I slogged down the stream for twelve hours, my body taut from watching and listening, the hound baying ceaselessly. The water seeping into my boots grew gradually colder. And after all that time, when I thought I might finally be safe, I raised my eyes from watching for danger along the banks, and found myself approaching the House of Silence.
It had always been my intention to remain as far from that dreadful structure as possible. Instead, the hound had driven me right to it, for the stream intersected and followed the Road Where The Silent Ones Walk almost straight to its door. I left the water, which had become unbearably cold, and crept into the moss bushes.
No sooner had I done so than the hound quit howling, a silence that startled me at first, making me think the beast was close enough to see me. But then I remembered that its last cries had been far away.
"Go find a rabbit," I muttered, then chuckled quietly, for a rabbit was a memory not of that life, but of my earlier one. Because of my lack of sleep, I found that far more amusing than it really was, and snickered awhile, my hands over my mouth to contain my mirth, like a madman in the night. Perhaps, by then, the constant darkness and terror had made me a bit insane.
I crept through the vegetation, angling toward the west to leave the vicinity of the House as quickly as possible. But after less than two hundred yards, the bushes ended at a plain of bare rock. My heart rose in my throat as I gazed at it. I could not cross that emptiness, naked for all the Night Land to see, especially not so close to the House of Silence.
By lifting my head as high above the moss bushes as I dared, I discovered that the vegetation grew only in a narrow band running alongside the Road Where The Silent Ones Walk. This left me no choice but to follow the Road for a time, even though it bent inward to the north, drawing so close to the House of Silence that the shadow of the stark, steep hill on which the structure stood overshadowed it. The House loomed before me, brooding over the whole land, a gargantuan structure as large as the Great Pyramid. The dismal, disconcerting lights shone steadily at its portals; the uncanny stillness surrounded it. We think of silence as an absence of sound; this was Silence Manifest, a palpable hush guarded for all eternity behind that ominous doorway.
I crouched wet and cold among the bushes, held there by terror, loathing, and solemn wonder. If, as the legends suggested, humans had built the House as a first attempt at a sanctuary, Evil Forces had warped its original design. It bore some slight resemblance to a Victorian manor, though one of unfathomable proportions: gables crowded its sloping roofs, vacant windows stared out, turrets and towers overtopped its immensity, yet all were twisted, misshapen, the angles and lines alien. Over all loomed the gaping mouth of the doorway, wide enough to consume a multitude, yawning miles high to meet the tattered eaves.
Of all the people of that time, perhaps only I understood the magnitude of the structure's corruption, for I remembered noble houses surrounded by green lawns and wide forests, wholesome homes built with care and filled with love. The contrast sickened me; sometimes the contradiction between the beauty of the past and the gloom of the present was overwhelming. As I looked up at the House, the terror in my soul chased away any thought of my physical discomfort. I remembered how short a time had passed since Aschoff had led his followers through that immense portal. I looked in vain for signs of their passing, but the House had swallowed them, leaving no trace. As I have said, I had feared this place all my life, perhaps because I sensed the full measure of its malice through my Night Hearing. Now, crouched before its door, it seemed the surrounding night suffered under a quiet, terrible anguish, as if hundreds of tormented souls wandered those halls, seeking an escape they would never find. Any moment I expected to see silent, agonized figures peering out the windows or passing between the door posts. None ever appeared; only the silence held reign.
Creeping, hiding, often halting, quaking in fear and gathering new courage, I pressed forward, my eyes fixed upon the House. It took five hours of following the Road before I came clear of that dreadful place, five hours that seemed an eternity, for the torment of those imprisoned within its walls beat incessantly upon me, until I wanted only to lay down and die. Why I survived, I do not know. I doubt I escaped the House's attention. Perhaps the souls it had recently stolen satisfied it. Perhaps the Rite of Preparation protected me. Perhaps it thought me beneath its notice.
