Suddenly Zu Shan sat upright. ‘I have just remembered something that may explain Nemo’s dream,’ he said. ‘Have you ever heard the legend of the coming, Paul?’
‘No. Tell me about it.’
‘It is a story that mothers tell their children,’ went on Zu Shan. ‘It must be very, very old … You know, of course, that Oruri can take many shapes?’
‘Yes.’
‘The story goes that long ago there were no people at all in the land of Baya Nor – I mean, on Altair Five – but that Oruri looked down on this world and saw that it was good. Therefore he came and stood on a white mountain and looked over the land. And out of his great happiness, many people were born, and they walked down from the mountain to play as children in the new world that Oruri had found. According to the legend, Oruri stands waiting on the white mountain. He is waiting until the people are tired of their play. Then they will go back to him and he will return with them to the world from which he came.’
‘It is a good legend,’ commented Paul, taking a draught of his kappa spirit. ‘The plot thickens, does it not?’
‘What do you mean, Paul?’
‘Only that I cannot help seeing Oruri as a star ship … I think too much of star ships, these days … And yet … And yet Nemo dreams of creatures in strange metallic clothing. And his god descends on a column of fire as a star ship would. And the god opens his belly …’
‘Paul.’
‘Yes, Zu Shan?’
‘If the hunters are to be believed there is such a mountain – many days’ travel to the north. They call it the Temple of the White Darkness. They say it is protected by strange voices, and that a man may approach it but the voices will either turn him back or drive him mad. They say that if he is courageous enough to approach the mountain, he will only stiffen and die.’
Paul Marlowe took another drink of the kappa spirit. ‘I am not surprised, Zu Shan. I am not at all surprised … You have never seen snow, have you?’
‘No, you have told us about it. But I don’t think there is anyone in Baya Nor who has ever seen it.’
Paul felt suddenly elated and happy. Maybe it was the kappa spirit. Or maybe …
‘Do you know,’ he said, after a brief silence. ‘I think you two are going to make history. I think you are going to see snow.’ He hiccupped. ‘Damn it, I wonder how much ring money I shall need to buy the services of half a dozen really good hunters?’
‘Paul,’ said Zu Shan, ‘I do not think there is enough ring money in Baya Nor to persuade six hunters to go through the Lokhali country towards the Temple of the White Darkness.’
‘I have something better than ring money,’ said Paul. ‘It is about time I showed you my sweeper rifle. Your brother, who permitted me to keep it, is the only Bayani who has ever seen what it can do.’
TWENTY-THREE
Unintentionally, the one-armed Bai Lut, a youth without any great degree of intelligence or initiative, changed the course of history not only on Altair Five but on many worlds about which he would never know. He changed the course of history by building a kite. It was a beautiful kite constructed of slivers of springy yana wood and with the wind-catching surfaces painstakingly woven from musa reed which, when separated into its fibres was used to weave musa loul, the kind of cloth known to the Bayani.
The kite had taken Bai Lut many days to make. It was in the shape of a giant guyanis butterfly. Bai Lut had dreamed of building such a kite for a long time. Having only one arm, he had to work hard with his toes as well as his fingers. When it was finished, he regarded his achievement with awe. It was truly beautiful. He would have been quite content to die after such an achievement – or, at least, after he had seen it fly successfully – for it did not seem possible to do anything greater in life.
He prayed for a smooth, steady wind. His prayer was answered. And, with about two hundred metres of ‘string’ made from twisted hair – which had taken longer to manufacture than the kite itself – he flew the musawinged guyanis and watched it soar joyously over the Canal of Life and lean high, almost yearningly, over the Mirror of Oruri towards the sacred city.
It may be that Bai Lut had prayed too ardently to Oruri for a wind. Because, when all of Bai Lut’s string was extended and the kite was as high as it could go, a great gust came – so suddenly that the string snapped.
It was a tribute to Bai Lut’s craftsmanship and intuitive grasp of aerodynamics that the guyanis kite did not immediately spiral down into the Mirror of Oruri. Instead it began to execute graceful curves, losing little altitude, but gliding almost purposefully towards the sacred city. Presently it was no more than a slowly descending speck in the sky. Presently it was out of sight.
