Pallahaxi

by Michael Coney

  “Not necessarily. I mean how do you know our people sat it out in Pallahaxi? Have you stardreamed back that far?” There was a knot in my stomach. I felt as though I was standing on the brink of a cliff, with icy waters waiting below.

  “Are you doubting my memory?” Stance was on his feet now, face set, chest puffed out. “Are you doubting my memory?”

  There came a muttering of outrage from his warriors. “Apologize!” Quorn cried.

  Charm said quickly, “Hardy didn’t question Yam Stance’s memory. He simply asked if his knowledge was based on religious grounds, or on a stardream.”

  “We don’t need a flounder girl to teach us what’s an insult and what isn’t!” said Quorn, and again the muttering came. Spears rattled.

  “Charm’s right. That’s what I asked, Stance,” I said. “Nothing wrong in that.”

  “Charm’s right?” mimicked my uncle furiously. “Charm’s right? A flounder, right? And what exactly is your relationship with this flounder girl, Hardy? Must I add miscegenation to the list of crimes you’ve committed?”

  It was too much. I found I was on my feet too, shouting in his face. “Yes, you must! Charm and I are at it all the time like drivets, if you must know! Now put that on your stupid list, and to Rax with you!”

  Stance had arranged his face into an expression of disgust. “I can hardly believe a member of my own family is capable of such behavior. Rax! You might as well sleep with a lorin.”

  “And why not?” I yelled, all control lost. “We’re the same species!”

  Remembering that scene in later times, I realize I behaved stupidly. I allowed Stance to divert the argument into an area where he could not fail but win. Stance’s original quandary was forgotten in the outcry that followed from his men when this young upstart — me — claimed that stilk and lorin were cut from the same skin. It was outrageous, it was unthinkable, it was disgusting.

  “I think we’ve all heard enough,” said Stance grimly, gathering his men around him. “You’re lost to us, Hardy. There’s no place for you in Yam.”

  We arranged ourselves into factions. Stance and his men moved toward the door. Charm, myself, Mister McNeil, Helen and Jon stood at the foot of the stairs.

  Stance turned back and nodded, as though such a grouping of misfits and miscegenators was no more than he’d have expected. He achieved an expression of contempt.

  “The people of Yam will pray to the Great Lox, and by our very numbers ensure our deliverance from the evil of Rax. We will not pray for you. You are lost, all of you. Lost!”

  It was a good exit speech but it quickly degenerated to bathos. Stance, fooled by the electric light, had lost track of time. He flung open the door onto a cold dark world of driving sleet.

  “Rax!” he muttered, slamming the door shut. He swung around to face Mister McNeil. He swallowed. “You will accommodate us for the night,” he jerked out.

  The days became colder and the sleet would soon become snow. Charm and I spent much of our time stardreaming. Helen and Jon stayed behind to attend to household duties, which were not onerous. The residence was powered by a small reactor which, Mister McNeil had once told me, was good for his lifetime and more without attention. So Helen and Jon had time to spare, which they too spent stardreaming in the hope that they might be able to help us in our own investigations into the past.

  Charm and I took over Mister McNeil’s bedroom. I won’t go into the details of the room, because a human would find it quite unremarkable. To us, the furnishings were astonishing.

  We stardreamed, occasionally coming out of it to eat or make love.

  I quickly hopped back as far as I’d been before. I bypassed my favorite memories; a fellow can easily get bogged down in reliving pleasant times. More generations passed. The most time-consuming aspect was finding the best link to the next generation back. Usually I found the coming-of-age ceremony was best, where I could use the common memory to pass from son to father. This kind of hopping from ancestor to ancestor can be tedious in the extreme, and requires a high level of concentration. I’d never been good at mindless persistence; that kind of thing is for lox. So I’d usually had enough by noon; Charm lasted a little longer, but not much.

