Man of Two Worlds

by Raymond F. Jones

  At last John Edwards straightened from his frantic digging. He wiped his sand-caked face and looked at Ketan. “This is as far as you said it would be necessary to dig. But there’s nothing yet. Are you sure this is right?”

  “Yes. It’s got to be there!” He leaped into the hole. “Let me try.”

  John Edwards relinquished the shovel and stepped out. He stood on the rim of the hole with William Douglas. “I think we ought to start back. There’s nothing here. We can’t keep these horses here · without water, and it’s suicide to try to camp here any length of time.”

  Ketan heard them. Their silhouettes were dimly visible on the rim of the hole above him, standing like scornful gods in judgment over him. He hoped they wouldn’t go back, but he knew that if they did they would go without him.

  It was too dark to see what he was doing, but he kept on throwing sand out blindly. The wind swept it back in upon him so that he was forced to dig almost with his eyes shut. He kept close to the rock wall of the pinnacle and his shovel struck the rock repeatedly so that the force of his labor was inefficiently expended.

  Then suddenly he realized it wasn’t just the wall that he was striking. It was a projection that jutted out from the wall.

  He threw the shovel out and flung down upon his knees, clawing frantically with his fingers. His eyes couldn’t see it, but his hands gave him the shape of the object and its size. And his fingers found the small hole above it.

  “I’ve got it! Hand me that bar,” he shouted up to the men.

  William Douglas threw it down to him and leaned over to see what Ketan was doing. He thrust the bar into the hole and pried out the smoothly fitted pryamid of rock.

  It came easily, but nothing else happened. He looked up and down the surface in bewilderment. He had expected this to be the key that would open some passageway to them. There was just nothing at all.

  Then William Douglas was shouting excitedly. “Down there —that light—in the hole!”

  A faint, golden light was pouring out of the small opening, increasing rapidly in intensity. Ketan lay on his side, curling his body into a knot in the bottom of the diggings to see into the hole in the rock.

  He did not know what he expected to see. He was prepared for anything—anything but what he did see recessed there.

  The light was coming from a tiny, glowing image, a golden image of a dancing girl poised on one foot. The figure was carved with an exquisite reality that made him expect it to burst into motion.

  Before his senses fully recorded an impression of the image he knew he had seen it before. Seen it nearly every day of his life since his birth into Kronweld.

  It was a delicate miniature of the golden image of the First Woman that stood in the grounds before the Temple of Birth.

  “What is it?” William Douglas and John Edwards stood impatiently on the rim of the excavation.

  Slowly, Ketan climbed out of the hole and motioned them down. “See for yourselves,” he said.

  In turn, they jumped down and took a look at the tiny figure in the recess, while on the rim, Ketan stood staring into space. He was seeing Kronweld, the Temple of Birth, the fluttering curtains of purple light in the night sky over that distant world.

  And he was seeing the golden, dancing image of the First Woman.

  How was it possible for a miniature of that image to be here on Earth?

  William Douglas rose slowly from his crouching position.

  “That’s the most beautiful sculptoring I’ve seen for a long time— and to think of finding it here in this desert. Any idea what it means, Ketan?”

  He told them of the original in Kronweld.

  William Douglas whistled softly. “That is something. How long does your history say that the image has been there? In Kronweld, I mean.”

  “We have a record of a thousand tara since the First Woman came there. The image is supposed to have been there almost all of that time.”

  “A thousand tara. I wonder how many of our years that is.”

  “As near as I can tell, it would be about twelve hundred of your years.”

  The Illegitimate turned back to the hole where he could still see the light from the image glowing faintly. “And that must have been there equally as long. I wonder how it got there. Who put it there —and most of all, why?”

  John Edwards was not so impressed. “Is that all we came to find? Let’s get going if it is.”

  “No,” said William Douglas. “There must be something more. This has no meaning by itself. What do you think, Ketan?”

  “I don’t know what to think. There’s something more here, I’m sure, but what it is, I have no idea.”

  “You spoke of an entrance—”

  “There should be one. All I know is that the small projecting pyramid should be removed. I thought that would open the way. I’m going to look again.”

  He went down into the hole and crouched, staring at the tiny image. Then he reached in a hand to touch it. It was merely resting there in delicate balance on one tiny foot. He lifted it up and out of the recess, its self-contained glowing lighting the hole in the sand with its golden light.

  And then the sand beneath him collapsed.

  As suddenly as if a cloak had been thrown about him, Ketan vanished from the sight of the two Illegitimates.

  “Ketan!” William Douglas shouted into the hole. There was no sound, but the slithering of hundreds of pounds of sand.

  “Ketan!”

  Then as from far away came Ketan’s faint cry. “Come here, quick!”

  William Douglas poised on the edge of the digging. John Edwards touched a hand to his arm. “Do you think it’s safe?”

  “I’ll go first. If everything’s all right, I’ll call to you. If you don’t hear me, take it easy. Don’t jump in after until you know what it’s all about.”

