Voyage to the City of the Dead Read online

  Making landfall on the eastern shore of the river just above the town of Aib, they dispatched Homat to inquire about the availability of transportation and porters. Despite the high rate of pay offered, engaging help turned out to be difficult.

  "They are reluctant to leave their homes to travel to the land of the Tsla," Homat explained.

  "Why is that?" Lyra inquired. "I thought that trade went on daily between Tsla and Mai, and has since ancient times."

  "That is truth," Homat agreed. Behind them, fisherfolk and farmers gathered curiously around the anchored hydro­foil, engaging in the usual futile hunt for sails and oars. "But that does not mean that the Mai are anxious to go up there." He held up something oval that resembled a cross between a grapefruit and a sick lime.

  "This is a gououn. It cannot grow below the level of Turput." He bit into the shiny‑skinned fruit with gusto and spit out several purple seeds. "This and much else can be grown by the Tsla alone. This makes many Mai fearful of them. And there are other things." He made hasty protective signs.

  "The Tsla trade with the Mai, but they also trade with the Na of the Guntali."

  "Then they're not rumors," said Lyra with excitement.

  "Oh no, very real, de‑Lyra. Too real." He shuddered. "Skins of strange creatures they bring down from the Gun­tali, and much serash." Etienne knew serash to be the word for the local equivalent of ivory.

  "We Mai never see the Na, for we would freeze in mo­ments in their lands. Their air is difficult to breathe and we would grow dizzy with fear.

  "But some will come for hire. There are always some who will come, if the pay is sufficient," he said with assurance. "I wish muchly though, my des, that you did not have to leave the spirit boat behind." He looked at the curious to make sure they weren't being overheard.

  "Alb is little better than a large village. The Oyts of such towns have few morals. Better to have left it behind in Kekkalong."

  Etienne made the Mai movement for negation, glanced sourly at his wife. "We're already taking too much time out of our schedule for this side trip, Homat. Leaving the boat at Kekkalong would've cost us several weeks of overland travel. Don't worry though. The spirit boat will be quite safe until we return."

  Homat looked doubtful, still watching the crowd. "I can­not dissuade you, friends from across the ocean of night, but I do not think this a wise decision. Even the porters I have hired have come down to us from Upriver and not from Aib. I fear treachery."

  "Relax. We'll have our weapons with us. No one's going to bother the boat in our absence. You'll see." He indicated the fishing dock where they'd tied up. "Has not the Oyt of Aib promised us that he'll, keep the dock sealed off and all the curious away? None will be permitted to come near and he's said he'll utilize his personal guard to insure that. We're paying him a handsome amount to see to it that any locals stay clear."

  "The sum is not so handsome as the spirit boat itself," Homat grumbled. "As for the guard he will post here, would that it had come from Kekkalong. Still, if you are satisfied, Homat is satisfied." There was no satisfaction in his tone, however. He found it a struggle to understand these peculiar creatures. In many ways they were unimaginably sophisti­cated and in others, childishly naive.

  "We know what we're doing, Homat."

  "Could you not at least take it a safe distance up the Aurang?"

  "And dock it in the middle of the river, exposed to un­known currents and high winds?" Lyra asked. "It's safer here. Besides, anyone who wanted to find it could do so just as easily a few dozen legats up the Aurang. We'll worry about our property, Homat, and you worry about the cook­ing and the guiding."

  "As you say, de‑Lyra."

  In truth, he greatly enjoyed giving orders to the half dozen porters. It was the first time in his life he'd been able to exercise any power over his fellow Mai. Power gave rise to wealth, to new knowledge and capabilities. Power was the measure of an adult. He enjoyed himself so much he man­aged to forget his fears about the safety of the spirit boat.

  The Oyt of Aib, a bucolic youth named Gwattwe who fancied himself something of a dandy, personally saw them safely on their way. He had his own spirit doctor cast a spell for their healthy return.

  From Aib they would ride on lowagons northward until they encountered the Aurang's southerly flow, then turn northeast following the trading trail into the highlands.

