Darkness itself was a welcome thing in the Bannk, especially the Killer Bannk; that in itself was untroublesome. It was also cooler than in the other places they had been so far; that also was welcome, more so than the darkness. What bothered Stringer and Valyavar was the heavy lock on the iron door of the cell and the thought of who had put them on the inside.
He’s not the same person,
Stringer mumbled.
I think, perhaps, that he has become what he
always was,
Valyavar said quietly. But if that
isn’t the same person, I expect the same is true of all of us.
Except you. You were always perfect. I don’t think
I’ve ever seen you lift a hand against anyone, except once, for my
protection. You don’t need to, I suppose; you seem to understand everyone
so well—
Sometimes my understanding is to be pressed,
that’s for truth.
Do you understand Pike, then? Does he really
believe what he is telling us?
It is not clear, I’d think, that he knows what he
believes any more.
I’m not sure what I believe any more, either. My
arguments were almost as weak as his.
Is it to be expected that myths obey arguments?
I’d not trouble myself about Polkraitz.
Valyavar is right,
Barbalan interrupted
them. Who cares about the Polkraitz? We are living
in the present, not a thousand Patras ago. Now be silent and let me
sleep. We’ll be not good to each other unless rested.
This is truly the Edge,
Stringer muttered, truly the Edge.
Another long silence ensued, another in a long chain of silences. It was hard to find things to talk about. Eventually the three looked up at the sound of a key rattling in the lock. Food, finally. The door opened and several sacks were thrown in, followed by a Gostum boot and then a guard.
Valyavar and Stringer picked up the food, not recognizing the sacks as their own.
The guard was silhouetted against the light from the small opening in the
cell, and Stringer could not see his face. Take these,
the guard said. Barbalan will know what to do with them.
What are you talking about? Who are you?
Do you not remember me, Alien?
I can hardly even see you, let alone remember
you.
You saved my life once, at Triesk, near the
beginning of the Patra.
The exile! Then you were a spy for the
Gostum!
An unfortunate one. Originally a Tjenen, of
course, not even a Fairtalian to know how to use the stala. Quite
expendable. But yes, a spy whose information has proved useful. Your help
was appreciated. Without it, the information would have been lost. However,
I am not yet so much Gostum that I do not appreciate help. No one will
follow you where you are going. Good luck.
The door closed, leaving
only silence, the silence that is always the victor in the end.
I was wrong,
Stringer mused.
About what?
I saved a man’s life once. I was wrong.
Did you save him because he was a traitor?
Valyavar asked.
No, I hardly believed in the Gostum. I saved him
because he was dying.
So, you’re as right as can be hoped for in such a
situation. Don’t fret because you can’t have everything. To go?
The door was unlocked and they quietly slid out. Stringer handed the keys
over the Barbalan. He said you’d know what to do
with these.
This way. Come! You’re as slow as the sun!
Barbalan led the way down the passage, suddenly ducking into a room on the
right. The men heard a muffled groan, a soft crunch, then Barbalan returned
with bloodied hands and several coils of rope. Who
knows how the road will be?
She shrugged as she set off down the maze
again. There,
she said finally.
The ancient door opened with difficulty. The ledge onto which it opened was narrow, and the path that led away from it was even narrower. It was a long way down, Stringer saw as he surveyed the vast desert beneath them. But it was even farther upward, and the path was soon lost in the heights.
Don’t worry,
Barbalan said. I think we are going over one of the lower ones. Only
eight kilometers high, or nine, which means only four or five from
here. And there is an old village waiting at the other end at which we may
be able to rest.
Eight or nine kilometers! How will we breathe?
With our lungs.
Pike and his advisors were still in the great hall some telclads later when a frightened guard announced that the prisoners had somehow escaped.
Do you know where they are?
Pike asked, already
expecting the answer that he received.
No. Otherwise we would have caught them and
not disturbed you.
Pike thought a moment. All right. It doesn’t
matter. Just guard the stala and make sure they don’t get there. After all,
without the stala where can they go?