  “I don’t like this—”

  But William Douglas was gone. He leaped into the hole and slid down the sandy wall. But he didn’t stop where the bottom of the digging ended. He plunged on through into a tunnel of blackness that was fouled with the dust of sliding sand.

  But it was short. He ended abruptly upon a stone floor.

  Ketan was standing as if turned to stone. He did not even notice William Douglas’ arrival, but continued in motionless stance a little distance away.

  And then William Douglas rose and stood still.

  XVIII.

  They were standing in a sort of alcove. Dark, rough-hewn rocks marked the walls and ceiling about them, though the floor on which they stood was smooth.

  But it was not this that they stared upon. It was the scene beyond. They were looking into a garden where strange pink and yellow and blue flowers nodded in a faint breeze that bore their fragrance to the men. There was a pool in the center with a fine spray rising into the air and a pair of birds were noisily bathing in it. Beyond, tall trees waved in the wind, against a sky where floating clouds drifted softly and melted even as the men watched.

  They had no mind or voice for words. William Douglas was dimly conscious of John Edwards’ frantic calling from above, but he could find no voice to breathe the wonder of the mirage before them.

  He knew that it was a mirage, a product of some mental aberration that had seized them, but he couldn’t fight it off. And then in a moment he ceased all desire to.

  There was a movement among the tall flowers beyond the pool and a figure came into view. It was a girl walking slowly towards them, Her head was high and there was a smile for them on her lips. They could see the wind touch her raven black hair and stir the folds of her dress whose pink matched the most delicate of the flowers.

  And then she spoke, but Ketan did not grasp her words. His mind was in a tumult that made speech impossible. Perhaps he had not even heard. He only continued to stare in disbelief. And then William Douglas saw it, too.

  The girl was the living replica of the miniature that Ketan still held tightly in his hand. She was the First Woman.

&nb
sp; “Welcome to the repository,” she said. “We’ve been expecting you. Please follow me. My father is waiting for you.”

  It was the sound of her voice and her words that struck another impact to the men’s consciousness, for the words she spoke were in Ketan’s language rather than William Douglas’. Yet it was a strangely unfamiliar form. Her pronunciation was not as it should have been. And the word forms were partially obsolete.

  Ketan gave up his wonder. His mind went back to the control of his vocal cords and he answered her.

  “I am Ketan. This is William Douglas,” he said. “And this—” They realized for the first time that John Edwards was not with them. William Douglas returned to the opening and called up for their companion to come down.

  Muttering under his breath, John Edwards complied cautiously. “I thought you’d fallen into a booby trap and killed yourselves. I was just about to shovel in the hole and go back.” Then he, too, stopped and stared in wonder.

  “What in—?”

  The girl seemed puzzled. “How many of you are there this time?” “Three. This time—? You mean there have been others?” Ketan asked.

  “Many others, but come, my father will be waiting for you.”

  “It isn’t real. It can’t be/’ John Edwards whispered hoarsely as the girl turned and they moved to follow her. He had not even noticed her resemblance to the golden image in his first mystification.

  Simultaneously, the two Illegitimates turned to Ketan. “What does it mean?” William Douglas asked. “She isn’t real, is she? This must be more of the visions that you told us about, and it’s affecting us all. This rock has been sealed for over a thousand years. No one could be alive in it. Can you understand what she says? I can’t get more than about a third of it.” “It’s rather an old form of Kronweldian. I don’t know any more about the explanation of all this than you do. I only know that whatever it is, is right. This is what I came to find.”

  They followed in silence behind the girl whose walk seemed to be more of a graceful, dancing motion. They passed through the garden beside the fountains. They noticed fish swimming lazily. Strange, golden-htied fish.

  The illusion of distance was perfect—or was it illusion? As far as they could see there were gardens with flowers and trees spreading over the low hills in the distance.

  A flock of birds passed high over them and in the distance a rain-shower spotted the sky.

  The garden path took them shortly into a wooded glen and they began an abrupt ascent of a comparatively high hill. There was a strange sense of fantastic unreality about that hill. Even more than about the rest of their surroundings.

  Then they found what caused it. There seemed to be no top to the hill. It just kept going and there was no visible pathway ahead of them, yet the girl did not hesitate.

  And then they reached the top.

  The hill and the garden and the sky vanished and they strode out upon the marble floor of a high hallway clown which the girl was leading them. Her shoes clicked upon the floor in multiple echoes that sounded like the beating of faraway fairy drums. Her grace was deceptive in covering the swiftness of her notion and they had to hurry to keep up with her.

  Their capacity for astonishment had long since passed and they did not wonder at the sudden transformation from the garden to the marble way.

  They turned a corner abruptly and came.to a high ceilinged room finished luxuriously in panels of blood-brown mahogany. In the center of the room was a table at which candles burned. Upon it was a sumptuous feast.

  It was not until a moment later that they noticed the man seated at the table. He rose slowly as they entered and the girl led them towards the man.