  "May you return in delighted safety," Gwattwe told them. "As one who has traded often with the Tsla, I would go with you myself to serve as guide and interpreter, but a village Oyt must watch over his people."

  "We understand," Lyra assured him. "We know that you'll take good care of our property."

  "Have I not sworn the oath?" Gwattwe looked injured. "Have I not given promise upon my mate and children and most of all, my fortune? Not to mention that I do not receive the second half of payment until you return."

  I trust that, Etienne thought as he listened to the Mai's speech, more than any other assurance. Among the Mai, money was as blood.

  As they turned to enter the waiting lowagons a bored ­looking chorus of small children launched into an irritatingly atonal chant of farewell. They kept it up until the little line of porter‑driven lowagons had moved beyond the first bend in the road, then scattered before the blows their chorus master dispensed impartially.

  Gwattwe watched the strange visitors depart, then turned glittering eyes to the dock where the hydrofoil bobbed lazily at anchor, tethered to the landing by two wondrously strong metal cables.

  "What do you think on all this, wise Enaromeka?"

  The spirit doctor eyed the alien craft thoughtfully. "Give them six days before taking possession, Gwattwe."

  "My purse itches feverishly. I don't know that I can wait six days."

  "Better caution than confrontation. I do not think they suspect, but it would be awkward if they were to double back along the road to see what we were doing. Patience. We shall be masters of all the Skar. Even the oceanic states will do us homage ... if we can make the spirit boat obey us."

  "Even if we cannot," Gwattwe said, "we can make the hairy ones pay a huge ransom for its safe return. If they refuse, surely there are many items of great value within the craft that can be removed and sold. These are no wizards, no gods come among us, Enaromeka. Lightning does not fly from their fingers, no matter what the Downriver rumor­mongers would have us believe, and the rocks do not shake beneath their tread. They are like unto the Mai, save for their size and hairiness, and they have fewer fingers and toes to drive them through life. If cut, I am sure they would bleed, and if they bleed, they will die. I understand them, and I think with care we can come to understand their spirit boat.

  "Besides," he added with a smile, "they will be gone long to the city of the Tsla and long returning. We will have ample time to study and experiment with their vessel."

  "It shall be a legendary triumph for you, Gwattwe," the spirit doctor declaimed with becoming unctuousness.

  "And for you also, my good friend and advisor, for to you falls the honor of extracting the secrets of the spirit boat. "

  Enaromeka suddenly felt ill. "What? To me?"

  "Are you not the smartest of the Aib?"

  "The cleverest, but you, great Oyt, are the smartest."

  "Your flattery is unnecessary. I know when I am beyond my depth."

  Enaromeka looked resigned. "It will truly be a delightful great honor. I will enlist the aid of my most precocious students. In time, we will learn all that can be learned."

  They observed and measured, discussed and debated for six long days. By that time Gwattwe was trembling with impatience to step aboard and claim possession of the spirit boat for Aib and his family line. Word filtered through the town that the day of Taking had arrived and many of the villagers put aside their daily chores to gather on shore above the dock. All wished to partake of their community's triumph, for all would benefit by the successful "repossession," as the town adjudicator had described it in a momen
t of florid rationalization.

  The power and wealth that accrued to Aib would be shared by all, and the name of Aib known all along the river.

  Enaromeka made certain everyone heard him clearly. "I claim the honor of being the first aboard." Gwattwe re­sponded with a gesture of deference. This was as rehearsed and part payment to the spirit doctor for his services.

  The gunwale was bumping gently against the wooden dock as he stepped gingerly over the side onto the exposed rear deck. Nothing happened. Enaromeka turned a slow circle, looking quite pleased with himself until a voice rumbled in perfect if slightly stiff' Mai:

  "Visitor, you do not belong on this boat. No permission for visitation has been granted. You have twenty anats in which to vacate this boat or you will suffer dire conse­quences. You have been warned."

