The World of Tiers Volume One: The Maker of Universes, the Gates of Creation, and a Private Cosmos

by Philip José Farmer

  They crawled and duckwalked until their legs and backs felt pain in the center of their bones, or so it seemed. They took left and right turns as they pleased, no pattern, and twice went up vertical shafts. The time came when they were in total darkness and quiet except for the blood punching little bags in their ears. They seemed to have outrun the hounds.

  Thereafter, they went upward. It was vital to wait until night could veil their movements outside. This proved difficult to do. Though they were tired and tried to sleep, they kept awakening as if springing off the trampoline of unconsciousness into the upper air of open eyes. Their legs kicked, their hands twitched; they were aware of this but could not fully sleep to forget it nor be fully awake except when they soared out of nightmares.

  Night appeared at the porthole of the shaftend in the face of the mountain. They climbed out and up, seeing patrols below and hearing them above. After waiting until things were quiet above, they climbed over the ramparts and up the next wall and so to the next level of street. When they could not travel outside, they crawled into an air shaft.

  The lower parts of the city were ablaze with torches. The soldiers and police were thoroughly probing the bottom levels. Then, as they went upward, the ring of men tightened because the area lessened. And there were spot-check search parties everywhere.

  “If you’re supposed to be taken alive, why did they shoot at us?” Anana said. “They couldn’t see well enough to distinguish their targets.”

  “They got excited,” Kickaha said. He was tired, hungry, thirsty, and feeling rage at the killers of Clatatol. Sorrow would come later. There would be no guilt. He never suffered guilt unless he had a realistic reason. Kickuha had some neurotic failings, and neurotic virtues—no way to escape those, being human—but inappropriate guilt was not among them. He was not responsible in any way for her death. She had entered this business of her own will and knowing that she might die.

  There was even a littly gladness reaped from her death. He could have been killed instead of her.

  Kickaha went down a series of shafts after food and drink. Anana did not want to be left behind, since she feared that he might not be able to find her again. She went with him as far as the tube which led into the ceiling of a home, where the family snored loudly and smelled loudly of wine and beer. He came back with a rope, bread, cheese, fruit, beef, and two bottles of water.

  They waited again until night sailed around the monolith and grappled the city. Then they went on up again, outside when they could, inside when they could. Anana asked him why they were going up; he replied that they had to, since the city below was swarming inside and outside.

  CHAPTER SIX

  In the middle of the night, they came out of another house, having entered by the air shaft, and stepped past the sleepers. This house was on the street just below the emperor’s palace. From here on, there would be no internal shaft connections. Since all stairways and causeways were guarded, they could reach their goal only by climbing up on the outside for some distance. This would not be easy. For forty feet, the mountain face was purposely left smooth.

  And then, while they were skulking in the shadows at the base of the wall, they came across two booted feet sticking out of a dark alcove. The feet belonged to a dead sentry; another man lay dead by him. One had been stabbed in the throat; the other, strangled with wire.

  “Nimstowl has been here!” Anana whispered. “The Nooser.”

  The torches of an approaching patrol flared three hundred yards down the street. Kickaha cursed Nimstowl because he had left the bodies there. Actually, however, it would make little difference to the patrols if the sentries were dead or missing from their posts. There would be alarms.

  The small gate set in the wall was unlocked. It could be locked from the outside only; Kickaha and Anana, after taking the sentries’ weapons, went through it, and ran up the steep stairway between towering smooth walls. They were wheezing and sobbing when they reached the top.

  From below, shouts rose. Torches appeared in the tiny gateway, and soldiers began to climb the steps. Drums thoomed; a bugle bararared.

  The two ran, not toward the palace to their right but toward a steep flight of steps to their left. At the top of the steps, silver roofs and gray iron bars gleamed, and the odor of animals, straw, old meat and fresh dung reached them.

  “The royal zoo,” Kickaha said. “I’ve been here.”

  At the far end of a long flagstone walk, something gleamed like a thread in the hem of night. It shot across the moonlight and was in shadows, out again, in again. Then it faded into the huge doorway of a colossal white building.