And then the wind dropped, and the kite dropped. But Bai Lut did not know where to look for it. He was miserable with the conviction that he would never see it again. And in that he was right. For it had come to rest in the Temple of the Weeping Sun; and, though he fortunately did not know it, the guyanis kite had fallen on the stone phallus of sacrifice.
The following day, Poul Mer Lo was giving a lesson in school to his four pupils on basic mechanics and specifically on the use of the lever. He had demonstrated how a lever could be employed to do work that a man alone could not accomplish and was about to embark on the theory of the calculation of forces when he was interrupted by Nemo.
‘Lord,’ said the tiny cripple formally in Bayani, ‘the warriors of Enka Ne are approaching along the Road of Travail.’
Poul Mer Lo looked at the small boy in surprise. He was surprised not only by the interruption but by the formal method of address.
‘The warriors of Enka Ne pass many times along the Road of Travail, Nemo. What has this to do with that which now concerns us?’
‘Lord,’ said Nemo in some agitation. ‘I have been riding the thoughts of the captain. The warriors are coming here. They are in a hurry. I think they will arrive very soon.’
Poul Mer Lo tried not to betray his anxiety. ‘In which case, we will pass the time considering how this instrument that I have shown you may be used to ease the burden of man.’
‘Paul,’ said Nemo desperately, breaking into English, ‘there is something very strange in the mind of the captain. He is thinking of a guyanis butterfly and the Temple of the Weeping Sun … It – it is very close now … I – I keep falling off.’
‘Do not be afraid, Nemo,’ said Paul gently. ‘No one here has done anything of which he need be afraid.’
But in that he was wrong.
A Bayani warrior, armed with ceremonial trident, appeared in the doorway. His eyes flickered over the children, then came to rest on Paul.
‘Oruri greets you,’ said the warrior truculently.
‘The greeting is a blessing,’ responded Paul.
‘Lord, I am the voice and hand of Enka Ne. Which of your lost ones fashioned the guyanis that was not a guyanis?’
‘I do not know what—’ began Paul.
But Bai Lut sprang importantly to his feet. ‘I am the maker of the guyanis,’ he announced. ‘Truly it was a thing of much power. Can it be that Enka Ne has observed—’
‘Enka Ne observes all that is worthy of observation,’ cut in the warrior. ‘The flight of the guyanis was not well omened … Die now – and live for ever.’ Expertly he flung his short trident. The prongs struck deep in Bai Lut’s throat. He fell over backwards, gurgled briefly and lay still.
For a moment or two Paul was stunned. He looked helplessly at the three horrified children then at the Bayani. Meanwhile, more warriors had filed into the school.
‘Lord,’ said the captain, ‘it is the will of Enka Ne that you and these lost ones must withdraw from this place.’
‘But surely there cannot be any –’
‘Lord,’ said the Bayani sternly, ‘Enka Ne has spoken. Let there be no more dying than the god-king commands.’
Paul looked helplessly at Zu Shan and Nemo and Tsong Tsong, and then at the sad and bloody heap that was once Bai Lut, and final
ly at the dozen or so warriors waiting patiently behind their captain.
‘Come,’ he managed to say at length in a voice that was extraordinarily calm, ‘what Enka Ne commands, it is fitting that we should obey.’
He led the boys out between ranks of Bayani warriors. About twenty paces away from the school, they stood watching and waiting and listening as the warriors of Enka Ne smashed tables, chairs and all the carefully constructed equipment.
Presently they heard the captain say: ‘Make fire.’
And presently the Bayani soldiers trooped out of the school as tell-tale spirals of smoke began to drift from under its eaves.
The dry wood burned quickly and fiercely and noisily. The heat forced everyone back; but the Bayani warriors remained until Bai Lut’s funeral pyre was no more than a heap of glowing ashes.
The captain turned to Poul Mer Lo. ‘Such is the will of Enka Ne,’ he said.
If Bai Lut had not made the guyanis kite, if the wind had not broken his hair string, if the boy had not been so casually killed and the school burned down, Paul Marlowe would probably not have summoned sufficient determination to make the journey to the Temple of the White Darkness.
And it was the journey, and the timing of the journey, that changed the course of history.