  I’d always though Yam was a boring place, and now I was getting proof aplenty. Nothing ever happened that hadn’t happened in a previous generation. And traveling through time backwards gave one no interesting threads to follow. People died, they lived and made love, and they were born. And their ancestors carried on the cycle, generation before generation. Even the coming of the humans seemed a minor excitement.

  It was all so pointless that I became obsessed with the idea that somewhere there had to be a point; that among all those generations there was a clue what our lives were all about.

  I knew what human life was about; Mister McNeil had described the human purpose. It was to go forth and multiply; and since the Universe was infinite the purpose would always exist. It must have been comforting for them; they might experience setbacks but they would never become obsolete.

  “I mean,” I said to Charm one afternoon after making love, “Why did the kikihuahuas create us? Just to colonize the world? Just to be here?”

  “I’ve been wondering the same thing. It’s so meaningless, all these generations doing nothing but stay alive.”

  “Even the villages stay the same size. I expected… .” It was difficult to put it into words. “I expected to find things got smaller, somehow, the further back we went. Less people, less houses. To show that we’ve been growing ever since, like the humans. But it’s not that way at all. No wonder people never stardream very far back. The most exciting generation I’ve come across is our own.”

  “That’s because you’re in bed with me, my love… .”

  I wondered how far back I could go, not for the first time. Would my stardreaming suddenly come to an end against the barrier of a defective gene, like most people’s? Or could I continue right back to some mysterious beginning, as the tradition of my male line claimed? Maybe the goatparent?

  Meanwhile Mister McNeil journeyed from village to village, spreading his news. He kept in touch with us by radio.

  “I’m telling them the mine at Devon Station is available for shelter,” he reported early on in his travels. “There’s no shortage of room, and the heating will hold out for forty years at least. The problem is going to be food. I’m telling them to bring everything they can lay their hands on, and livestock too.”

  “I doubt if any village will have more than a year’s supply of food,” I told him.

  The hopelessness in his voice came over clearly. “I know that. And I don’t think they’re listening to me, maybe for that reason. But what else can I do?”

  Privately I thought there was another reason. It wasn’t just the food. It was getting dangerously late in the drench for traveling. People would already have battened down for the coming freeze.

  And now they were being told it was going to last forty years, and that there was room available at Devon Station, but no food. What would they do?

  My guess? They would choose to disbelieve or ignore Mister McNeil’s warning, and sit tight where they were. Mister McNeil must know that. So why was he risking his own life driving around in this foul weather? It could only be an overwhelming sense of guilt… .

  Days went by, floodwaters foamed down the river at the end of the driveway, and Charm and I stardreamed on. We’d lost count of generations long ago. I continued on my exhausting way, plowing through life after life spent in subsistence farming. At least Charm’s memories featured the annual excitement of the grume. I envied her. I accompanied my ancestors on occasional hunting expeditions to break the tedium, but one loat looks very much like another. I found myself hoping a snorter would gore somebody, to provide dramatic interest. That’s when I stopped stardreaming hunts, ashamed of myself.

  Then, one stardream, the weather was colder.

  There
was no doubt about it. Generations ago, the freezes had been longer, the summers shorter.

  Was this the tail-end of the Great Freeze?

  “Oh, I’m further back than that,” said Charm airily. “You’ve been dragging your feet. There’s less people about too, the period I’m in. And it’s colder still. Almost as cold as last year.” She rolled toward me in bed and kissed me. “We’re getting there, my love.”

  And two days later I found myself in Pallahaxi.

  Memory became blurred. It was not geas; it was as though the memories of those far-off ancestors were primitive and unpracticed. I got brief glimpses of groups huddled in ruined cottages; of rebuilding, of grumes coming and going, of fishing. Times were hard, the weather was cold.

  That evening, Charm and I discussed our results with Jon.

  “Pallahaxi?” he said.

  “We’ve stardreamed a long way back, and that’s where we are now. Maybe there is something in the temple beliefs, after all.”

  “I’d hate to think so.”

  “By the way,” said Helen, “have you noticed a lot of people traveling this last few days? With loxcarts, heading north?”

