Poul Mer Lo did not really know why he was taking the transceiver. It was in excellent order; and its miniature ‘hot’ battery would remain efficient for a long time to come. But he well knew that there was no other working transmitter on Altair Five. During the last few months, many times at dead of night he had put the transceiver on full power and swept carefully through the medium and short wave bands. All he could raise was the usual random crackle.
The sweeper rifle gave him some cause for anxiety. There was a visual indicator showing its charge level, and this was now registering well below the half-charge mark; indicating that the rifle was now not good for more than half a dozen full strength discharges. Somehow, it had leaked; and as he did not possess a geiger counter there was no means of telling if the micropile were still intact. For all he knew, thought Poul Mer Lo, both he and the rifle might now be dangerously radioactive – a menace to all and sundry. But there was nothing to be done about it. If such were the will of Oruri … He was amused at himself for letting the expression creep into his train of thought.
Shon Hu said that it would be possible to travel by barge for two and a half days – one day along the Canal of Life and one and a half days upstream on the great river, which was known, picturesquely enough, as the Watering of Oruri. After that there would be perhaps three days in the forest and a further day, or perhaps two days, on the uplands. Shon Hu was vague about this latter stretch of the journey. All that he seemed certain about was that once the forest was left behind, the Temple of the White Darkness would be clearly visible. How it was to be approached was a matter upon which Oruri would doubtless provide guidance when the time came.
The expedition was to depart from Baya Nor at the first sign of light so that much poling could be done before the sun rose high in the sky. Also, such an early departure would be unlikely to attract the attention of anyone but hunters; for few Bayani cared to move before the sun was clear of the horizon.
The barge was ready, laden with food, water, the blow pipes, darts and tridents of the hunters, the sweeper rifle and the transceiver, and a pile of skins for the use as bedding and then as clothing when the warm forest was left behind. Besides the four hunters, Poul Mer Lo was taking Zu Shan and Nemo with him. Tsong Tsong was to be left behind as company for Mylai Tui, and Poul Mer Lo had given her sufficient money to purchase a girl servant to help in the house if the baby should arrive before he returned from the Temple of the White Darkness.
Nemo was the real problem. With his grotesquely deformed legs he could not possibly walk. Yet Poul Mer Lo did not wish to leave him behind – not only because the oddly ancient child desperately wanted to go with him but because Nemo’s telepathic powers might prove useful. It was Nemo, with his visions of a god bringing forth children from his belly, who had triggered the whole thing off. Just possibly there might be something on the slopes of the white mountain. Just possibly Nemo might sense where and what that something was. Yes, he would have to go. And so a sling was made for him so that he could ride on the back of each of the hunters in turn.
The night before departure, the hunters, Nemo and Zu Shan slept on skins on the flat bottom of the barge. Poul Mer Lo did not sleep. Neither did Mylai Tui. They lay close to each other and remote from each other in the small house that, over the months, had begun to acquire for Poul Mer Lo the sweetly subtle smell of home.
Mylai Tui was certain it was the last time they would hold each other.
‘Lord,’ she said in Bayani, ‘I am fat, now, and can no longer pretend to possess some beauty. It is not fitting that a woman should speak thus – but I greatly desire that you should lie with me and try to remember how it once was.’
He kissed her and fondled her. ‘Mylai Tui,’ he said, also speaking in the high Bayani that he knew she preferred, ‘to be with child does not diminish beauty, but changes the shape of beauty. I will remember how it once was. But how it now is is dear to me also. And this, too, I will remember.’
They made love, but though there was great tenderness there was little passion. It had seemed strangely, thought Poul Mer Lo when it was over, more like a solemn ritual, dignifying or celebrating some unique event that had not happened before and would not happen again. He was puzzled and, for the first time, he was afraid.