TWENTY-FOUR
With the knowledge that she was pregnant, Mylai Tui had become happy; and her happiness had grown in direct proportion to the increase in the size of her belly. Not even the death of Bai Lut and the burning of the school could diminish it greatly; these were things about which she cared only because they were things about which Paul Marlowe cared.
She was happy not only with the simple feminine satisfaction of biological fulfilment. She was happy with the uniqueness of bearing a son – obviously it was to be a son, for a girl would not kick so lustily – for one who had ridden on the wings of a silver bird from a land beyond the sky. Fortunate was she whom Oruri had chosen to be the vessel of the seed of him who had the gift of greatness.
She looked at Paul with pride. He was taller than any in Baya Nor; and though his skin, despite much exposure to the sun, was still sadly pale and far from the desired black of the Bayani of ancient lineage, he was very much a man – as his thanu and vigorous muscles testified. Such a one must surely beget a son in his own image. And then Mylai Tui would be a woman whom all other women could only envy.
Her happiness and her anticipatory daydreams, however, were short-lived. They came to an end on the evening that Paul told her of his determination to make the journey to the Temple of the White Darkness.
‘Paul,’ she pleaded in bad English, ‘you cannot do this thing. Are you so sad that only death will end the sadness?’
‘It has nothing to do with sadness,’ he explained patiently. ‘There are mysteries which I must try to unravel. And it seems that the mountain may at least provide another clue … I shall go as soon as I can find hunters to go with me.’
‘You will not find any,’ she said, lapsing into Bayani. ‘There are none so foolish in Baya Nor as to wish to venture into the bosom of Oruri before they are called.’
Laughing, he, too, spoke in Bayani: ‘Courage, pride and greed – these are the things that will give me the hunters I want. The journey will appeal to their courage. Their pride will be challenged because I, a stranger, am not afraid to make this journey. And the twenty copper rings that I shall offer to each man will be sufficient to overcome any falterings of courage … Besides, there is the weapon I brought with me and which I was permitted to keep by Enka Ne. It lies, now, wrapped in musa loul and buried in a box of hard wood. When I show the hunters its power, they will have no doubts.’
‘You will have to pass the Lokhali, lord. The people of Baya Nor do not fear the Lokhali – but neither do the Bayani pass through their country, unless it be as an army.’
‘Yes, we shall have to pass the Lokhali. But, Mylai Tui, with the weapon I brought from the other side of the sky, we shall be as an army.’
‘My lord, the weapon did not prevent you from entering the donjons of Baya Nor.’
‘It did not.’ Again he laughed. ‘But who may question the purpose of Oruri?’
Mylai Tui was silent for a moment or two. Then she said: ‘None have ventured to the mountain and returned.’
‘There are those who have seen the mountain and returned.’
She gave him a look of sad resignation. ‘Lord, I know there is much about you that I cannot understand and much that I will never understand. I am proud to have lain with you, and I am proud to have received at last the gift of your loins. If it pleases my lord to seek Oruri before Oruri does the seeking, then I will endeavour to accept this thing … But stay, my lord, stay long enough to look upon the face of your son.’
He took her hands. ‘Mylai Tui, I know it is hard for you to understand. But my head is sorely troubled by many questions. This thing will not wait. I must go as soon as I may, and I must see what can be seen. But I will return. I will return because I greatly desire to lie with you, as I will lie with you this night. And I will return because I desire greatly to gaze upon the harvest of the joining of our flesh … Now let there be an end. The decision is made. Zu Shan seeks the hunters, and I doubt not that they will be found.’
Suddenly, she brightened. ‘It is possible, is it not, that Enka Ne may learn of this madness and prevent it?’
Paul gave her a penetrating look. ‘I respect the power of Enka Ne. Let the god-king respect mine. Otherwise, many in Baya Nor may have cause to grieve.’
Three days later, in the early evening, when the nine moons rode high and swiftly through a cloudless sky, Zu Shan brought four hunters to the house of Poul Mer Lo. The usual courtesies were exchanged, and the men squatted in a semi-circle on the verandah while Mylai Tui supplied them with kappa spirit.