  “We’ve been to busy in bed to notice anything.” Charm smiled. “But they can only be from Noss. They must be heading for the mine. They’ve seen sense after all. Thank Phu for that.”

  “All right in the short term,” said Jon. “But what are they going to do for food?”

  We were discussing this when a high-pitched whining noise approached, persisted for a while right outside the window, then shut down.

  “Mister McNeil’s back!” said Helen joyfully.

  The huge human came clumping in, rainwater pouring from his slick coat. He greeted us briefly, made straight for the sideboard and poured himself a drink. Then he slumped into a chair and eyed us gloomily.

  “A waste of time. Days wasted, talking to idiots.” He recalled himself and added hastily, “Mind you, humans would probably have behaved the same in similar circumstances. Anyway, most village chiefs simply didn’t believe me. And when they did, they didn’t want to do anything about it. They said it was too late for travel, the freeze was coming. I reminded them this was no ordinary freeze. And they’d say: yes, we heard you — as though it was of little consequence. If I didn’t know better, I’d say they’d been brainwashed into ignoring the evidence of the past few years.”

  “Or programmed,” said Jon thoughtfully.

  Looking back, I’ve often thought we should have involved Jon in our discussions more. Living and talking with a human for so long, he was able to make mental links between human society and ours, sometimes unconsciously.

  “It’s not just the past days wasted,” said Mister McNeil, working himself into anger in an almost Stancelike way, “It’s the whole of my future. What am I doing here, if I can’t help you people? Why did I stay behind? I could be on my way to Earth by now. Jesus Christ, what a fool I’ve been!”

  I just sat there dumb, feeling guilty because of the stupidity of my own people.

  Charm, however, went and picked up Mister McNeil’s huge hand with her own small one, and squeezed it. “We don’t think you’re a fool. We think you’re very good and brave, and our descendants will remember you for ever.”

  He looked at her hand in surprise, then at her face. Something changed in his expression. The deep lines softened and the sick look faded, as though he’d been healed in some way. I felt better too; it was the confident way Charm talked about our descendants that did it for me.

  “Thanks,” he said briefly. “It’s no use crying over spilt milk.” He had a habit of coming out with these Earth expressions. I used to ask him to explain them, but soon gave up. “Anyway, what it all boils down to, is nobody’s interested in sheltering in the mine. All right, so we admit there’s a food problem there. There are the hydroponics, of course, but they’re only geared to a few fresh vegetables. They won’t feed many people on an annual basis.” He ran his fingers through his hair; another habit of his. “I don’t know what I’d hoped. Maybe that if everyone was neatly gathered in one place, Sector Central might see their way to lifting them out, or at least sending in supplies. They wouldn’t, of course. They’ve already made that much clear. They’re long gone. The hell with them.” He fell silent, the lines deepening again.

  “We saw the Noss people heading for the mine,” said Charm.

  He snorted. “Far from it. Haven’t you heard? No, you probably wouldn’t. Your uncle Stance is making a real nuisance of himself. He listened to what I said and he believed me; I’ll give him credit for that. He said he’d notify Noss, to save me heading down into that backwater. So I drove inland leaving him to organize things here.” He laughed bitterly. “Or so I thought.

  “I called in Yam today on my way back here. And guess what I found. That fool Stance had twisted the whole thing round. He’d told Yam and Noss what I’d said, sure, but he’d said it was proof religion and legends were right. His goddamned Great Lox had pulled the world from the clutches of Rax before, and he would do it again. All that was needed was a bit of commonsense and a lot of prayer.”

  “I don’t see where commonsense comes into that,” I said.

  “It seems there are some kind of caverns at Pallahaxi where Stance reckons you people sat out the Great Freeze before. His idea is, you all go there and pray like hell, and lo and behold the Great Lox will pat you on the back and get himself into harness — maybe long before the forty years are up.”

  “Did you tell him the forty years are inflexible and people must eat?”

