Mer-Cycle

by Piers Anthony

  Eleph actually smiled. “I appreciate a complex answer.”

  Amazing how simple it was to get along, once the effort was made! Don liked talk about his specialty. “All right. First, you have to understand that what we think of as Cretan writing is fragmentary and inconclusive, and much of it isn’t Minoan. It’s Greek.”

  “That’s a fair start,” Eleph agreed wryly.

  “We call this ‘Linear B.’ It appears to date from the Mycenaean occupation of Knossos, the latter half of the fifteenth century B.C. This has been deciphered, but it turns out to consist entirely of routine palace records. Inventories, receipts, accounts. No chronicles of kings, no literature. Thus it is of limited value to the historian.”

  “Linear,” Eleph said thoughtfully. “Does this mean that it was written along straight lines, like our own script?”

  “No. The name is to distinguish it from true hieroglyphic writing, the little stylized pictures such as those used by the Egyptians, where the word for ‘man’ is a stick-figure man, and ‘walk’ is a pair of legs beside the man. Such pictogramic or ideogramic representation is cumbersome at best. The linear form is much superior, because a few stylized strokes replace the picture, as in the Babylonian cuneiform, done entirely by wedge-shaped imprints on clay. Not only is this faster, it is far more versatile.”

  “I can see that. But if your linear writing is not Cretan—”

  “I’m coming to that. ‘Linear B’ derives from ‘Linear A,’ which in turn appears to be the true Minoan writing. But it seems to be restricted to the Phaistos area of Crete, while Linear B appears at Knossos, the capital. Linear A is largely undeciphered; progress is being made, but there is no uniformity of interpretation. So some would say it remains obscure.”

  “I see. But what, then, do you read?”

  “Well, Linear B, of course. But my real interest is in Linear A. A number of characters are common to both, so we do have a starting point. Many scholars have assumed that because Linear B is cumbersome, omitting many middle consonants among other things, that Linear A can be no better. I believe, in contrast, that B was a bastard offshoot used by the barbaric Mycenaean conquerors, therefore representing only a crude fragment of the potential of the original. It is in Linear A that we shall find the real literature of the Minoan culture—and indeed, we are finding it.”

  “Do you have extensive manuscripts in Linear A?”

  Don grimaced. “No. I theorize that the Mycenaeans destroyed Minoan libraries and literature in their vengeful fury. No doubt most of it was on paper or parchment, so it would burn, and King Theseus was a bookburner. Natural calamity was responsible for a great amount of loss, too. But these things can’t have eradicated it all. Someday we’ll excavate some official’s private library, and then—”

  Eleph smiled. Don relaxed—and was abruptly asleep.

  The final miles seemed like nothing. The depot was there, exactly where indicated. The sonic signal was clear.

  They pulled up and listened, tangibly relieved. Don had not appreciated how worried he had been until he felt the load depart. They would have food again.

  He also felt the fatigue of three hard days’ travel, as if it had been stored for this occasion. What a journey they had made, crossing the Gulf of Mexico on short rations! That canyon had wiped out their schedule and their reserve, and they had finished the last food package four hours before.

  As they paused, listening, Melanie moved next to him. “I am still thinking,” she said. Then she caught his shirt and drew him to her, and kissed him on the mouth. That was all. It was enough.

  They resumed their ride toward the depot, their feelings toward each other intensifying with their relief from concern about their supplies. It was as if there was a certain charge of emotion which had to find a new object.

  “Hey—isn’t this your department, Don?” Gaspar asked suddenly. “Hard to tell, because of the sediment, but aren’t these buildings?”

  Don looked, startled. He had been paying no attention to his surroundings, just driving onward, and had been distracted by the sonic signal and then by Melanie. But now he saw clearly that they were on the verge of a submerged ruin—perhaps even a sunken city.

  “Dizzy Choo-choo,” Melanie said.

  “Dzibilchaltun,” Don corrected her, having to laugh. “Yes, I suppose it has to be. No telling how much of that fabulous city was drowned. The depot must be right in the middle.”