As the road passed around to the north, I began to make better time through the undergrowth, despite being forced to detour to avoid bare patches on the plain. The hours of sleeplessness began catching up with me; my mind droned; I stumbled as I went, half in the trance of a sleepwalker. Still, I dared not stop. Chilled as I was by my wet clothes, I would die unless I found a source of heat.
As I passed just north of the House, something happened that gave me the strength to continue: the beat of the Master Word suddenly broke all around me, as if I had crossed through a barrier. At first I thought it a delusion brought on by fatigue, but I stopped, straining to hear. Through my weary mind, I realized that not only was the message genuine, but that its lack of intensity indicated that it came from the Lesser Redoubt rather than the Great Pyramid.
When I concentrated, I recognized the faint voice of Naani, crying out in supplication. It shook my soul; I wanted to leap to my feet and run to her, but I kept still, listening to hear more.
Several anxious moments passed, but no further message came. Despite my fear for her safety, I felt a measure of justification in my decision to travel north, for I had apparently been journeying toward her all along. It also seemed that the House of Silence had served as an obstruction, preventing her weak signals from reaching me. I guessed Naani had called to me often, perhaps with the same measure of despair.
This brought new meaning to the name of the House of Silence, for it had raised a wall of silence between the two redoubts, and might even have been responsible for breaking the contact between the pyramids centuries before, following the waning of the Lesser Redoubt's Earth Current.
This call, coming when it did after so much hardship, gave me a burst of strength. Despite my weariness, I steadied my gait and concentrated on listening for her cry.
Presently, I spied a fire-pit about a mile to the west. So encouraged was I, and so determined to reach a dry place in order to continue my journey to save my beloved, that I vowed to kill any monster I found lurking in the hollow.
Despite my bravado, a moment later I dropped to my knees to hide among the bushes as one of the Silent Ones, ten feet high and shrouded to its feet, appeared along the Road to my right. I crouched low, but after a moment’s hesitation, parted the vegetation and watched it approach, its movements quiet and without haste. As it drew nearer, I sensed the aura of its cold intelligence, and suddenly knew that it was aware of my presence. A trembling overtook me. It looked dreadful in its silent shroud, drifting across the Road without any noticeable movement of its legs, like a ghost-ship sailing over the sea.
I dropped to my stomach and covered my head, knowing I could not escape it. But the next moment, its presence seemed to fade. When I glanced up, I saw it had already gone past my position, and was continuing down the Road. Like its fellows in the Place Where the Silent Ones Kill, it seemed to think me beneath its concern. A sudden, intense respect for it swept over me, and even a peculiar compassion for the silent, lonely beings who I thought might not be intentionally malicious. But this did nothing to lessen my fear of them, for I suspected that if it had chosen to do so, the Silent One could have slain me with a thought.
As soon as it vanished, I hurried toward the fire-pit, keeping hidden as much as I could, but often forced to scramble across short, bare clearings.
I slowed when I reached the pit and crept around it, scrutinizing it for danger. It lay, like so many of its kind, in the bottom of a deep hollow in the rocks. After assuring myself it was deserted, I descended and made a careful search among the boulders. It appeared sweet and warm, without serpents or giant scorpions.
&
nbsp; I stripped both armor and undergarments away, and stood naked in the hollow, too cold and weary to feel vulnerable. Still, I kept my head about me, knowing I should not remain defenseless too long. It was a pleasant place, the surrounding rocks holding the heat, turning the pit into a mild oven. I wrung out my clothes and spread them on a nearby rock, then massaged my limbs to restore circulation. While my garments dried, I ate and drank and examined the contents of my pouch and scrip. Because of their tight seals, both remained dry despite the drenching.
As warmth returned to my limbs, my lack of protection began to bother me, and I strode nervously around the hollow carrying my diskos. I turned my garments over several times to help them dry, while the steam rose off in clouds. Under such heat, they were soon ready, and I felt much better once I had my armor back on. Though I hated to leave the warmth of the hollow, I dared not trust to its safety; I had not slept in over thirty-seven hours and was still recovering from the bruises earned in my battle with the Yellow Beast. As weary as I was, I knew I would never hear an approaching enemy. With diskos in hand, I climbed back out to find a place to sleep.