  “Apparently the Great Lox fed them before, and he’ll do it again. Anyway, he’s got everyone on his side, most of Noss billeted in Yam, and they’re about to set off for Pallahaxi.”

  Charm was aghast. “The Noss people are going to Pallahaxi?”

  “Stance is a smooth talker.”

  “But my mother went along with this stuff? And Cuff, and Dad?”

  “I imagine there’s a certain unbelief there. But Stance is good at persuading the ordinary folk. He pointed out the grume is dependent on warm weather, which we’re not going to get, so Noss won’t be any better off than anywhere else. I don’t suppose the chiefs wanted to be left all alone there, so they went along with him. At least it gives them a chance to keep an eye on him.”

  “When do they leave?”

  “Tomorrow. They’ve got a big herd of lox stabled, and covered carts with braziers, and piles of furs and skins, all ready to go. Stance calls it the Great Pilgrimage. He sees it as the biggest thing that ever happened, and he’s in charge of it. He’s drunk with power. I think he’s almost forgotten the danger.”

  Charm looked at me. “We stardreamed Pallahaxi. And now the people are going there. You know what I think, my love?”

  There was a sick feeling in my stomach. Good-bye to warmth and comfort and safety and good food.

  “Yes. We have to go there too.”

  PALLAHAXI

  Mister McNeil was coming. At least we’d have the comfort of the buggy for the journey to Pallahaxi.

  Jon and Helen were staying.

  “I don’t believe in prayer and I don’t believe Pallahaxi has any significance,” said the Nowhere Man. “If Helen and I have to choose between starving in cold damp caverns among people who won’t accept us, and starving here in comfort with one another… . Well, the choice is obvious.”

  “There’s food here for a couple of years or more,” said Mister McNeil.

  “That’s more than they’ll find in Pallahaxi. Why don’t you stay, too?”

  “I don’t know why. I guess I’m clutching at straws. There’s no hope here, but Charm and Hardy seem to feel there might be some kind of hope in Pallahaxi… . Hell, I’ve run out of human ideas. I’ll take my chances with them.”

  “Good luck.”

  So we left Jon and Helen and drove to Yam in Mister McNeil’s buggy. It was a desolate drive. The sleet fell fast and
the trees were huddling down, squat and fat, withdrawing branches and tentacles to conserve heat. The river roared through its canyon beside the road, fed by the sleet from as far away as the moors, bearing struggling trees and the occasional dead animal in its brown waters.

  On reaching Yam we stopped at Spring’s cottage. The rooms were tidy as ever, but when I checked the shelves and storage areas I found everything portable had been taken.

  “She’s gone,” I told the others.

  “There’s no movement in the village. They’ve all gone,” said Charm.

  Yam was deserted, dead. It gave me a queer feeling. Generations of people had lived here and still lived in my memories, and now they were all gone. Charm sensed my distress and took my hand.

  “On to Pallahaxi, I think,” said Mister McNeil.

  Soon we were passing through Arrow Forest. The anemone trees were still, their tentacles withdrawn; they hardly acknowledged our passing. I pointed out the spot where Wilt had acted as a decoy.

  Charm was concerned. “Watch out for Stance in Pallahaxi,” she warned me. “If he’s whipped everybody up into a religious fervor he could easily turn them against you.”

  “I have my pistol,” said Mister McNeil grimly.

  We bypassed Totney, reached Pallahaxi around noon and left the buggy on the outskirts, out of sight in the shell of a cottage. Then we walked down the main street to the harbor, well wrapped in heavy furs.

  “It’s changed a lot from the place we stardreamed,” said Charm. “Older and deader and nastier. Not really the kind of place you’d expect Drove and Browneyes to come from, seeing it now.” There was a hill behind the cottages to our right, and the remains of a large building could be seen. “I wonder if that was the temple where Drove and Browneyes’ parents prayed for the Great Lox to come.”

  “What I’d really like to know,” said Mister McNeil dryly, “is what your Drove and Browneyes did for food and warmth while they were waiting.”