  Now Eleph and Pacifa exchanged glances. “Don, tell us about the city,” she said.

  “Glad to—what little I know. But first let’s get on to the depot. I just want to fill my belly and flop down.”

  “No, we shall have to wait,” Eleph said. “I believe I have read about Dzibilchaltun or some similar Mayan city. Weren’t there impressive sacrificial wells?”

  “Sacrificial wells?” Melanie asked, frowning.

  Gaspar scratched his head. “I’m curious about that too. But I’m with Don: let’s nail down the supplies before we gossip about past civilizations. We’ve missed one depot, remember.”

  “Gaspar,” Pacifa said with motherly gentleness. “Doesn’t it seem providential that the depot is right here, inside a famous old city?”

  “It was obviously set up this way,” Gaspar said. “To give the archaeologist a good crack at it. This must be Don’s mission.”

  “That is plausible,” Eleph said. “As is no doubt intended. But if exploration of this city is the object, why did we have to travel underwater from Florida? Why wasn’t a Mayan specialist assigned? Why have there been so many problems? They didn’t have to route us across that crevasse. I think we need to consider.”

  “But what is there to consider?” Gaspar asked. “The depot is here, we’ve found it, and we need it. This is the one time nothing is wrong.”

  “That’s what’s odd,” Eleph said meaningfully. Now Don realized what the two were driving at.

  “Don, is there anything about this city?” Pacifa asked.

  “Well, as you know, I’m out of my specialty. But I understand that Dzibilchaltun is unique in the western hemisphere. For one thing, it was large—probably the largest city in the ancient world. For another, it’s old: continuously inhabited for about four thousand years, until the Spanish Conquistadors destroyed the native culture. It must have been a mighty seaport, and the pinnacle of the old Mayan civilization. That’s about all I know. I think the old Mayan script has now been deciphered, but I’m not sure there are texts relating to the history of the city.”

  “So it may be a mighty good place to visit,” Pacifa mused. “Especially underwater, where it presumably hasn’t been touched by looters.”

  “Oh, plenty of looting goes on under the sea,” Gaspar said.

  “Indeed it does,” Don agreed. “The Mediterranean—”

  “But why us?” Pacifa continued. “That sticks in my craw. Do you think it’s a trap, Eleph?”

  “Perhaps. I seem to remember human sacrifices. But there shouldn’t be any Mayans here now.”

  “That was part of their religion,” Don said. “But the Mayans were basically peaceful. Mostly they sacrificed precious objects. Golden artifacts, handicrafts, things like that. I think it was the Aztecs who made a wholesale business of human sacrifice. They were comparatively recent and barbarian.”

  “The city may be a decoy,” Eleph said. “It is hard to believe that our real mission concerns the ancient Mayans. Our government is generally more pragmatic.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with surveying a Mayan city,” Don said defensively.

  “By a Minoan scholar?” Melanie asked. “And the rest of us, who are really ignorant about archaeology?”

  Don couldn’t answer. It was making less sense.

  “Could someone have substituted these coordinates and planted a fake beeper to bring us in?” Pacifa asked.

  “After entirely losing the first depot?” Eleph asked in return. “That’s unnecessarily circuitous, considering that we surely weren’t expecte
d to make it here. And it doesn’t account for the selection of this unique spot.”

  “You’re right again,” Pacifa said, and it seemed to Don that she had raised the point for the sake of having it refuted. “It’s so fouled up it must be the way the bureaucracy planned it. A Minoan scholar sent to an old Mayan city. They both begin with M, don’t they?”

  Don laughed and the others smiled. “That’s reasonable. The bureaucrats didn’t know the difference. And I will want to look at these ruins closely. I don’t mind expanding my horizons. Let’s get on to the depot.”

  The others agreed, though with less enthusiasm. The party rode on—cautiously.

  The arrival was anticlimactic. The depot was there, almost hidden by a mound of rubble that turned out not to be real—to them. The phased-in supplies could and did occupy the same region inhabited by real-world material. A very neat hiding place for a foreign shore. No local fishermen or incidental looters would have spotted it. Even though they could not touch it, such a discovery could have spread an alarm.

