Voyage to the City of the Dead Read online

  Like his companions, Homat lay asleep beneath a half dozen heavy woven blankets. Etienne estimated the room temperature at seventy degrees. He nudged the Mai hard.

  "What is it, de‑Etienne?" Homat inquired as he tried to clear his vision.

  "Get up. Get everyone up. We're leaving."

  "Leaving, de‑Etienne? I thought‑you did not say, and it is very early."

  "There's been a sudden change of plans. You'll find out that we humans have a tendency to do things on the spur of the moment."

  "I understand that, de‑Etienne, but-"

  "I'll be in the courtyard if you need me. Tell them to hurry it up." He left a very puzzled Mai behind him.

  Evidently meditation was over, or else someone had roused his wife from her contemplation. She stormed out into the open courtyard, ignoring the strained singing of several lizardlike puouts on the main gate. Etienne didn't look up from his work. He was checking the supplies several somber Tsla were providing.

  "Etienne, this is childish. You know how I hate it when you turn childish."

  "Yes, I know, and you hate ultimatums even worse."

  "That's because ultimatums are the worst manifestation of childishness. I thought everything had been settled last night."

  "Settled to your satisfaction. Not to mine. I'm leaving." He tugged brutally on a backpack's straps.

  She sighed deeply. "I told you that my work here is just getting under way, that I'm only beginning to make some real progress in understanding this culture, these people."

  "Fine. I understand that." He moved to check another pack. Homat and the rest of the porters began filing sleepily out of the hospitality building, shivering in the early morning cold. Few Tsla were about this early and the sun was just peeking over the eastern wall of the canyon.

  "You stay here, Lyra. You don't have to come down with me. If all goes as intended I'll be back in six months to pick you up. Stay and meditate like mad."

  "You can't go north alone," she argued. "Two is the ab­solute minimum authorized for an expedition .dike this."

  "Then from this point on the expedition advances without authorization, I guess. Homat's learned enough to assist me. Haven't you, Homat?"

  The Mai guide's gaze shifted warily from one tall alien to the other and he found reason to work on the pack farthest away from them both.

  Etienne started toward another bundle and Lyra rushed to confront him, blocking his path. "Stop it, Etienne. Stop it right now. I'm not in the mood for a fight."

  "Why not?" he asked sarcastically. "Did I upset your morning devotions? And as long as we're on the subject of childish acts, how would you define someone who forgets eight years of higher education and goes native despite twenty years of arduous fieldwork that consistently proves such activities are counterproductive to good research?"

  "I've explained before that the Tsla are a unique race deserving of special study. Sometimes to obtain the best results it's necessary to bend the rules."

  "Not as far as I'm concerned it isn't." He waved expan­sively at the surrounding buildings. "But you go ahead. Stay and have yourself a deliriously good time. Bury yourself in native customs and habits. Inhale primitive wisdom, join the local religion, become a Tsla nun if they have such insti­tutions‑I don't care. I never put restraints on you, Lyra, despite all your talk of ultimatums.

  "As for me, I intend to locate the source of the river Skar and study its history and geology from there to the morass of the Skatandah. Halfway along that journey of discovery I will make it a point to stop back here and pick you up."

  "Etienne."

  "What?" He stepped around her and bent to the pack with a will.

  "Etienne, you know I can't let you go without me."

  "Why not? What about your carefully timed research pro­gram?"

  "We're a team, Etienne. We complement each other. Nei­ther of us does our best work solitaire."

  "We'll just have to adapt somehow, won't we?"

  "No," said a new voice. Etienne frowned, looked toward the hallway. He and Lyra had been arguing in Tsla, using the local language out of habit.

  The Chief Consoler and First Scholar of Turput stood in the portal. It was the first time Etienne had seen him and the Tsla's advanced age manifested itself in the streaks of silver that dominated his face, the wrinkled flesh of exposed forearms. Tyl stood at his right shoulder to lend support should it be needed. Mii‑an leaned on a twisted cane.

  "I was told of the disturbance," he said in a surprisingly strong voice.