Paddelack had been sitting voicelessly since Stringer and Valyavar and
Barbalan had been taken away. Occasionally he would rub his bird-beaked
nose, but he did not enter the discussion. After the guard left he stood
up. I think I should go back to Massarat to check
on the new arrivals.
Paddelack hoped his heartbeat didn’t reveal itself
as he waited for Pike’s approval.
Yes, that is a good idea.
His legs wanted to run, but Paddelack held them in check until he was out
of the room. He did not, however, go to the lift but turned to the ancient
guard cells after stopping briefly at his room. As was to be expected, the
guard was at his post. Paddelack pushed past him and walked down the
corridor to the empty cell. The door was in perfect condition. He spun
around to the guard, hand on his graser. Where
are they?
The guard shook his head.
If you don’t tell me, I’ll blast a hole through
your face so fast that you won’t even have time to bleed.
Paddelack
demonstrated his skill on the nearest wall, but the guard shook his head
again.
I’m not going to tell you anything.
Paddelack decided to change his tactics. Look,
man, if I had my head on straight, I would have let them out myself, but
I’ve been pretty slow on decisions. They know what this is all
about. I’ve got to follow them. Do you understand? I will
not sell my soul to that man. No. You must help. It’s still not
too late for me.
Over the old pass.
When?
Ten telclads ago, maybe more.
Paddelack didn’t need to be told anything else. He hurriedly collected his things together: his hat, graser, an old telescope he used to carry on expeditions, and some food. He shoved it all in his pack and departed without another glance. He climbed, as if possessed, for nearly half a beclad. Now we will get to the bottom of this planet, he thought. Now I will be able to get off. He peeled layer after layer of skin from his cheeks, which had become sunburned during the climb. It seemed that he peeled off newly burned skin every telclad, the sun’s rays were so effective at this altitude above many of the clouds.
A few small shrubs and a gray-green lichen clinging precariously to the rocks did their best to survive in the crevices, soaking up what little moisture was deposited at this height. It was not a place for living, despite the comfortably cool air that was such an attraction during the Killer Bannk.
So when he was met by a party of three people as he neared the top of the mountain, his surprise was great. They weren’t Stringer and Barbalan and Valyavar. Who else could be up here? As Paddelack drew nearer, the faces became familiar. He knew these people. They waved him on, and he summoned the last of his energy to meet them at the top. Then he saw the old settlement buried among the rocks and froze in his tracks.
Furious activity was evident. Bamboo-tree wood was being dragged up the side of the mountain on an elaborate pulley-and-rope mechanism. Buildings were being repaired and new ones were under construction.
What are you doing?
Paddelack cried in
despair.
When we left Massarat and descended into
the great underground plain, we brought food and all our possessions but we
still did not know where we would go. When we finally emerged, we knew we
were saved. The old settlement was a few beclads’ walk under the sun but we
knew we were all right. What is wrong, Paddelack? You saved us all.
Paddelack stared at his old friends who gathered about him. Oh, God, Sarek. Jedoval, is this one of your jokes?
Don’t you understand that you will die up here during the Patra?
The blank expressions that greeted his outcry were enough of an answer.
There won’t be any air. You’ll all suffocate. You
have to go somewhere else.
Where? Where is there to go?
Down. Underground again. That is the only
place.
No. The Bannk is shortening now,
Paddelack. No one will go Under again, waiting for the Fear to strike at
any time. We have found a good home, Paddelack, and here we will stay. We
are tired of running.
No. It’s suicide to stay up here. You must go
down and take all the food and supplies with you. Believe me; if you don’t,
you will all die.
Paddelack knew he wasn’t absolutely sure of that
statement, was not absolutely sure the atmosphere would collapse during the
Short Patra ahead. No one really knew how cold it became. Maybe he was
mistaken about the principle, but this was not the kind of principle to
test by oneself.
How can we live on the underground plain?
There is nothing there.
I don’t know but you’ll have to. I can’t help
you.
Paddelack’s eyes darted down the road toward the east. Tell me, did anyone else come this way earlier?
Yes, you aren’t the first.
Tell me quickly, where are they?
They rested here for a little while, and
now Mith is taking them to the underground plain. They were very anxious to
see it.