After a short time I discovered a hole in the base of a tall rock formation rising out of a field of moss bushes. I thrust my diskos into the cavity and triggered it. The sparking light of the spinning disk showed the hole to be empty and dry, and I climbed in feet first. My new bedroom, which was just wide enough to accommodate my shoulders, angled twelve feet into the rock. Though I have never liked close places, I curled up with the contentment of a fox in its den. I thought only a moment of Naani before slumber took me.
***
I awoke ten hours later, feeling sore but much stronger. Peeking out, I saw nothing to alarm me. Since I had gone so long without eating on the previous day, I ate four of the tablets before continuing on my way.
I soon drew close to where the Road curved slightly to the west. I was tempted to walk upon it instead of on the stony ground, but did not. At least I could go comfortably upright most of the time, for the land lay peaceful all around.
After traveling twelve hours, I noticed the earth sloping steadily downward, and the distant fire-holes lying far below told me it would continue to do so for many miles. I kept to the north and soon reached the end of the Road Where The Silent Ones Walk. This surprised me greatly. Somewhere in the back of my mind I suppose I thought—since it came from the darkness and went into the darkness—that the Road would continue forever. I should have known better, having read the metal book, but humans, despising change, always believe things will remain constant. So it came to me as a great revelation, and I stood examining the way the Road ended—not in a precise boundary as if the workers intended to stop there—but faltering, the material swirling down into the earth from the Road's normal elevation and spilling across the bare slope. Its color changed, too, for it lost its gray sheen and became brown as the surrounding rocks. And it seemed to me that its builders must have been driven from their work all those hundreds of thousands of years before.
I tried to memorize everything I saw, and made notes in the back of Ayleos' Mathematics, for if I managed to return to the Last Redoubt, the Monstruwacans would want to know every detail. I had a sudden longing to share this information with Cartesius; I smiled, thinking how it would send him rushing back to the Records, seeking confirmation.
A glance back at the pyramid left a hollowness in my chest, for I could now see only the highest lights on the Tower of Observation. This momentarily confused me, until I realized my descent down the slope had hidden the redoubt from view.
With the loss of the Road, which I had followed many miles, I found myself somewhat adrift, for I now stood in an unknown part of the world, farther away from the pyramid than any had ever gone before. Or if someone had reached this point, he had not returned to tell of it.
The time had come for a final parting from my home, and I realized it would now be as if I walked entirely alone. But at the same time I felt the ether stirring with the emotions of the millions, who must have received word of my position from the Tower of Observation. So we pondered one another across that vast, foreboding expanse.
I had passed the last fire-hole—there were no lights or flames before me, and I could not help the tears that sprang unbidden to my eyes as I looked into the absolute darkness to the north.
As an escape to pain, it occurred to me to test the compass. I was just drawing it from my pouch when the beating of the Master Word suddenly enfolded me. I stood dumbfounded, then gave a choking sob, for though I could not tell for certain, it seemed to flow up that terrible slope, out of an eternity of night.
I nearly responded without thinking, to tell Naani I was coming, and only restrained myself in time, for had I done so all the Evil Forces would have known of my presence. Instead, with my whole body trembling, I listened in vain for another message.
Finally, I stirred and glanced around. The compass lay forgotten in my hand. I looked at it and gave a barking laugh. It pointed steadily and continuously to the north.
My courage rose; my chest heaved with gratitude. I took one last long look at the Great Pyramid, burning the sight of it into my memory, but giving neither sign nor salutation. Then I turned and went down into the dark.
IX
THE GREAT SLOPE
As I entered the darkness, the night that wrapped itself around my soul filled me with a terror akin to a child's fear of entering a blackened room. I could see nothing before me, and after traveling only a short time, nothing at my back, for the Night Land vanished as I continued my descent. When the darkness surrounded me completely, I was nearly overcome by waves of panic. I halted, dropped to my knees, and hugged the earth, scarcely able to breath, wishing for a light I knew would never come.
