went to her father, who sat very still and silent, and knelt at his side. “Father, aren’t you happy? Logan has done it. His mission is fulfilled. All his life he has worked toward this day, to give to our god’s home planet growth that will keep it from ever being depleted again, however insatiable the appetites there.”

  “Ah, girl,” grouched Ras-Far, “of course I am happy that our young people have accomplished the impossible, when most believed it highly improbable—but Es-Trall has tricked me! When I went to tell him the news, he heaved a great sigh and lay back on his bed, and went into the deep sleep! I seized his shoulders and tried to shake him awake, but he went into wood before my very eyes so I had him sent underground to rejuvenate in dormancy, without any fuss and ceremony, for he commanded that it be that way…and no one outside of our family is to know. Star-Far carried him down there. You know, this is the first time I have seen that grandson of mine look serious.”

  Tears swam in Sharita’s violet, almost blue eyes. Her face shadowed with grief for losing Es-Trall, so long a part of her life. “Did you tell Star-Far who he was?”

  “Of course I told him! It’s time he knew his destiny. It’s time that boy married and produced a child, instead of frittering his life away the way he is. It is a fine and wonderful thing to enjoy the pleasures of the flesh—but that is not all there is to life!”

  The king had heard all of this too, and Dray-Gon came to sit near his father-in-law. “The loss of Es-Trall is indeed regrettable, especially at this time—but someone must take his place and carry on his name and tradition. And you know, as well as Sharita and I know, just who that someone is.”

  “No!” stormed Ras-Far. “I too can grow weary. As soon as Logan returns, I was planning on laying me down to sleep.”

  “But Father,” Sharita pleaded, clutching his hand to her heart. “Think of how much older Es-Trall was than you, and think of all the pleasure he gained from contributing so much.”

  “But I had hoped to avoid such old age as his,” said Ras-Far wearily, turning his handsome gray head toward the windows. “I would pass from here without experiencing that kind of wizened old age.”

  The room was silent. His was no light decision to make—to take Es-Trall’s place so that no one would ever know the change of one man into another. Finally Sharita could bear the suspense no longer. “Father, speak to me now truly—was Es-Trall really your grandfather—was he Far-Awn, come back after his wife Mar-Laine died? If he was, think of how incredibly old he was!”

  Ras-Far’s dark purple eyes shadowed even more. “Sharita, what can I say, but what I have said before. One day an old man came to me and said he was my grandfather Far-Awn, and he had the right color eyes, and he knew intimate family details that no one else could possibly know—he could even quote the personal letter my grandfather wrote to me, and rolled up and slipped over it the royal crested ring, and no one has ever read that but myself. So, yes, he must have been Far-Awn. He told me the tale of how he and his wife tried to reach the Green Mountain, but she fell sick, and then stumbled and broke her leg, and shortly afterward died and how Far-Awn lost all desire to go on to the Green Mountain alone. He said he lived for a while in a small green valley where he had buried Mar-Laine…and then he came back to tell me his story.

  “I believed him then; I believe him now; I have never been wrong in reading truth in a man’s eyes.” And here the former king smiled lovingly at his still-beautiful daughter. “And besides, Sharita, his eyes were the same color as yours, and his skin the same tone. You are both rare flowers of exceptional beauty, for he was beautiful once too. I can recall him that way. Don’t you see, my love? Why I would go before I turn into an old withered stick?”

  Sharita hugged him close. “Father, you are not keeping up with our latest medical discoveries. Es-Trall aged the way he did because he failed to sleep enough. So long our scientists have searched for a solution to the problem of aging, and there it was, right in front of us, so simple. A short nap once in a while is not enough for the kind of people we are—we need long hours of sleep. We will not allow you to stay awake day after day, and grab only naps like Es-Trall. Our new Es-Trall will be assisted so he can sleep and keep his handsome good looks forever and ever—if he so chooses—and if you do not, then someone else will take up where you leave off.”

  It was then that Dray-Gon came and clasped Ras-Far’s hand. “I am here, Father, for you have been a real father to me since my own went into the deep sleep, and I can spell you from time to time, as will Sharita, and later Logan or Star-Far. Far-Awn grieved too much for Mar-Laine—we will see that you are not alone in that tower as he was. We can’t abandon our project now. Someone has to chart the stars and assist Logan to find other planets where our gift is needed, for we will not pass by the God’s home galaxy again.”

  Thoughtfully Ras-Far bowed his head. Then he slowly lifted it, staring toward the immense tapestry created by La Bara. He would never see her again, even in another life…she was an annual. He sighed, and nodded his head. “Call me Es-Trall from this day on. Ras-Far died today.”

  On the planet of Earth, the gleaming blue ship was still under surveillance by the fearful people on the ground. Hidden in ditches, and gullies, and behind rocks, blue, green, gray, brown, and hazel eyes had all watched as the small alien people had left their huge ship and descended to the ground. They had seen them put the plants in the ground and scatter the seeds, and heard them repeat the strange, unintelligible prayer while they knelt with bowed heads.

  Spellbound and caught in awe, they had wondered what it all meant. Who were they? What was their purpose? What were they planting? As soon as the blue ship lifted, men ran to telephones. Messages raced back and forth across their lands. Waiting officials conferred, and a hasty, unconsidered decision was made. Worldwide emergencies demanded, commanded, immediate and drastic measures.

  “Is that ship still within firing range?”

  “Yes. For some reason, they are hovering up there beyond the clouds, as if reluctant to leave—we have the feeling they are planning something else.”

  The order was given. “Take no chances.” So a long shiny metal finger was aimed at the blue ship that thought itself unobserved and safe just before Logan ordered full speed ahead.

  Carefully, precisely, the spaceship was focused directly in the center of the fine crosshairs of the gun sight—and then that immense missile was fired!

  Aboard the ship, Lamar had changed from her white lieutenant’s uniform into a long gown. She danced up to Logan, pivoting around, smiling at him teasingly. “See, I brought along a wedding gown. I don’t want to wait all those years just so we can have a grand royal wedding in the crystal palace. Let us marry here, today, and enjoy our trip home sharing the same room and bed, and perhaps, if we are lucky, by the time we reach El Dorraine, we will have a baby…or one started.”

  In a happy, playful mood, Logan reached for her, and she skipped away, lu
ring him on while the other men on board laughed. Then, tripping on the long skirt of the gown, Lamar fell against the control panel. In her efforts to keep her balance, and keep from tearing her wedding gown, she clutched desperately for anything to support herself. A dozen or so switches were thrown out of position. Logan yelled, and Lamar screamed! All bedlam broke loose as the ship rocketed sideways, and with such tremendous force everyone not seated was thrown to the floor, and it seemed the forward propulsion might pull out their insides and splatter them on the walls.

  “By the Gods, what have we done!” flared Logan, seeing everything go past him in a blur, while just to the side of their porthole window something whizzed by like a beam of light.

  Very softly someone said: “Those people on Earth—they fired at us. We brought them the ultimate gift—and they sought to kill us.” This soft-spoken young man came to assist Lamar to her feet, while Logan scrambled to his.

  The fired rocket could be seen far to the side of them, blazing a long red tail as it faded into the distance. Logan put his arm around Lamar and drew her into his embrace, grateful once again she was such an everlasting tease and flirt, the eternal woman, taking this auspicious time to try on a dress and flit around. She managed in her innocence somehow to save them all from being but bits of disintegrated dust.

  She was trembling, near tears, but she didn’t cry even as the third in command spoke in a calm voice laid thinly over nervousness: “Captain, we have jettisoned far beyond our fuel capacity to reach home. Our navigators don’t have the least idea of where we are.”