The Valley Where Time Stood Still

by Lin Carter

  The shock of emerging from the unnatural warmth and humidity of the oxygen-rich atmosphere of Ophar into the cold, dry air of Mars took its toll on all of them, however. Inga and Zerild had to rest, panting and shivering, while their bodies slowly adapted to the abrupt change. Even Thaklar found some difficulty in adjusting. They lay there, gasping for breath, pulses drumming, looking down into the crater. From this height the illusion was complete and the falsity of the mirage was thoroughly in-detectable. They could have sworn the bottom of the crater was only a barren desert plain littered by crumbling boulders.

  The Valley, it seemed, would protect its secret for ages more….

  At the foot of the crater wall they found tracks of the slidars. An hour’s search of the winding maze that was the Broken Land and they had found two of the beasts. The others they never found.

  Like the terrestrial camel, the Martian slidar can go a very long time without water. Unlike the camel, the loper can also endure a considerable period of time without food and still retain its strength.

  Letting the two women ride, with the men leading the beasts, they began the long road back to Ygnarh. Their supplies of food were considerably depleted, but the pressure-still could keep their supplies of water intact for long periods, providing that they could find vegetation. It took lengthy side trips to find places in the deep crevices where the hardy and omnipresent rubbery-leafed

  moss grew in numbers plentiful enough to supply them with drinkables.

  They were three days and nights on the Road back. They took the trip in easy stages, cautious of exhausting the beasts. But the slidars were hardier than they could have hoped and were still in pretty good condition when the ruins of Ygnarh hove into view.

  For nearly a week they rested in Ygnarh, hunting game in order to replenish their supplies of food and storing up water in the waxed skins. The principal reason for the extended period of relaxation was to strengthen the slidars after their long ordeal.

  Thaklar and M’Cord decided the wisest thing to do was to destroy the notes and files Nordgren had prepared. Let immemorial Ygnarh remain a legend for another million years, they agreed; and let the Valley remain a myth forever.

  They did not consult Inga in this. She seemed to have almost completely forgotten about her brother, and it seemed wiser to let what few of her memories she retained sleep undisturbed.

  And so they rested, the lovers, and contemplated the long journey that still lay ahead’ of them.

  The week was over all too swiftly, it seemed. Soon enough it would be time to go. They rode a little way together, but before very long it was time to make the last farewells.

  “Where will you and your woman go, Thaklar?”

  The prince smiled. “We shall go back to the lands of my people,” he said quietly. “Southward, across the Regio and along the edges of the dead sea bottom of the Noachis, by means of the Aurum Iani Fretum; this season my nation encamps in Argyre, far to the south. We will follow one of the canals—most likely Argyroporos—as far as we are able.” He used, of course, the native names rather

  than those invented by Earthside astronomers. But ’ M’Cord knew well enough what he meant.

  “I had not known any of the Nine Nations camped so near the southern pole,” he said. “Anyway—will your people accept you back amongst them, do you think?” Thaklar shrugged. “Only the gods know the answer to that question, my brother. But if they do not, then we shall dwell apart, Zerild and I. Perhaps in the native quarter of one of your F’yagha colonies; perhaps in Yeo-lam itself, in the Old City. At least I will have done this much; I will be able to tell the princes of my clan that those who stole the secret are dead. And I will return into the keeping of my House that which was taken therefrom.” He touched the saddlebag where he had placed the worn and ancient disk of silver.

  “It does not greatly matter to me now whether my exile ends,” he said, smiling into the eyes of Zerild, who rode beside him. “For now I am no longer alone.”

  “Nor will you ever be, my lord,” she whispered.

  M’Cord grinned.

  Thaklar returned the question.

  “And you, ’Gort? Where will you and your woman go? Back to the F’yagha colony at Lacus Solis?”

  “Yep. It’s nearest. Back the way I came, I think; north through Aram and then down south again, keeping to the canals as best we can.”

  “And when you are there again—what then?”

  He shrugged and grinned a trifle abashedly.

  “Then I guess we’ll find us a god-peddler, and get married!” Thaklar laughed affectionately.

  “This, then, is our last meeting! Farewell to you and to your woman, O my brother, my friend! It is a long road we have gone together, you and I; and mayhap it does not end here … for, who knows? One day we shall meet again, if it be the will of the Timeless Ones…

  M’Cord nodded wordlessly. He extended his hand. The Fyagha gesture was not unknown to Thaklar; although it was not Custom, he took M’Cord’s hand and wrung it in his own for a moment while they looked deep into each other’s eyes without speaking, as men of their sort seldom do at such moments.

  Then they parted. They wheeled their slidars about, exchanged one final salute, and rode off in opposite directions.

  But only for a moment. Then Thaklar called out and M’Cord turned, tugging the head of his loper, bringing the beast to a halt in order to see what Thaklar wanted.

  The Hawk princeling came jogging up to within two yards of where M’Cord sat in the saddle. He was grinning wolfishly.

  “You have forgotten something, my brother!” he called.

  “What?”

  Thaklar drew back his arm and threw something.

  “This!”

  A small object flashed and sparkled through the air.

  M’Cord caught it in his hand and looked down, opening his fingers. Purple radiance pulsed and flickered in his palm. He drew in his breath sharply. It was true: he had forgotten!

  The purple ruby glowed and twinkled in the sunlight. It was the size of the ball of his thumb, and of the purest water. And the Martian ziriol was the rarest and most desirable of all precious stones.

  He held a fortune cupped and blazing in his hand.

  “Farewell once more, my brother!” called Thaklar. “Till we meet again!”

  Then they separated and each began the long road home.

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