  “This is my father, Richard Simons,” she said. “These men are Ketan, William Douglas, and—”

  “John Edwards,” said Ketan, indicating the man who had come in last.

  “I’m happy to know you, gentlemen,” said Richard Simons. “It has indeed been a long time that we have waited for you. Will you sit down and refresh yourselves, and then we can talk?”

  None of the food was recognizable to any of them. The two Illegitimates were dubious about it, but Ketan knew that it was merely some unknown varieties of synthetic preparations, such as were , known on Kronweld. He found the dishes very satisfying.

  But during the meal, neither the man nor the girl would discuss the things that were burning in the minds of the three men. There was no word of explanation or comment.

  They chatted easily of inconsequential things, however. Simons told them about the garden below or out, or wherever it was. He told about the plants that he had .gathered from all the countries of the world to put in it. Then he spoke in pride of the room in which they sat, of the mahogany panels which lie prized.

  There was yet a strangeness about the two that Ketan could not name, an elusive quality as if the man and the girl were actually unaware of them, yet that did not

  seem to be it, either. They looked directly into the men’s faces and smiled and laughed as they chatted.

  In fact, they monopolized most of the conversation, hardly allowing the three men to say a word. It was as if all the unspoken thoughts of centuries of imprisonment within the pinnacle were pouring out.

  But Ketan could not help bursting out with questions. Some were answered and some—

  That was it. Every now and then in their conversation they completely ignored statements or questions put by the men. It seemed as if they had not heard or chose not to recognize what was said to them. Ketan wondered if they were partially deaf.

  After the meal, Richard Simons passed around cigars which Ketan did not recognize, but the two Illegitimates accepted with pleasure. Then he led them out into another richly furnished room which was a library.

  The high walls were stacked to the ceilings with thousands of volumes. The expanse of the shelves was broken by several excellent paintings. The deep gray floor coverings muffled all sounds and it seemed as if a whisper were sufficient for conversation in that room.

  They sat in deep, comfortable chairs and Richard Simons blew a ring of smoke towards the ceiling.

  “You want explanations, of course,” he said. “You want to know who we are, and what all this means. I shall answer all your questions in an orderly manner.

  “First, let me tell you that you will find it hard to believe many of the things which you shall learn here, but believe that what wc say is true. We wish -that most of it weren’t.

  “You came because we wished you to come. You could not have clone otherwise. When you passed through the Selector an impulse was planted in your mind which carried you from that moment to this. All your life has been lived with the objective in mind of your coming to this point. I hope it has not caused you a great deal of discomfort, but I had to be sure you would come.”

  He was speaking of Ketan, of course, but his glance seemed to encompass the two Illegitimates as well.

  So that was the source of the visions, Ketan thought. And that was the origin of the driving force that had impelled and guided him here. But why ?

  Apparently their host was ready to answer this. “It is difficult to know where to begin,” he said. “You must know, first of all, that this is your home. You are of Earth. Crown World has been only a temporary setting for you and now you are about to come home.”

  Crown World, Ketan thought. That was the oldest of all forms by which Kronwcld was known. He wondered why the man used it, or how he knew of it.

  “You should know a good deal of the past history of Earth in order to understand the purpose of all of this. I am not going to tell you that history. You will find the details of it in these books that surround us, during the next few days.

  “To sketch a background, however, you should know that there was a time when science and civilization were much greater than they are now. They were destroyed by a great war that encompassed the Earth in a series of destructions that extended over a hundred years. It was really all one war, but it w
as broken up by truces and armistices which the people used to rearm and prepare for greater and more destructive wars that followed.

  “Because of the high state of the science of that day, these wars were increasingly destructive, until such a cumulative destroying power arose that it became impossible for civilization to continue in the face of it. And civilization did not continue.

  “There came, in time, the wiping out of the capacity for technological production. It was not a single climactic event, of course, but as technical facilities broke down one after another, they were replaced with more and more primitive conditions until an almost stone-age culture followed. Simultaneously, this meant the end of world war, because facilities for transportation and communication were gone.

  “A generation grew up fighting with knives and axes and communicating by smoke signals and runners. And, in the end, they forgot what they were fighting for and stopped because all their energies went into the killing of food. You will perhaps find these conditions unbelievable, but I assure you they existed for many decades.”

  “The upswing that followed came rapidly because there were still technicians of a sort in existence, and the rudiments of science could be salvaged out of the ruins of the libraries and laboratories. Fragment by fragment, portions of it came back. But something had happened to the people. They didn’t want their science back. A wave of feeling seemed to sweep around the world into all lands almost simultaneously. It became a dogma, a religion, and science became the scapcgoat for which the inhabitants who were left after wars blamed their fate. They blamed science and technique and they called their new cult antiim-terialism.

  “It was a fantastic, fanatic thing, but it gripped the Earth. In order to create communication systems again, they were forced into the contradictory position of adopting certain of the hated techniques, but they justified it by some sort of sanctification hokum. What they actually did, then and there, was prove that 110 society of any complexity and culture whatever can develop without a parallel science or technique to service it.