  “That bothers me,” Pacifa said. “But I don’t know why.”

  “There is no need for us to remain in the vicinity,” Eleph said. “We can ferry the supplies out to deeper water and make our own depot, that no one knows about except us.”

  That they did, quickly, leaving only their surplus waste. There were limits to what the converters could do once the water was recycled, so they had to be emptied periodically. Once safely clear of the city they pitched their joint tent and ate ravenously and slept. The pressure was off, for the time being.

  Melanie slept beside Don, and held his hand, but said no more about herself or their relationship. Evidently she was still considering her response. That was just as well, as he was still considering his feeling. If only she had hair!

  “Okay, Melanie,” Gaspar said after breakfast. “How about the next coordinates?”

  “Wait a minute!” Don cried before she could answer. “I’m not leaving before I take a good look at this city!”

  “You saw it yesterday, didn’t you?”

  “No. I had a passing glimpse of the cover. Now I want to read the book.”

  “That city is buried in silt,” Pacifa pointed out. “The cover is all you can see, so long as it’s phased out.”

  “What about Eleph’s thread and balloons?” Melanie asked.

  “These should not be expended spuriously,” Eleph said.

  Don saw his prize slipping away. The others just did not understand archaeology.

  “We don’t actually know what our mission is,” Gaspar said thoughtfully. “From what Don says, this is a significant location. Maybe we’re supposed to investigate, lending our skills to support his skills.”

  “That’s not true,” Eleph said.

  “How do you know?” Pacifa inquired. “Did Melanie give you the next coordinates?”

  Melanie smiled at this teasing.

  “No, of course not,” Eleph said stiffly. “But the very fact that there are further coordinates—”

  “Are there?” Gaspar asked.

  “You yourself were asking for them a moment ago.”

  “But I didn’t get them—and now I wonder. This place is beginning to make sense to me as a destination, and not just archaeologically.”

  Now Pacifa was interested. “How do you mean, Gaspar?”

  Then, oddly, Gaspar backed off. “I’d rather think about it some more. Why don’t we let Don have his look? We’re ahead of schedule now, surely, and we can use the rest.”

  “Why don’t we just find out?” Pacifa asked. “Melanie, are there more coordinates?”

  “Yes,” Melanie said faintly, with an apologetic look at Don.

  “How many? You don’t have to give the figures. Just tell us how many numbers you have.”

  “I suppose that’s all right,” Melanie agreed uncertainly. “Three.”

  “And are they near or far?”

  “I-I think they’re far.”

  “So maybe we’d better get on with it, in case we have more trouble,” Pacifa said.

  But now it was Eleph who demurred. “We must be fair. I suggest we give Don two days, since we may not return once we go on. Possibly later there will be things important to the rest of us, and the Golden Rule—”

  Pacifa threw up her hands, literally. “They talk about women changing their minds!”

  “But it will be nice to relax,” Melanie said. In that she spoke for them all.

  The city was huge. Don and Gaspar rode for miles along patterns suggesting wide boulevards and rubble-clogged streets though their tires encountered only the rolling sea-floor of the phase world. Everywhere they passed the ruins of what might have been ancient monuments and colossal buildings.

  Don shook his head, amazed at the remaining grandeur. “These may seem like mere wreckages to you, but to me they’re foundations. I’m beginning to see the structures they supported. They’re inherent. I—”

  “No, I’m impressed too,” Gaspar said. “On a couple of levels.”

  “You mean you’re getting interested in archaeology?”

  “No such luck. My interest is geological and practical.”

  “Geological?” Don asked, surprised. “Look at this: a corbelled arch. See how the columns project sideways, with a capstone across? Not a true arch; I don’t think that was known in the New World. What has this to do with geology?”

  “Think about it and you’ll see.”