  "No disturbance," Etienne muttered, inspecting the packs. "Just a friendly domestic conversation, that's all."

  "We do not mean to intrude," Tyl said. "It would give me much unhappiness if I thought that we-“

  "Oh far heaven's sake." Etienne turned sharply to con­front the newcomers. "Must you people always be so damned polite?"

  "We're sorry," said Mii‑an. "It is our nature."

  Etienne threw up his hands.

  "Such a disturbance cannot be allowed," Mii‑an said.

  "What do you mean it can't be allowed?" Etienne asked him.

  "Discord among guests is not to be tolerated."

  "Really? And what do you propose as a solution?"

  Mii‑an shambled across the paving to stand close to Lyra. He took her left hand in some strange alien grip Etienne hadn't observed in use before.

  "Thee must go with thy mate. If thy duality is to be the price of thy studies, I cannot allow thee to continue. When all is resolved, return to study with us another time."

  "But it was already settled," she protested. "I was to remain here and continue my research, learn your ways and‑"

  The Chief Consoler raised a six‑fingered hand. "We will miss thee, for thou has a thirst for learning that all but matches our own. If thee could bring thy mate's work here all would be simplified, but mountains are difficult to move. It is more sensible for thee to accompany him. Besides, thee may still continue thy studies, for some of thy work can go with thee, a boon for which we would be most thankful."

  "I don't understand, Mii‑an." Etienne listened without looking. Apparently the First Scholar was taking his side and he was embarrassed by his early display of anger.

  "Beyond the lands that lie Upriver from Turput are many that are unknown to thy Mai companions." He gestured to his right. "If thee will permit it, Tyl and four bearers will accompany thee. He has traveled extensively, knows many Upriver dialects and peoples. When you pass beyond his realm of knowledge, he will be there to see and to study for all Turput. And When not guiding thee he can continue to instruct you in our ways."

  "You said you'd do that yourself."

  "The instructor is not important. All that matters is the knowledge."

  "It's not that simple." She glanced at Etienne, who care­fully avoided her stare. "Looks like you win after all. I can argue with you but not with Tsla logic. That is, if you have no objection to Tyl joining us."

  "I've no objection, but it's not entirely up to us." He rose from the pack he'd been inspecting so intently. "Homat?"

  "You already have a guide, de‑Etienne," he replied slowly.

  "We do, and a fine one, but what the old Tsla says makes good sense. Haven't you said that the river beyond this point is new to you?"

  "Yes, yes." Homat was still reluctant to surrender any of his hard‑won authority. "I see that you are right, de‑Etienne. A Tsla who knows the way would be welcome." He tugged at the hood of his coat. "Anything would be welcomed that takes us quickly out of this cold country."

  Etienne grinned. "I apologize. I guess I did kind of drag all of you out of a warm bed on your equivalent of an icy morning." He turned to the First Scholar. "We accept your kind offer. Tyl's been nothing but helpful since we got here and I see no reason not to share his company. How do you feel about this, Tyl? You haven't said anything."

  "It is Mii‑an's place to say, but I look forward to it. I will gain much knowledge. It is a unique opportunity for me."<
br />
  "It's settled then, I expect." Lyra started for the hallway. "I'll go get ready. See what I mean about Tsla judgment, Etienne? They have enough sense to see that we're a team even when we don't."

  He left the Mai to make final preparations and hurried to catch up with her. She was resigned to leaving, which was very different from being agreed.

  "I'm sorry I had to force the issue like this, Lyra, but I was at my wits' end. I couldn't think of anything else."

  "I accept that." She slowed and some of the hardness drained from her expression. "Maybe you're right, Etienne. Maybe I've gotten a little too close to my work here. The soul of a good working team is its ability to compromise. I'm compromising. Just remember, you owe me one."

  "I promise, Lyra. On the way back you can spend as much time as you want. But we must make it to the turn­around point, the source of the Skar, before winter sets in up north. We've no idea what to expect, since the southern winters are moderated by the Groalamasan."

  "So you keep telling me."

