Beyond the Gate of Worlds

by Robert Silverberg

  “Whales are used to speaking of voyages, and you would miss it. No Spider woman can feel that way.” She moved away from him and stared out over the crinkled ocean. “In any case, I am asked to write it down, and so I will have the opportunity to tell it, but in a different manner than you Whales do.”

  “I don’t intend unkindness, girl,” Pallatu said. “If I were asked, I would have encouraged the True Inca to permit you to speak about all you see and learn while we are in the lands of the Maoris. If you decide that you want to discuss this lat—”

  “How gracious,” said Etenyi, doing her best to sound sincere. “I think I would prefer to watch Iyestu as the tether is played out. If that doesn’t hamper you or any Whales on the ship.”

  “Whatever you wish,” said Pallatu, going away from her.

  “Who’s there?” Sathale looked up, moving his arm to cover the document on his writing table. Most of the lamps were out and the guards drowsed at their posts.

  “Akando,” said the Fourth High Priest, emerging from the shadow of the doorway.

  Sathale relaxed. “It’s late; I didn’t know you were up"

  “I’ve been waiting,” said Akando. He closed the door and came into the room. “To talk to you.” “Oh?” Sathale gestured toward the nearest hassock. “Nothing too difficult, I hope.” He looked around the room. “Imhuro is asleep, but if you want coffee, I can—”

  “No coffee,” said Akando, doing the unthinkable and interrupting the True Inca. “And don’t wake your Tortoise.” Akando paced the chamber, his lean face drawn, his wry humor vanished.

  Sathale stared at Akando. “What did you say?” “You will not want anyone to overhear what I have to say to you,’ Akando told him, pausing to direct his gaze directly at Sathale. “This must be between you and me, True Inca.”

  “What must?” Sathale asked.

  Akando made an impatient gesture. “If it weren’t unthinkable I would have realized it sooner. I was a Raven: I should have seen—” He rounded on Sathale, facing him squarely across the writing table. “You sent

  them to death. You have no intention of allying with the Maoris. The expedition was nothing more than a ploy.” Sathale remained still as these accusations were flung at him. There was no use dissembling. When Akando fell silent, his face set with baffled rage, he said simply, “You’re right.”

  “What?” Akando stood very still.

  “I sent those three ships out knowing they couldn’t succeed. I’ve kept the Japanese here deliberately, so that they won’t have to sail in storms; they can leave when the weather improves. And they can carry a man and a message for me.”

  Akando dropped onto the hassock. He had been prepared for lies, for excuses, for tantrums, for anything but candor. It threw him.

  “Why?”

  “Because of what I must do,” Sathale said. “I am arranging a secret alliance with the lands to the north. ’ ’ “With Mexico?”

  “Yes.”

  It took a little while for Akando to speak again. “You betray . . . everything.”

  “Better to betray than lose,” said Sathale quietly, and saw a change in Akando’s expression. “We are near to being lost. There was a time when we were alone in the world. But that time is gone. If we don’t enter the world, the world will devour us.”

  Akando stared at Sathale.

  “But how does any of this save us?”

  “Think like a Raven, not a High Priest. We can’t let my second cousin learn what I’m doing. Therefore he must think I’m doing something else. I tried to find something that wouldn’t be too costly. Three ships is 110 little price, but—”

  “And you sent children to do your work,” Akando said, his eyes condemning.

  “I’ll need all the capable Spiders I have to keep our borders safe,” Sathale said. “Of all our materiel, those ships are the least important, since our fight is likely to be on land, or within sight of the coast. I begrudge Helaoku my Whales the least.”

  “I serve the High Gods,” Akando said slowly. “I am sworn to them before I am sworn to you, True Inca. ’ ’ “Indeed.”

  “It is my duty to tell the other High Priests, and to reveal your treason. ’ ’

  “And will you?”

  Akando considered his answer. “Not yet.”

  Apenimon and TYilapa both reported seeing a dark line near the horizon, and both knew better than to suppose it was land. Pallatu listened to their reports with misgiving, and called his officers to the main cabin on the Whale’s Breath. He ordered coffee served and asked the Rats to see that the two Spiders were given the first glasses.