  Don shook his head, suspecting Gaspar of mocking him. “I am thinking about it. You can see how this is one of several arches that formed a pattern. See those broken columns there, and the mounds across this court. This silt hides them, but obviously these were entrances to a royal garden or amphitheater. Maybe an outrider to a palace. Can’t you visualize it rising around us, perhaps decorated with splendid murals?”

  “Oh, some,” Gaspar said tolerantly. “But let me show you my vision. We really are riding on a different world, and why we can’t see it bothers me more and more. Because if these ruins were in our phase, we’d be able to walk on them and bang into them. We thought only the life was different, because it moves, but the buildings are different too. This proves it. It’s the first time we’ve been able to pass through stone.”

  “No, there was that counterweight stone in the chasm,” Don said. “But I see what you mean. There never was any question, was there? How can there be a city without life, and how can there be life with no real air or water?”

  “It wasn’t obvious to me until I saw this city,” Gaspar said. “These worlds are awfully close. Remember how we rode across the abyssal plain?”

  “Sure. But that has nothing to do with—”

  “No? How can you form a sedimentary flat—without water? Without erosion and settling? And that canyon—if water didn’t cut it in this phase world, what did?”

  Don was stunned. “You’re right! Our world is water-formed, and the phase world duplicates it. There has to be water here. And air. We rode over those coral reefs, and there wouldn’t be any coral without—”

  “So if there was water in our phase world, what happened to it?” Gaspar asked. “And the life. Things certainly changed, and not very long ago, geologically. That’s convenient for us, but alarming.”

  “Yes.” Don tried to visualize how a world might be deprived of air and water in one quiet operation, with inert nitrogen substituted for both, and could not. “H-how long ago?”

  “Within the past hundred thousand years, I’d say. But not within the past six thousand.”

  “W-why not one year ago?”

  “Because then this city would be in the phase world too,” Gaspar said. “Assuming the history of this world was as similar to our own as it seems. And this city dates from 4000 B.C.—six thousand years ago.”

  “Y-you’re guessing! Y-you’re no archaeologist.”

  “It wasn’t built under water, was it?” Gaspar demanded, waiting for Don’s reluctant nod. “It was built on land. No ea
rthquake sank it, or it would have been shaken apart, instead of just weathered and buried, right? So the water came in slowly—and that means the end of the ice age. The level didn’t stabilize until about five thousand years ago, so this must be older.”

  There it was: the obvious situation that Don’s mind had balked at. A fine city, six thousand years old. “B-but then it c-can’t be Dzi-Dzi—”

  “No, of course not. This is a good twenty miles out from the present shore, and Dzibilchaltun was onshore or inshore. This city was submerged before the Mayans even appeared in the Yucatan.”

  And Dzibilchaltun was now inshore, Don remembered. The shoreline had changed, in effect pushing it inland. He had gotten it reversed, thinking the ruins would be out under the sea instead of inland, as the shore silted up. The revelation was so vast that it threw him into a new mental framework, and his stuttering stopped. “You’re right! Who could have built it?”

  “You’re the archaeologist. Pretty nice material for a scholarly paper, eh?”

  “But this must predate Egyptian and Sumerian civilization! Nothing in the Old World has this level—”

  “So?”

  Don shook his head. It was not credible that the American Indians could have built elegant cities before the Mesopotamians. But how could he argue that fine point with a skeptical geologist?

  Pacifa had been sure there was something about this region. She had been right. Don had been misled by his blind assumption that this was Dzibilchaltun and his confusion about his assignment, as a Minoan specialist, to a Mayan region. A Mayan specialist would have known instantly that this was not Dzibilchaltun, but would have been no better off. In fact, there might be no archaeologist in the world really qualified to excavate these phenomenal ruins.

  Nice material for a scholarly paper, yes. Schliemann had discovered his Troy, Bibby his Dilmun, Mellaart his Catal Huyuk. Would Don Kestle join these illustrious leaders? No, that was a foolish dream. The credit belonged to whoever had come across the city first—or to whoever actually excavated it and unraveled its marvelous secrets. Don was only a visitor, here to look and sigh.

  Gaspar was watching him. “What would you give to bring a competent crew here, in the real world?”