‘Lord,’ said Mylai Tui simply, ‘the fire is kindled, flourishes and dies. We shall not come to each other again. I wish to humbly thank you, for you have given me much joy … I do not have the gift of leaping thoughts like Shah Shan, whom I think you loved, and like some others whom, perhaps, you love in a lesser way. But if my thoughts could not leap, lord, my flesh leaped joyously. I am sad now that it will leap no more.’
He held her very close. ‘I shall return from the Temple of the White Darkness,’ he whispered. ‘This I swear.’
‘If it is the will of Oruri,’ said Mylai Tui, dully. ‘My lord has the gift of greatness and can accomplish much.’
‘I shall return,’ he repeated fiercely.
Mylai Tui sighed. ‘But we shall come together no more. This I know. It is written on the water. It is written in the wind … Lay your hand on my belly, lord.’
He did so, and was rewarded with a kick.
‘Is not your son vigorous and mighty of limb like him that presented the seed?’
‘Truly, he will be a fine child.’
‘Then go now, for the first light is with us. And remember, lord. Such as I am, I gave what I could. I will remember with pride that I carry the child of one who has ridden upon a silver bird. But go now, for the waters sting in my eyes, and I would not have you remember me thus … Oruri be with you – at the end as at the beginning.’
‘Oruri be with you always,’ responded Poul Mer Lo. He touched her forehead with his lips. Then he got up and quickly went from the house.
In the pre-dawn light, the world seemed very quiet and very lonely. He walked briskly down to the Canal of Life without looking back, and trying not to think of anything at all. But there was a taste of salt upon his lips, and he was amazed that non-existent tears could hurt so much.
TWENTY-SIX
It was going to be a hot day. The Canal of Life lay placid and steaming with a light mist that held close to its surface, drifting and swirling lazily in the still air. Voices carried. From many paces away, Poul Mer Lo could hear the low murmurings of the hunters and the boys as they made ready for the journey.
Excitement was in the tight atmosphere. Poul Mer Lo felt almost that he could reach out his hands and touch it as he stepped aboard the rough but sturdy barge that was to carry them on the journey. He pushed regret and doubt out of his mind. He locked his last memories of Mylai Tui – knowing now that they were indeed his last memories of her – into some deep compartment of his brain where they would be safe until he needed to take them out and dwell upon them.
‘Lord,’ said Shon Hu, ‘we have eaten and are ready. Speak only the word.’
Poul Mer Lo glanced round the small craft and saw six faces gazing at him expectantly. ‘As this journey begins,’ he said formally, ‘though it be long or short, easy or most hard, let all here know that they are as brothers to help each other in difficulty and to rejoice or suffer with each other according to the will of Oruri … Let us go, then.’
The hunters turned to the sides of the barge and urinated into the Canal of Life. Then they took up their poles and pushed away from the bank. Presently the barge was gliding smoothly over the still, mist-covered water; and as the sun rose above the edge of the forest, bringing with it new textures and forms, and intensifying colours, Poul Mer Lo began to feel for the first time since his arrival on Altair Five an odd lightness of heart. So far, he thought, he had been chiefly a spectator – despite his introduction of the wheel into the Bayani culture and despite his sporadic efforts to fulfil the prediction of the oracle that he would be a great teacher. But now, he felt, he was really doing something.
Whether the legend of the coming and Nemo’s dreams amounted to anything did not really
matter. Whether there were any spectacular discoveries to be made at the Temple of the White Darkness did not really matter. What did matter was that he had managed to break through the centuries old Bayani mood of insularity. For so long, they had cultivated the habit of not wanting to know. They had been content with their tiny static society in a small corner of the forests of Altair Five.
But now things were different; and whatever happened there could be no permanent return to the status quo. The hunters, he realized, were not coming with him for the ring money alone. Nor were they coming because of blind faith in Poul Mer Lo. They were coming basically because their curiosity had been aroused – because they, too, wished to find out what was in the next valley or over the next mountain.