There I remained several minutes, my heart pounding. My head grew light and I may have fainted, though I am not certain. At that moment I became as great a coward as any man who fled a battlefield. In the back of my mind, I knew Andrew would be ashamed of me.
To combat my terror I mentally calculated the square roots of various random numbers. Gradually, the fear passed. I felt the sharp stones beneath my gloved hands, hard and real.
I'm still alive. Even in the dark, I am still alive.
Despite this realization, I stayed there, not knowing how to go on. I might have remained forever, I suppose, except I was suddenly struck by the irony that for all their science and mechanisms, the people of the redoubt no longer possessed lamps. A pyramid full of lights, yet no one owned any form of portable illumination. It seemed so strange, sitting there, remembering how common such devices had been. I particularly recalled, in my life as Andrew, using one old, red lantern as a boy; in my mind I saw the spots of rust along its top and remembered its weight as I carried it. For some unfathomable reason, this gave me courage, for I knew men had walked in darkness before and found ways to conquer it. I rose and went on.
With my fear suppressed, I faced a new trial, for in such a night nothing seemed real, and I soon lost all sense of self. Often, I imagined that I no longer walked the earth, but stepped across an endless void. This impression seldom lasted; invariably when my thoughts wandered, I kicked a jutting rock or stumbled over a boulder. But without light, I made less than a mile every two hours.
After continuing in this manner for what seemed a lifetime, I sat down upon a boulder, breathless from anticipation of danger, uncertain whether I was even going in a straight line. As I thought again of lanterns, it occurred to me that I could use the diskos as a light source, letting it spin occasionally to illuminate my way. It was an awkward plan, for I would be announcing my presence across the slope, but I seemed to have little choice.
I activated the weapon. Its hum seemed so thunderous and its light so dazzling that I stood half-blinded, overwhelmed with fear in its fading afterglow, my every muscle taut in anticipation of an attack. When none came, I rallied and tried the diskos again, having been too startled the first time to notice my way. I le
t it spin for a few seconds while I looked around. Nothing lived, nothing moved; the bare stones stretched before and behind. The light faded. I walked through the darkness until I could bear it no more, then triggered the weapon again. I wanted to use the diskos continuously, but since it was not made for that purpose I feared I might exhaust its power, especially since I did not know how it would react so far from the Earth Current, the source of its energy.
It is amazing to what we can become accustomed. I walked across that rocky slope alone, absolutely blind save when I employed my weapon. Then the lightning flashed all around, accompanied by the low hum of the spinning disk, and the bare stones rose before me in a circle of light. I dreaded using it, for I never knew what danger might appear. At any moment, I expected to face some horror from the night. Only my love for Naani drove me on.
After six long, bitter hours of this, I sat down in the darkness and prepared my supper by feel. I had traveled a total of twenty hours. After eating, I wrapped my cloak around me, placed my scrip and pouch beneath my head, and with my diskos in hand, fell into an uneasy slumber.
Five hours later, something woke me. I gripped my diskos, raised myself on one elbow, and listened a long while, but heard nothing.
I debated making a bit of light, but if anything was near, I would be revealing myself. Finally, I decided that was better than uncertainty, and I activated the diskos several times. During the brief flashes, I spied only the craggy ground, though my imagination and a hulking boulder caused me to waste unnecessary power.
With some relief, I let the light die and sat down to prepare my breakfast. It occurred to me again how odd it was not to be able to see the moon and stars in the sky. Through Andrew's memories I recalled Orion, the tiny Pleiades, the Swan, and ominous Scorpio—I thought of the former beauty of the moon in all her phases. It is difficult to describe my feelings—it was as if I recalled a fairy tale, a far off vision, though one I had seen with my own eyes. It filled me with a wistful sorrow for all the lovely things now passed away, leaving only the emptiness, the dark, and me fumbling for my cup.
The Night Land, a Story Retold Page 13