  “Nimstowl!” Anana said. She started after him, but Kickaha pulled her back roughly. Face twisted, white as silver poured out by the moon in a hideous mold, eyes wide as an enraged owl’s, she snapped herself away from him.

  “You dare to touch me, leblabbiy?”

  “Any time,” he said harshly. “For one thing, don’t call me leblabbiy again. I won’t just hit you. I’ll kill you. I don’t have to take that arrogance, that contempt. It’s totally based on empty, poisonous, sick egotism. Call me that again, and I’ll kill you. You aren’t superior to me in any way, you know. You are dependent on me.”

  “I? Dependent? On you?”

  “Sure,” he said. “Do you have a plan for esCape? One that might work, even if it is wild?”

  Her effort to control herself made her shudder. Then she forced a smile. And if he had not known the concealed fury, he would have thought it the most beautiful, charming, seductive, etc., smile he had seen in two universes.

  “No! I have no plan. You are right. I am dependent on you.”

  “You’re realistic, anyway,” he said. “Most Lords, I’ve heard, are so arrogant, they’d rather die than confess dependency or weakness of any kind.”

  This flexibility made her more dangerous, however. He must not forget that she was Wolff’s sister. Wolff had told him that his sisters Vala and Anana were probably the two most dangerous human females alive. Even allowing for pardonable family pride and a certain exaggeration, they probably were exceedingly dangerous.

  “Stay here!” he said, and he went silently and swiftly after Nimstowl. He could not understand how the two Lords had managed to go straight here. How had they learned of the small secret gate in the temple? There could. be only one way: during their brief stay in Wolffs palace, they had seen the map with its location. Anana had not been with them when that had happened, or if she had, she was keeping quiet for some reason of her own.

  But if the two Lords could find out about it, why hadn’t the Black Bellers also located it, since they would have had more time? Within a minute, he had his answer. The Bellers had known of the gate and had stationed two guards outside it. But these two were dead, one knifed, one strangled, and the corner of the building was swung open and light streamed out from it. Kickaha cautiously slipped through the narrow opening and into the small chamber. There were four silver crescents set into the stone of the floor; the four that had been hanging on the wall-pegs were gone. The two Lords had used a gate to escape and had taken the other crescents with them to make sure that no one used the others.

  Furious, Kickaha returned to Anana and told her the bad news.

  “That way is out, but we’re not licked yet.”

  Kickaha walked on a curving path of diorite stones set at the edges with small jewels. He stopped before a huge cage. The two birds within stood side by side and glared at Kickaha. They were ten feet high; their heads, pale red; their beaks, pale yellow; their wings and bodies, green as the noon sky; their legs, yellow. And their eyes were scarlet shields with black bosses.

  One spoke in a giant parrot’s voice. “Kickaha! What do you do here, vile trickster?”

  Inside that great head was the brain of a woman abducted by Jadawin 3,200 years ago from the shores of the Aegean. That brain had been transplanted for Jadawin’s amusement and use in the body created in his biolab. This eagle was one of
the few human-brained left. The great green eagles, all females, reproduced parthenogenetically. Perhaps forty of the original five thousand still survived; the others, the millions now living, were their descendants.

  Kickaha answered in Mycenaean Greek. “Dewiwanira! And what are you doing in this cage? I thought you were Podarge’s pet, not the emperor’s.”

  Dewiwanira screamed and bit at the bars. Kickaha, who was standing too close, jumped back, but he laughed.

  “That’s right, you dumb bird! Bring them running so they can keep you from escaping!”

  The other eagle said, “Escape?”

  Kickaha answered quickly. “Yes. Escape. Agree to help us get out of Talanac, and we will get you out of the cage. But say yea or nay now! We have little time!”

  “Podarge ordered us to kill you and Jadawin- Wolff!” Dewiwanira said.

  “You can try later,” he said. “But if you don’t give me your word to help us, you’ll die in the cage. Do you want to fly again, to see your friends again?”

  Torches were on the steps to the palace and the zoological gardens. Kickaha said, “Yes? No?”