  “It’s a storm, sure as the ocean is wet,” said Tiilapa with bravado when Pallatu asked him to report. “My brother saw it just after dawn, and when I went up, it was still there, at the western horizon.” He shook his head. “A bad storm coming.”

  “When Iyestu comes down, he can give us a new report,” said Apenimon, trying to sound as if he were used to storms on the ocean.

  “The ocean is silky,” said Enonyu, captain of the Black Dolphin. “The storm will be a long one.” Pallatu nodded. “So I fear. If we could only be sure that the storm was moving away from us, we would—’’

  “Well, it isn’t moving away from us,” said Hilapa flatly. “I’ve watched over the passes above Algoma, and I’ve seen storms blowing in before. If that line at the horizon is spreading, then the storm is coming, and the wider the line, the more severe the storm.” He indicated the room beyond this cabin where the compass was kept in a sealed glass globe. “You’ll need to watch as the storm nears, for it will be less accurate, or so I have been told.”

  “We are aware, boy,” said Pallatu. He signaled to one of the Rats and asked that they bring writing material. “I want to get this down. The Spider girl can do it. Let her have the paper and pens.” He gave Etenyi an approving sign. “So long as you are sent to make records, you might as well keep a record for me.” Then he leaned back, pressing his huge, calloused hands together. “Well?” This was addressed to the other two captains.

  “I’d pull in sail before we can be dragged off course, and I’d use the engines so we wouldn’t wallow,” said Ylaipa, captain of the Whale Road. He was the youngest of the three, an eager, stalwart man who had been staring at Etenyi throughout the meeting. “The engines, both paddle wheels going at quarter speed, should keep us moving and will keep our faces into the storm. Anything else will mean disaster.”

  Pallatu, who had saved four of five ships a decade before by running ahead of a storm for three days, nodded. “As long as the engines are able to function. In heavy seas, who can say what may happen?”

  “Who can say in any case,” remarked Enonyu. “The High Gods will decide if we will be allowed to cross the Western Ocean.” He drank more of his coffee. “If we make them an offering—”

  “No sacrifices!” Pallatu slammed his palm down hard on the table. “No sacrifices on this voyage, is that understood? No Rats missing overboard in the night, no food gone, no fuel unaccounted for: do I make that clear enough for both of you? ’ ’

  Etenyi was staring at the Whale captains, her eyes huge. “The Four High Priests forbid ...” she began, then could not go on.

  “The Four High Priests,” said Ylaipa bluntly, “are far away, and here the old traditions hold.” He gave Pallatu a long, challenging look. “One Rat, Whale leader. What is that to us?”

  “If a Rat is trivial to us, he is trivial to the High Gods,” said Pallatu harshly, motioning for silence as the Rat servant came back with pens and paper for Etenyi. “I thank you,” he said, and motioned to the Rat to leave. ‘We are on a voyage at the Mandate of the True Inca, and all the sacrifices that are necessary have already been made in Machu Picchu and Algoma.” He went and brought the coffee urn. “Here. Have more. I will authorize a ration for the crews tonight, for we may need to have them all alert quite late.” He poured out the thick, fragrant liquid. “Tell me,” he went on in a lighter tone, “do Spiders stay alof
t in storms?”

  “No,” said Apenimon at once. “We return to the ground. Lightning often travels down our tethers if we remain aloft. Two Condor forts were destroyed forty years ago because the Spiders would not come down. The lightning not only burned the kite, but it fired the forts as well.” He indicated the ship. “This wouldn’t fare better.”

  “I think we had best give the order to bring Iyestu down!" said Pallatu. “And when he is, bring him to me. I want to know what he has seen.”

  “The storm would not advance so far in an hour,” said Tulapa.

  “Don’t believe that,” Ylaipa said. “Storms can rise out of perfect calm in almost no time.” He looked up at the low, beamed ceiling. “I hope those Japanese merchants waited a few more days. I wouldn’t like to be going to Hawaii in a bad storm.’ His studied confidence convinced no one.