  Enaromeka stood as if paralyzed, while Gwattwe blinked and tried to see through the transparent bubble enclosing the cockpit. The warriors arranged nearby forgot their po­sitions as they searched the windows for the invisible speaker. So did Enaromeka's assistants.

  There was no sign of life within the boat. Nothing moved beyond the transparencies and the boat itself continued to bob on the breath of the current.

  Enaromeka overcame his initial panic and moved cau­tiously to where he could look down into the boat. "I see no one."

  "Nor do I," Gwattwe said from the dock.

  "I will go inside and look." Enaromeka reached for the door handle and _pulled. "I can't move it."

  "That is to be expected," said Gwattwe. "It is not to be anticipated that they would trust us enough to leave their vessel unlocked. Would a long knife help?"

  Enaromeka put his face to the window that comprised the upper half of the doorway. "It is strong. Little lights inside are blinking on and off, like the fires of hunting parties up the side of the canyon. Perhaps the lights have something to do with the lock. Fire spirits. Give me a zhaloo."

  From within the ranks of warriors a heavy spiked club was passed forward. One of the spirit doctor's students handed it across to Enaromeka.

  "Five anats," the voice announced dangerously. "Leave this boat now."

  "I know what it is," Enaromeka declared suddenly, un­willing to abandon his moment of glory to an unseen specter. "A spirit voice locked within the boat, left here to frighten us." He spoke boldly. "I, Enaromeka, am not frightened by spirits. I will learn the secrets of this craft despite all the voices that shout at me. I am not afraid of voices!"

  Taking careful aim with the club, he brought it down over the transparency covering the blinking lights. A brilliant explosion of light momentarily blinded the watching crowd and there was much screaming. Women and children fled for the safety of boulders and sun shelters. Several of the warriors lined up in stately procession along the dock broke formation to sample the cool waters of the Skar. Gwattwe had enough presence of mind to note their names and former rank.

  When his sight had recovered somewhat from the effects of the unexpected flash, he turned back to the spirit boat. It still rode easily on its lines. Curled up on the rear deck was the object that an instant earlier had been his spirit doctor. Smoke rose from the skull and sides of the fetal shape while the leather sandals burned ferociously.

  One of Enaromeka's students jumped onto the boat. Gwattwe held his breath but nothing happened to the scholar as he beat at the fire consuming his instructor's feet. With great presence of mind, the student yelled instructions. There was movement among the onlookers. A bucket was located, filled with river, and carefully handed over.

  As the student dumped the water on Enaromeka's corpse, a solemn voice intoned, "Visitor, you do not belong on this boat. No permission for visitation has been granted. You have twenty anats in which to vacate this boat or you will suffer dire consequences. You have been warned."

  "I'm not leavings" the student announced, making a sign to ward off the most dangerous of unknown spirits. Reaching down, he picked up the ineffectual zhaloo, hefted it angrily as he moved toward the doorway that had defeated his in­structor.

  Gwattwe was not as surprised by the light this time. The student was barefoot, and the water in which he stood did not protect him from the fire spirits. His departure from existence was much more spectacular than Enaromeka's. Swallowed by the burst of energy, he gave a tremendous convulsive twitch and leaped or was thrown over the side of the craft.

  Two warriors reluctantly doffed their armor and dove into the river to pull him ashore. Gwattwe examined the student's body with much interest. It was broken and distorted, though differently from Enaromeka's. The soles of his feet had been carbonized and black streaks ran up both legs. The smell of burnt flesh was strong in the morning air.

  But there had been no fire, only a burst of light and a loud crackling sound. Pungiram, one of the elders of Aib, had come down onto the dock.

  "It would appear, my Oyt Gwattwe, that the hairy strangers are not so dumb as they frst seemed."

  "So it would appear." Gwattwe showed no distress at having been abruptly deprived of the services of his spirit doctor. He eyed the boat with more interest than ever. "In this first test of trust and friendship, they have come out ahead. But I am persistent, old one. There must be some way to drive the protecting spirit out of this boat so that we can take possession of it."