  “Yes!” Dewiwanira said. “By the breasts of Podarge, yes!”

  Anana stepped out from the shadows to assist him. Not until then did the eagles see her face clearly. They jumped and flapped their wings and croaked, “Podarge!”

  Kickaha did not tell them that she was Jadawin-Wolffs sister. He said, “Podarge’s face had a model.”

  He ran to the storehouse, thankful that he had taken the trouble to inspect it during his tour with the emperor, and he returned with several lengths of rope. He then jumped into a pit set in stone and leaned heavily upon an iron level. Steel skreaked, and the door to the cage swung open.

  Anana stood guard with bow and arrow ready. Dewiwanira hunched through the door first and stood still while Kickaha tied each end of a rope to a leg. Antiwope, the other eagle, left the cage and submitted to a rope being tied to her legs.

  Kickaha told the others what he hoped they could do. Then, as soldiers ran into the gardens, the two huge birds hopped to the edge of the low rampart which enclosed the zoo. This was not their normal method of progress when on the ground; usually they strode. Now, only by spreading their wings to make their descent easier, could they avoid injury to their legs.

  Kickaha got in between the legs of Dewiwanira, sat down with the rope under his buttocks, gripped each leg above the huge talons, and shouted, “Ready, Anana? All right, Dewiwanira! Fly!”

  Both eagles bounded into the air several feet, even though weighted by the humans. Their wings beat ponderously. Kickaha felt the rope dig into his flesh. He was jerked up and forward; the rampart dropped from under him. The green-silver-spattered, torchflame-sparked angling walls and streets of the city of Talanac were below him but rushing up frighteningly.

  Far below, at least three thousand feet, the river at the foot of the mountain ran with black and tossed silver.

  Then the mountain was sliding by perilously close. The eagles could support a relatively large weight, since their muscles were far stronger than those of an eagle of Earth, but they could not flap their wings swiftly enough to lift a human adult. The best they could do was to slow the rate of descent.

  And so they paralleled the walls, pounding their wings frantically when they came to an outthrust of street, moved agonizingly slowly outward, or so it seemed to Kickaha, shot over the street and seemed to hurtle down again, the white or brown or red or gray or black or striped jade face of the mountain too too close, then they were rowing furiously to go outward once more.

  The two humans had to draw their legs up during most of the whistling, booming, full-of-heart-stopping-crashes-just-ahead ride.

  Twice they were scratched, raked, and beaten by the branches of trees as they were hauled through the upper parts. Once the eagles had to bank sharply to avoid slamming into a high framework of wood built on top of a house for some reason. Then the eagles lost some distance between them and the mountain wall, and the two were bumped with loss of skin and some blood along brown and black jade which, fortunately, was smooth. Ornamental projections would have broken their bones or gashed them deeply.

  Then the lowest level, the Street of Rejected Sacrifices, so named for some reason Kickaha had never found out, was behind them. They missed the jade fence on the outer edge of the street by a little more than an inch. Kickaha was so sure that he would be caught and torn on the points that he actually felt the pain.

  They dropped toward the river at a steep angle.

  The river was a mile wide at this place. On the shore opposite were docks and ships, and outside them, other ships at anchor. Most of these were long two-decked galleys with high poop decks and one or two square-rigged masts.

  Kickaha saw this in two flashes, and then, as the eagles sank toward the gray and black dappled surface, he did that which he had arranged with Anana. Confident that the eagles would try to kill them as soon as they were out of danger of being caught inside the city, he had told Anana to release her hold and drop into the river at the first chance.

  The river was still fifty feet below when Dewiwanira made her first attempt with her beak. Fortunately for her intended prey, she couldn’t bend enough to seize or tear him. The huge yellow beak slashed eight inches above his head.

  “Let go!” she screamed then. “You’ll pull me into the water! I’ll drown!”

  Kickaha was tempted to do just that. He was afraid, however, that the obvious would occur to her. If she could sustain altitude enough while Antiwope dropped so that her head was even with Kickaha, Antiwope could then use her beak on him. And then the two birds could reverse position and get to Anana.