They did not know it, but they were the first genuine Bayani explorers for centuries … All that I have done, thought Poul Mer Lo, and perhaps the most important thing that I have done, is to help make such a mental climate possible.
Which turned his mind automatically to Enka Ne. For hundreds of years the god-kings of Baya Nor had – consciously or otherwise – maintained their absolute authority and absolute power by inhibiting curiosity. This Shah Shan had realized. He had had the wisdom to encourage Poul Mer Lo, whom the councillors and the priests of the blind order regarded as an instrument of chaos because he asked questions that had not previously been asked, and did things that had not previously been done.
But the Enka Ne who came after Shah Shan was of a different temperament altogether. For one thing he was old. Perhaps in his youth, he, too, had possessed an enquiring mind. But if so, it had been crushed by his elders and by the ritualistic Bayani approach to life. Now that he was old, he stood clearly and decisively for orthodoxy.
As the barge left the kappa fields and the cleared land behind, passing under the great green umbra of the forest, Poul Mer Lo wondered idly if Enka Ne knew of his expedition. It was highly probable; for though Zu Shan had been very cautious in his recruitment of hunters, he had talked to several who had rejected the invitation. They, in turn, must have talked to others; and it was quite likely that an embroidered description of the expedition had now reached the ears of the god-king.
But now, thought Poul Mer Lo comfortably, it was too late to prevent the journey; and, in any case, if the god-king were as clever – despite his orthodoxy – as Poul Mer Lo suspected, he would not wish to prevent it. He would be somewhat relieved that the stranger had chosen to seek the bosom of Oruri far from Baya Nor.
Presently the barge passed the forest temple of Baya Sur without incident. There was no one at the landing place to witness its passing, since no one knew of its coming. And so the small craft sped on, deep into the forest to where the Canal of Life joined the Watering of Oruri.
The sun had passed its zenith before the hunters were ready to abandon their poles and take food and rest. They pulled in to the bank of the canal where there was a very small clearing and threw the anchor stone overboard.
Poul Mer Lo was glad of the opportunity to stretch his legs. He had offered to take turns with the poles, as Zu Shan had done; but the hunters had rejected his offer with great politeness. He was Poul Mer Lo, the stranger, unaccustomed to the ways and rhythms of watermen. He was also their employer and captain; and therefore it would be unthinkable to let him do menial tasks except in extremis.
When they had eaten, Poul Mer Lo, Zu Shan and two of the hunters dozed. Nemo and the remaining two kept watch against wild animals, for there were many carnivorous beasts that hunted by night and by day in the forest.
As he fell asleep, Poul Mer Lo was transformed once more into Paul Marlowe – the Paul Marlowe who lived and slept and endured suspended animation aboard the Gloria Mundi. He was on watch with Ann, and he had just saved the occupants of the star ship from death by explosive decompression after the hull of the ship had been penetrated by small meteors. He tasted champagne once more – Moet et Chandon ’11, a very fine year. Then there was some vague discussion on the nature of God …
The dream disintegrated as Nemo shook him. For a terrible moment or two Paul did not know where he was or recognize the wizened face of the child.
‘Lord,’ said Nemo in Bayani, ‘a barge follows us. I think it is no more than ten flights of the dart away. I ride the pole-men’s thoughts. They are seeking us. They have been offered many rings to overtake us. Enka Ne has sent soldiers. Lord, I do not think we can escape.’
Paul Marlowe pulled himself together. He stood up and looked at the barge. There did not seem to be any way of camouflaging it or hiding it in time. But he refused to accept defeat without doing something. The only hope was to get out into the canal and pull like mad.
‘Let us go quickly, then,’ he said to the hunters, who were gazing at him anxiously. ‘It is said that he who waits for trouble will be found by it most easily.’
Within seconds the anchor stone was hauled up, the barge was in mid-stream and everyone – including Paul – was poling strenuously. Even Nemo, perched on the end of the barge, had a short pole with which, in the squatting position, he could provide a few extra pounds of thrust.