  Pungiram decided to speak up. "You will not find many ready to do battle with unknown spirits, especially spirits that slay as efficiently as do those guarding this boat."

  "I am not afraid of spirits," Gwattwe said as he hastened to shield himself with a couple of quickly executed signs, "that are of this world, but it is a new thing to try to deal with a spirit that comes from beyond. However, I am not so sure that we are dealing with a spirit here. This boat is a thing of metal and other strange substances. It is nova proper spirit house."

  "Do we have any idea what other spirits consider a proper abode?"

  "Perhaps we may learn. I will not give up and walk back to my house." His gaze rose, turned to the trade road which had swallowed up the tall hairy ones. "A long way to Turput, a long way back. We have much time left to us."

  The surviving students had clustered around the Oyt. He frowned at them. "What ails you?"

  "We must do something about the Teacher." The speaker gestured toward Enaromeka's blackened body. "He must be given a proper burial."

  "He must have his wood and his journey to the sea," another insisted.

  "I agree," Gwattwe said "Which of you will honor him by being the first to step onto the spirit boat to remove the body?"

  Rapid glances were passed among the scholars. They de­cided it would be best to discuss the matter in depth before making any firm decisions. They drifted away toward the town, arguing vociferously among themselves.

  His peace and quiet restored, Gwattwe again considered the object of his dreams. He had never been to any of the wondrous city‑states that traders told of, had traveled only a short distance Downriver. But he'd visited Kekkalong and had admired its wealth. The spirit boat was no more than another new thing to be studied and understood, as he had come to understand power and wealth. He would make a massive effort to be patient. He would have to be or he would quickly run out of advisors.

  He would make a speech praising brave Enaromeka. Then everyone would go back to work. Tomorrow he would con­sider the problem anew. That was all that was required; careful thought and sufficient tomorrows.

  But he would have to cajole as well as order his advisors. The odor of a colleague's burning flesh was a powerful deterrent to curiosity.

  Chapter Seven

  "De‑Etienne, de‑Etienne, we must stop and rest!"

  Etienne halted, staring ahead to where the trading road climbed still another of the endless vertical walls in a series of laboriously cut switchbacks. The roar of the Aurang cat­aract was a constant buzz in his ears, even though it was out of sight far off to their left.

  "We're nearly there, Homat. I don't want to spend an­other night on the ro
ad. Tell them no."

  "It does not matter, de‑Etienne." Homat gestured at the line of heavily laden porters behind them. "They say they will go not a step farther until they are given time to put on their warmest clothing."

  Etienne made a face as he checked his wrist instrumen­tation. The air temperature was eighty‑four and holding. De­spite that, several of the porters made no attempt to hide their discomfort, and two were shivering. For his part, Homat was manfully trying to hide the chills that wracked his own body.

  "Very well, but tell them to be quick about it. I want to reach Turput before dark."

  "We should, we should, de‑Etienne," Homat said grate­fully. He turned and relayed the information to the porters. They responded with a babble of thanks, dropping their packs with fine disregard for the contents in their rush to help one another on with heavy coats and hats.

  Lyra watched with interest. It was strange to see a Mai clad in long‑sleeved and long‑legged attire. The cold‑climate gear was made of double layered cotton like fiber stuffed with some puffy plant material.

  "In the land of the blind the one‑eyed man is king," Lyra murmured.

  "I don't see how that relates to our present situation," Etienne commented.

  "In the land of the bald, the hirsute man is king."

  "That's a lousy analogy."

  "You never did have much of a sense of humor." She turned away from him.

  The distant Skar was now only a faint silver thread lying against the western horizon. A considerable walk indeed. The fact that the air at three thousand meters was almost Earth‑normal was a great comfort. Down on the Skar, they'd been forced to breathe mud. Or so their lungs had persist­ently told them.

  The thinner air did not seem to have troubled the porters, but the drop in temperature had been affecting their performance for several days. Bundled up in their heavy clothing, they looked much more comfortable.