Paddelack ran over to the other edge of the village and looked down the snaking mountain path. If he tried hard enough, he could convince himself that he saw three or four figures walking down the road, mere specks in the distance. Tears came to his eyes, choking in his throat. He looked frantically from the path to the settlement and back again. He took a step down, then halted and backed up. He began shaking and shivering. To understand Patra-Bannk after such a long wait, for now he was sure he was so close to the answer. Or to follow these people and be given another chance at the life that had been lost to him more than twenty Patra-Bannks earlier.…He took another step down but halted a second time. No. He shook his head finally. He owed the Liddlefurans everything. They had cared for him for all those twenty-odd Patra-Bannks. How could he desert them now? No. Finally a decision was clear to him, perhaps the first decision of his life that was, in the end, clear. Paddelack turned back to the settlement. He would not follow this Bannk, if he ever followed at all.
When the boy Mith led them down the stairwell, what they saw didn’t seem much more than what it was, a peculiarly shaped building sitting conspicuously in the middle of nowhere, entangled in the profuse but transient growths of the longest Bannk.
So, I think this journey is not over yet,
Barbalan said when she saw it. There is still
hope.
Where can it take us other than down?
Stringer
asked.
What is in my mind,
Barbalan replied, is that there are many shafts like this, and at the
bottom of each there will be a way to get to the nearest stala.
How do you know?
Neberdjer told me. Now come on.
They thanked
Mith for showing them the way and entered the building. Barbalan found an
elevator, as if she knew what she was looking for, and they descended. At
the bottom was a deserted concourse littered with debris and human waste
from the caravan that had recently come by. Stringer could understand why
the boy had called it a plain. It stretched on and on until the number of
occasional rooms that interrupted the line of sight blocked off further
vision.
Barbalan set about searching a nearby wall, as she had been instructed to
do in such a situation. When she found the spot marked on the wall, she
spoke aloud. It’s Barbalan. I want to go to
Neberdjer.
Very soon a car glided along the center of the concourse,
hovering over the floor. They climbed into the streamlined vehicle and we
whisked away.
’Twould seem the planet is made for traveling.
Exactly,
Barbalan said.
They came to rest not a telclad later, and Stringer hopped out after
Barbalan. Do you know where we are?
he asked,
surveying a scene that, as far as he could tell, was identical to the one
they had just left.
From what I was told, we should be below the
Konndjlan stala.
But surely the Gostum are swarming around up
there. I don’t want to risk capture. If we are caught, that’s the end of
everything.
Neberdjer said each stala has below it—look!
Barbalan ran around a bend in the concourse. Stringer squinted. Rockets!
Can we take one?
Myself, I do not know how they work. But I think
Neberdjer will take care of that.
Then he must be our patron saint,
Valyavar
added.
Stringer smiled. Okay, let’s go.
Their footsteps echoed as they ran down the concourse and up the entranceway. As soon as they entered the lights went on. Valyavar secured the hatch and immediately thereafter they began moving. Neberdjer was indeed aware of their presence.
Barbalan, can you say where we are going?
Valyavar asked.
To Neberdjer, the central controls of this
planet.
Central controls?
That is what I was told. I don’t understand any of
that, I am afraid. That is one reason I was told to bring you, so you could
use the controls. But it is far away, I think. On something called the line
that divides the planet in two.
On the equator!
Stringer exclaimed.
I don’t know what an equator is,
Barbalan
said.
No time to explain now. We’ll roast alive! Surely
it is too hot in the tropics to survive at all. Valyavar, do you think we
can turn this ship around?
Valyavar didn’t even bother to stand up. He remained stretched out on his
couch. Now, Stringer, first of all, as a day and a
year on this planet aren’t to be easily distinguished, I’m not sure that
tropics exist from one year to the next. Where the sun happens to be
overhead is tropics. Who’s to say it is any hotter down there than here?
Besides, if it was to be possible, where would we go? Where are we now?
Whose ship are we in? ’Tseems worth finding out, and if Neberdjer is where
we are going to find out, that’s where we should go. You do want to find
out, don’t you, Stringer?
Yes.
Stringer nodded sharply. It is time to get some answers.