‘Paul,’ said Zu Shan in English, so that the Bayani would not understand, ‘there are the men we should take. There were others attracted by the payment you offered. But these are the best. Two of them I already knew, and the others are known to them. They are among the best hunters in Baya Nor. But more than that, they have much faith in Poul Mer Lo, the teacher. And one of them, Shon Hu, has even seen the mountain. He has hunted very far, and he says he knows the way.’
‘Are they afraid?’
Zu Shan gave a thin smile. ‘Yes, Paul, they are afraid – as I am.’
‘Good. Men who are afraid live longer. You have done very well, Zu Shan – better than I thought.’
He turned to the Bayani, who were politely sipping their kappa spirit as though no one had spoken.
‘Hunters,’ said Poul Mer Lo in Bayani, ‘I journey far. It may be that there will be danger on this journey, for I am told that the Temple of the White Darkness is not a place where men go who wish to count the great number of their grandchildren.’
The hunters laughed, a little self-consciously.
‘But I think,’ went on Poul Mer Lo, ‘that we shall be among those who return; for if men desire something greatly, they can often accomplish it. Also, we shall carry a terrible weapon which I have brought with me for this purpose from the land beyond the sky.’
‘Lord,’ said the man who had been identified as Shon Hu, ‘the journey is one thing but the Lokhali is another.’
Poul Mer Lo rose, went into the house and returned with his sweeper rifle.
‘Your darts and blow-pipes, your tridents and clubs are excellent weapons,’ he said. ‘But how many Lokhali can you stop with them if we are attacked?’
Shon Hu looked at his companions. ‘Lord, we are only men – good men, perhaps, but no more than men. Perhaps, if Oruri smiled, we would carry three times our own number of Lokhali with us into his bosom.’
Poul Mer Lo pushed the breeder button of his atomic rifle. About two hundred metres away there was a small group of trees looming in the twilight.
‘Observe!’ said Poul Mer Lo. He sighted, pressed the trigger and swept the tops of the trees with the rifle. After t
wo or three passes, smoke began to rise. After five passes, the trees burst into flame – a noisy, crackling bonfire.
‘Lord,’ said Shon Hu at length, ‘you have shown us a fearful thing.’
‘It is,’ agreed Poul Mer Lo, ‘a most fearful thing. Your job, Shon Hu, will be to protect me. My job will be to use this weapon. If we are attacked by the Lokhali, many of them will need to explain to Oruri why they wished to obstruct the passing of Poul Mer Lo and his companions …’ He gazed round the semi-circle. ‘Nevertheless, I know our journey is still a difficult and dangerous one. If any of you feels that he has spoken rashly, let him now stand and go forth. We who remain will pray for the good fortune of his children and his children’s children.’
No one moved.
Silently and sadly, Mylai Tui brought more kappa spirit.
TWENTY-FIVE
After much hard bargaining, Shon Hu had obtained a barge for the very reasonable sum of nine rings. Poul Mer Lo, impatient to get the expedition under way now that he had made his decision, would have paid the sixteen rings demanded by the barge builder without question. But, as Shon Hu explained, to have paid such a price without haggling would have excited much interest. The barge builder would have boasted of his achievement, enquiries might then have been made about Shon Hu, the actual purchaser, and the ring money might then have been traced back to Poul Mer Lo. That in itself might well have been sufficient to bring the transaction to the notice of one of the officers of the god-king; and, quite possibly, the whole expedition would have been frustrated before it had begun. For, after the burning of the school, it was obvious that Enka Ne was not so oblivious of the activities of the stranger as Poul Mer Lo had formerly supposed.
So he had to wait patiently for two full days while Shon Hu and a phenomenal quantity of kappa spirit brought the price down to nine rings.
The time was not wholly wasted, however, for there was much to be done. Supplies of fresh water had to be stored in skins, as had quantities of dried kappa and smoked strips of meat; for though the expedition included four hunters, Poul Mer Lo did not propose to waste much time hunting for food. Of his personal possessions, he proposed to take only the transceiver and the sweeper rifle. The atomic grenades that Shah Shan had presented to him at the temple of Baya Lys were not suitable weapons for close range fighting – if, indeed, any close range fighting should occur. To call them weapons was not completely accurate, either, for they were far more use to engineers than soldiers – except, perhaps, where a very long fuse could be used as during a retreat, or for very long range work.
Cloud Walker, All Fools' Day, Far Sunset Page 50