  He threw himself backward, turned over, twice straightened out, and entered the water cleanly, headdown. He came up just in time to see the end of Anana’s dive. They were about 250 yards from the nearest of five anchored galleys. A mile and a half down the river, torches moved toward them; beneath them, helmets threw off splinters of fire and oars rose and dipped.

  The eagles were across the river now and climbing, black against the moonlight.

  Kickaha called to Anana, and they swam toward the nearest boat. His clothes and the knives pulled at him, so he shed the clothes and dropped the larger knife into the depths. Anana did the same. Kickaha did not like losing the garments or the knife, but the experiences of the last forty-eight hours and the shortage of food had drained his energy.

  They reached the boat finally and clung to the anchor chain while they sucked in air, unable to control the loud sobbing. No one appeared to investigate on the decks of the ship. If there was a watchman, he was sleeping.

  The patrol boat was coming swiftly in their direction. Kickaha did not think, however; that he and Anana could be seen yet. He told her what they must do. Having caught up with’his breathing, he dived down and under the hull. He turned when he thought he was halfway across and swam along the longitudinal axis toward the rear. Every few strokes, he felt upward. He came up under the overhanging poop with no success. Anana, who had explored the bottom of the front half, met him at the anchor chain. She reported failure, too.

  He panted as he talked. “There’s a good chance none of these five boats have secret chambers for the smugglers. In fact, we could go through a hundred and perhaps find nothing. Meanwhile, that patrol is getting closer.”

  “Perhaps we should try the land route,” she said.

  “Only if we can’t find the hidden chambers,” he said. “On land, we haven’t much chance.”

  He swam around the-boat to the next one and there repeated his search along the keel. This boat and a third proved to have solid bottoms. By then, though he could not see it, Kickaha knew that the patrol boat was getting close.

  Suddenly, from the other side of the boat, something like an elephant gun seemed to explode. There was a second boom, and then the screams of eagles and men.

  Though he could see nothing, he knew what had happened: the gre
en eagles had returned to kill Kickaha. Not seeing him, they had decided to take him revenge on the nearest humans for their long captivity. So they had plunged out of the night sky onto the men in the boat. The booms had been their wings suddenly opening to check their fall. Now, they must be in the boat and tearing with beak and talon.

  There were splashes. More screams. Then silence.

  A sound of triumph, like an elephant’s bugling, then a flapping of giant wings. Kickaha and Anana dived under the fourth boat, and they combined hiding from the eagles with their search.

  Kickaha, coming up under the poop, heard the wings but could not see the birds. He waited in the shadow of the poop until he saw them rising out and away from the next boat. They could be giving up their hunt for him or they could be intending to plunge down out of the skies again. Anana was not in sight. She was gone so long that Kickaha knew she had either found what they were looking for or had drowned. Or had taken off by herself.

  He swam along under the forepart of the boat, and presently his hand went past the lip of a well cut from the keel. He rose, opening his eyes, and saw a glimmer of darkest gray above. Then he was through the surface and in a square chamber lit by a small lamp. He blinked and saw Anana on all fours, knife in hand, staring down at him from a shelf. The shelf was two feet above the water and ran entirely around the chamber.

  Beside her knife hand was the black hair of a man. Kickaha came up onto the shelf. The man was a Tishquetmoac.

  Anana smiled and said, “He was sleeping when I came out of the water. A good thing, too, because he could have speared me before I knew what was going on. So I hit him in the neck to make sure he continued sleeping.”

  The shelf went in about four feet and was bare except for some furs, blankets, a barrel with the cartograph for gin on it, and some wooden metal-bound caskets that contained food—he hoped. The bareness meant that the smuggled goods had been removed, so there wouldn’t be any influx of swimmers to take the contraband.

  The smoke from the lamp rose toward a number of small holes in the ceiling and upper wall. Kickaha, placing his cheek near some of them, felt a slight movement of air. He was sure that the light could not be seen, by anyone on the deck immediately above, but he would have to make sure.