  "What about this Tyl?" he asked, changing the subject. "You've been working with these people. He's a scholar. Do you think he's up to a difficult, dangerous journey? Phys­ically, I mean. Mentally I know that he's ready."

  "Don't worry about his stamina, Etienne. The Tsla are as adaptable as we are, not at all like the Mai. He'll be able to handle the heat down in the Barshajagad. We'll make space for him inside. There's plenty of room. He and his companions will manage."

  "Companions?"

  "You didn't hear the First Scholar's last words?" Etienne shook his head. "Mil‑an doesn't want to send Tyl by himself. He wants to send him with four porters, to replace the Mai who will leave as soon as we reach the river."

  "We don't need porters on the river."

  "Mil‑an has told me several times these past days that there will come a point where we'll have to leave the river, leave our boat."

  "We can't leave the boat. You know that."

  "I know it, yes, but Mii‑an insists that without porters we'll have to turn back at a place somewhere a couple of thousand legats Upriver."

  "It's true." They turned around, saw Homat standing be­hind them. "I listen and hear many things, de‑Etienne. The Tsla speak of this after you have come inside." He eyed Lyra with great interest. "Why do they say such things?"

  "Mil‑an talks about a spot far Upriver where the Skar undergoes ... he called it a dramatic change of personality. It's like the Tsla to ascribe such traits to inanimate objects, and he was very clear in his description of this place. It's called the Topapasirut."

  Homat's extreme reaction was unexpected. His eyes went very wide as he executed a half dozen powerful signs designed to ward off dangerous spirits.

  "It means," Lyra told her husband, "Cleansing Place of all the Waters."

  "That doesn't sound very threatening."

  "I agree, but Mii‑an insists we can't pass beyond it with the boat. Hence his insistence that we accept porters."

  "Another waterfall? Satellite topographics don't show any large waterfalls in the northern region of the Barshajagad, though admittedly pictures are less than perfect."

  "No, not a waterfall. Something else."

  "Five Tsla, Homat?"

  "I dislike the presence of so many strangers on board the spirit boat, de‑Etienne, but it seems we must tolerate all to gain the knowledge of one."

  Etienne Redowl considered, said finally, "Tell the one called Mii‑an we accept his generous offer, but that all the porters are to be under your command." The Mai seemed to grow several centimeters.

  "They won't stand for that," Lyra argued.

  "Won't they? Surely your high and mighty Tsla can take orders from a mere Mai. Don't tell me they'll argue about it."

  "Tyl is an important scholar."

  "I said that the four porters would act at Homat's direc­tion, not Tyl. You'll just have to explain to Mii‑an that Hom­at's been with us a long time, that he's familiar with our boat and its workings, and that he's our right arm. Or left, which­ever they accord more weight to."

  "Neither. They're physically as well as mentally ambi­dextrous."

  "We need a chain of command. It's going to be crowded on the boat. As for letting them inside the cabin with us, I understand the need but are you sure we can trust them?"

  "I trust Tyl completely Etienne. And the porters will look on their work as the Buddhaistic equivalent of making a pilgrimage for merit. So they'll work their hardest to make sure the expedition's a success."

  "Tell them to hurry themselves along then, Homat. We have a long way to go."

  "To the river, de‑Etienne, and to real weather! I will hurry them with delightment!"

  Chapter Nine

  Compared to the long climb up from the shore of the Skar, the descent was as pleasurable as an afternoon stroll through the gardens of New Riviera. In addition, the loads had been distributed among twice as many porters, the Tsla shoul­dering their new burdens alongside but separate from their Mai counterparts.

  The Tsla joked amiably among themselves, their evident good spirits proof enough of Lyra‑s claim that all were willing volunteers. Whenever Tyl moved among them they de­ferred to him as they would a superior, but without any of the bowing and scraping common among the Mai. The por­ters recognized and honored him as their mental and spiritual superior. He, in turn, did not use his position to lord it over his fellows.