Unfortunately, the Canal of Life had few bends; and it was not long before the pursuers could see the pursued. Glancing over his shoulder, Paul saw that the following barge was a large one with sixteen pole-men and at least twice that number of warriors. It was gaining rapidly. In less than a minute it would be only the flight of a dart away – and if darts then began to fly, that would be the end of the matter.
‘Stop poling!’ he commanded, and picked up his sweeper rifle.
‘Lord,’ said Shon Hu, ‘it seems that Oruri does not favour this enterprise. But speak the word and we will fight if we must.’
‘There will be no fighting,’ said Paul positively. ‘Take heart, Shon Hu. Oruri does but test us.’
The pursuers, seeing that the men ahead of them had stopped poling, lifted their own poles and allowed the two craft to drift slowly towards each other.
Paul recognized the Bayani warrior standing in the bows of the following barge. It was the captain who had been sent to execute Bai Lut and burn down the school.
‘Oruri greets you!’ called the captain.
‘The greeting is a blessing,’ responded Paul.
‘I am the voice and hand of Enka Ne. The god-king commands you to return to Baya Nor, there to give account of this journey.’
‘I am grieved that the god-king commands my presence, for this journey is most urgent and cannot wait.’
The captain seemed amused. ‘Lord, I am commanded to enforce the command of Enka Ne, and that I will do most willingly.’
Paul rested the sweeper rifle casually on his hip, his finger on the trigger. He had previously pushed the breeder button to full power discharge.
‘Captain, listen to me for a moment. I wish you to return to Enka Ne and present my humble greetings, saying that I would that I could return to do his bidding, but that this matter cannot be delayed. If you return thus and in peace, the anger of Oruri will be withheld. I have spoken.’
The captain laughed, his warriors laughed. Even the pole-men permitted themselves to grin.
‘Brave words, my lord. But where is the strength behind the courage? You are few, we are many. As you will not come, then we must take you.’
‘So be it,’ said Paul. He pressed the trigger. The sweeper rifle whined, vibrating imperceptibly. The water immediately ahead of the following barge, which was still drifting slowly onwards, began to hiss and bubble to boiling point. It became turbulent, giving off great clouds of steam, then suddenly it was resolved into a great water spout. The barge, full of petrified soldiers and pole-men, drifted helplessly into the water spout. Immediately the wooden bows burst into flame, and the pressure of the water and steam capsized the heavily laden craft.
With cries of terror men and soldiers floundered in the Canal of Life. Paul had released the trigger as soon as the barge caught fire; but the patch of water continued to hiss and bubble for some
moments. One poor wretch drifted near to it and was badly scalded.
‘Thus,’ said Paul looking down at the captain struggling in the water, ‘the anger of Oruri comes to pass. Return now to Enka Ne and report this thing, giving him the words I have spoken.’ He turned to his own pole-men: ‘Let us continue, then. It seems that the warriors of the god-king will not hinder our passing.’
Mechanically, and with looks of awe on their faces, the hunters took up their poles and got the small barge under way.
Shon Hu wiped the sweat from his face and glanced at the sweeper rifle. ‘Lord, with such power in his hands it seems that a man may become as a god.’
Paul smiled. ‘No, Shon Hu. With such power in his hands, a man may only become a more powerful man.’
TWENTY-SEVEN
The forest was ancient, overwhelming and oppressive in its great green luxuriance. Amid all the noisy chatter of the wild things it contained, there were strange pockets of silence where it seemed to Paul Marlowe – never a connoisseur of forests, even on Earth – something intangible lay, lurking and brooding.
Perhaps it was the Life Force; for if a Life Force existed, surely the forest – a place teeming with crawly living things – must be its home. Of the large wild creatures, Paul did not see a great deal but he saw enough to make him feel that, in evolutionary terms, Altair Five must be at least a million years behind Earth.
Cloud Walker, All Fools' Day, Far Sunset Page 51