  It was the annual meeting of the Elders of the Eighty-eight Clans, and the grandeur of the occasion was nearly as impressive as the Mid-Winter Summoning, when the Four High Priests officially pleaded to the sun to return. Sathale II, in formal state robes with a train twice as long as he was tall, strode down the center of the Triumphal Way to the Golden Temple. The gold he wore weighed as much as he did, and his crown had long since given him a fierce headache.

  Behind him came the Elders, each with the three allowed retainers, and behind them, four bands of the most accomplished musicians the Moon and Songbird clans could furnish. The Four High Priests awaited the procession at the enormous door of the Golden Temple, each carrying a symbol of the sovereignty of the land of the True Inca. Behind them, the elite Crane guard stood at the ready. Subjects of the True Inca from the length of the Spine of the World watched with rejoicing and awe as the civic ritual was enacted.

  The Elder of the Fox clan was the last of those to address the assembly, and he was witty and brief. He pleased the crowd by exclaiming at the number of healthy children he saw, and congratulated the parents.

  Finally he warned against complacency in the face of the False Inca, and then stepped away from the dais, leaving the way open for the Four High Priests to call down the attention of the High Gods on the annual deliberations.

  “I hate these things,” said Sathale later as he was relieved of his cumbersome splendor in his smaller audience chamber. He looked around at the Elders of the Llama and the Condor clans. “All right, tell me: how many spies from the False Inca have been apprehended in the last year? ’ ’

  “Eleven that we know of,” said the Elder of the Llamas. “I have the records with me, if you wish to review them. ’ ’

  “Leave them, please,” said Sathale. “And you?” he asked the Condor.

  “There have been travelers through our forts who were more than travelers—aside from those who actually attacked the forts—but we were not permitted to detain them or ask too many questions.” He was too old to disguise his opinion. “That is foolishness; all such travelers ought to be detained and questioned. The Mandate of Chesmupa does not allow it, and you have not changed the Mandate, so—”

  “Nor will I, unless I am driven to do it,” said Sathale in a manner that permitted no debate. “I am going to assign Foxes to your forts. The Foxes know their craft, and they will draw out the travelers better than you could with your cells and whips.” He smiled. “We don’t want the False Inca to think we’re at war with him.”

  “But we are,” said the Elder of the Condors.

  “It hasn’t been declared,” Sathale reminded him. “As long as we are able to pretend that the war is a rumor, then we have some hope of keeping it within our control. ’ ’

  The Condor Elder was unimpressed. “And if there is a concerted attack on the Condor forts, what then? Is my clan supposed to ignore that as well?”

  Sathale sighed. “We have untethered kites patrolling the length of the Spine of the World. Surely they will be able to report on the movements of troops.”

  “And if they cannot?” demanded the Llama. “What if we cannot keep Spiders aloft? ’ ’

  “The False Inca is not able to bring troops over our mountains in winter, and that is the only time the Spiders are apt to be on the ground.” Sathale stood very still as his huge, gold collar was fastened around his neck. “I will double the Spiders patrolling, if that would reassure you.”

  “Telegraphs and more funicular cars would reassure me,” muttered the Condor Elder. “We need more telegraphs.”

  “Say so in the official gathering,” Sathale recommended. “If others agree, we can expand the funicular stations in the next three years. We will have more cars and move them faster.”

  “If the cables can support more cars moving faster,” said the Condor Elder in an undervoice. “How long is this going to take to complete, True Inca? Or do you know? ’ ’

  “I have no confirmation,” Sathale said. “Three years would be the fastest time to put the new funiculars into service, improving the existing lines and enlarging the stations and the facilities. Longer if we expand the number of stations as well.”

  The Llama Elder shook his head. “From what those of my clan tell me, the False Inca won’t wait that long to press us. We can’t expect that the people of the False Inca will ignore our preparations.” He looked at the Condor Elder for support.