  There was something of a subtle hierarchy among the porters, however, as if each one knew his place without having to be reminded of it. At the bottom of the pecking order was one exceptionally large, powerful, and mentally slow individual named Yulour. He hardly spoke at all and was often the butt of gentle, nonmalicious humor on the part of his companions, to which he invariably responded with a smile. It took a while for Yulour's slowness to manifest itself beyond a doubt, at which point Etienne slipped back from the head of the party to take Tyl aside.

  "Yulour?" Etienne wished he could see if Tyl was smiling, but that weaving flexible snout concealed the lower half of his expression. "He was orphaned in the mountains, his parents slain by some carnivore he could not well describe to us. Perhaps the terror of that moment stopped his mind from growing." Tyl made a gesture Etienne did not recog­nize.

  "He was raised a part of Mii‑an's extended family, but it did not help him here." Tyl tapped the side of his head. "For all that he is a goodly soul, with a kind heart, and his back is strong if his mind weak. He will gain much merit from this journey, perhaps even enough to admit him to the afterlife."

  "It's not my specialty, more my wife's province, but I didn't know that the Tsla believed in an afterlife."

  "Not all of us do. I do not know if Yulour does, so I try to believe for him. He appears content with his lot, unfair as life has been to him. There are many I know who envy him his unshakable contentment. On this journey of discov­ery he is my greatest responsibility‑save for thee and thy mate, of course." There was no guile in those warm brown eyes.

  "If he were to wander away from us he would never find his way back. Indeed, though he has lived there all his life, he could not find his way back to Turput from this spot. He would not have enough sense to follow the road." Tyl waited and when no more questions were forthcoming, fell back among his fellows.

  Everything Lyra claimed for the Tsla was borne out by each new experience. They were a kind, likable people. So why did he persist in trying to find a reason for disliking them?

  He knew the answer to that one. Lyra was not fond of the Tsla. She was absolutely infatuated with them. But was that the root of his problem? He pressed on with his internal argument. No, it was something else. There was one Tsla in particular, one she spent all her spare time with, one she looked up to and turned to with every new question: Tyl.

  Now there was a bizarre thought, he told himself. No question about it, Tyl was an impressive specimen of mam­malian life. It wasn't the first time Lyra had grown personally fond of some object of stu
dy.

  Patrick O'Morion's space, I'm jealous of an alien aborig­ine, he told himself. The shock of realization so numbed him he nearly wandered off the road toward a hundred‑meter drop. Lyra noticed the dazed look in his eyes.

  "Etienne? Are you okay?"

  "Sure. Yeah, I'm okay." He blinked, extended his stride until he once more assumed the lead. Lyra stared at his back, shook her head in puzzlement and hurried to catch up with him.

  The Tsla brought up the rear. Tyl stood next to Yulour, dwarfed by the porter's bulk. "Yulour?"

  "Yes, Learned One?"

  "What is the sign made by crossing the Oo and the Strike?"

  The porter's brow did not furrow. There was no point in straining his capacity over the mildly complex concept.

  "I do not know, Learned One."

  "That's all right, Yulour. It's not important. Tell me, what do you think of our new friends?"

  Yulour looked over the heads of his companions, at the two humans. "They are very nice, Learned One, though they have so little fur. And when they talk among themselves it is strange talk, neither like ours nor the Mai's. But they are nice."

  "Yes, they are. Thank thee for thy opinion, Yulour." The porter made a movement with his trunk.

  Tyl rejoined the objects of his interest. "Your curiosity induced me to chat with Yulour, Etienne. I put to him a question simple enough for a cub to answer, and he could not. It was beyond his simple powers of reason. Yet it struck me that he may be happier than we. While he is free of intelligence, he is also free of the pains and travails higher thought brings. Ignorance, frustration, envy: he is subject to none of these."

  "You make him out to be a perfect saint."

  "Sometimes I wonder. He is so content, and still there are times I do not understand him."

  "We have a saying among our people, Tyl." Etienne struggled to translate it into Tsla. "Better a lucky idiot than an unlucky genius."

  "Ali, this strange concept of `luck' again. Lyra mentioned it to me. We have no such concept. You must explain it to me further." Etienne made an attempt to do so as they plod­ded steadily downhill toward the ever widening streak of silver that was the Skar.