  “There have been a lot of soldiers coming through the mountains, though they are dressed as merchants and traders and scholars. They are not your soldiers, True Inca,” the Condor Elder said. “I am certain that there will be more next year.” He looked around the room as if he thought someone might be listening. “What am I to tell the clan? Should I order them to report everyone who enters the lands of the True Inca? ’ ’ “We have discussed this already,” said Sathale. “Bring it up later, during our formal debates, and the clans will decide.”

  The Llama Elder laughed. “Debate and decisions! Once it was for keeping the clans from fighting among themselves. ’ ’

  “And it was successful.”

  “I have heard,” said the Llama Elder with increasing impatience, “that the Ravens are eager for war. You have Ravens around you here, and you might listen more closely to them because their voices are familiar. ’ ’

  “I might,” said Sathale. “I might also ignore them because I hear them every day. ’ ’

  “The Ravens want war,” the Condor Elder said.

  “It may be.”

  “And they will insist on it.”

  “Which you will not?” The True Inca rounded on the Condor Elder, his face set. With meticulous care he said, “You advocate holding foreign travelers and questioning them, you tell me we need more arms and an increase of Spider patrols, you warn me that there is an invasion none of us recognize taking place, you fear the False Inca and his forces, and then you tell me that the Ravens want war?” He was out of the door and between his Crane guards before either the Condor or Llama Elders could speak.

  It was the second day of the storm and the seas were growing higher, the force of the waves greater as the wind increased in fury, battering the three ships as they strove to keep heading into the storm. The sails were stowed belowdecks so that if masts were broken by the typhoon, the sails would not also be ruined; the pad-dlewheels churned at quarter speed.

  Tulapa suffered the most. He tossed on his bunk, unable to eat or take more than a little water. Apenimon was brought to the Black Dolphin to watch over his brother.

  The Rat clan attendant shook his head and went to get some of the herbal mixture that was used to treat seasickness. As he closed the door, he was muttering about certain clans having no business on the ocean, no matter what the True Inca might mandate.

  As soon as the attendant was gone, Apenimon leaned down. “How bad is it, Tulapa? What do you need? Tell me, and I’ll see you have it.”

  It was an effort for TUlapa to respond, and his voice was thready when he managed it. “I need ... dry land,” he said. Fears seeped from his closed eyes. “I don’t know . . . if I can . . . if I can go up again.” He
reached out for Apenimon’s hand. “It’s terrible.”

  “Of course you can go up,” said Apenimon. He wiped Tulapa’s brow. “You’re not to say that again, do you understand me, little brother? It’s the sickness talking, that’s all. As soon as the storm is over, you’ll be fine. All the Rats and Whales say so, and they’ve been on the ocean more times than we’ve been in the air.”

  Iblapa shuddered. “In the air over the ocean ... I can’t do that.” He turned his face away.

  As the storm blundered about just beyond the hull, Apenimon did what he could to comfort Tblapa, singing the songs they had shared as children, and trying to recall humorous events from their past. At last the Rat returned.

  “I have a tincture. It ought to help. It will make him drowsy, though.” The Rat was missing a great many teeth, and his face was as wrinkled as a walnut, but there was a good expression in his eyes. “You let me tend to your brother while you have some coffee.” He made a gentle shooing gesture to encourage Apenimon to leave.

  The central cabin of the Black Dolphin was not crowded. Most of the crew not actively on watch had kept to their quarters. Apenimon found Enonyu with two of his senior officers frowning with concentration, going over their charts.

  “But the compass isn’t reliable, we can’t see the stars, and from here there is no way to find out which of the ocean rivers is carrying us.” Enonyu had a haunted look about his eyes, as if he had not slept since the typhoon struck, which was almost the truth. “You,” he went on as he caught sight of Apenimon, “come here and give a look at this.”

  Apenimon approached the table, almost falling as the ship lurched in the water. He grabbed hold of the edge of the table and looked sheepishly at the Whales seated there. “I don’t know how to do this well.”

  “In this weather, no one does,” said Enonyu. He rubbed his eyes. “I’m issuing more coffee. Do you want any?”

  “As much as I can drink,” said Apenimon. “If it can be spared. I may have to remain here through the night.”