Beneath the Eye of God (The Commodore Ardcasl Space Adventures Book 1) (15 page)

Now this seemed a pretty good deal to the horse. He really needed a deep drink and a roll in the mud and if there was water here in the forest, he and his friends could come and live here. They could become lords of the forest just as they had already become lords of the plains and highlands. And if there was no water, he would still have a chance to chomp this pesky King of the Cats. "Climb on," he said. "I shall be happy to be of whatever assistance I can."

So the King of the Cats climbed onto the horse's broad back and off they went through the forest. Soon they came to a large water tree where the King of the Cats had already set the forest creatures to work digging at the roots. When they heard the horse's noisy approach, the creatures ran and hid but when they saw the King of the Cats riding on its back, they were filled with wonder.

"Come out, come out," called the King of the Cats. "This kind horse is going to help us get to the water."

"You have tried to deceive me, cat." The horse turned to take aim at the King of the Cats. "There is no water here, only a bunch of pitiful thirsty creatures scratching in the ground around a tree."

"No, no, you don't understand," the King of the Cats cried as the big round eye glared at him from beneath the armored brow. "This tree sits over the pool of water like a stopper in a gourd. All we have to do is pull it out. Look. The ground birds and tuskers have scratched and rooted all the dirt away from the roots. The cats have shredded the roots' protective bark so the wood worms can bore out the insides. And high overhead, the birds have cut away the branches that are intertwined with the other trees and would keep the water tree from falling. Even the mighty nightbird has come down from the clouds to help. He has used his sharp talons and curved beak to slash away the entangling creepers, for he knows that if we all die of thirst, there will be no animals for him to snatch from the treetops and carry off to feed his young."

The horse was amazed for he had never seen one of the dark nightbirds close-up. But there it was on a branch above him, its big eyes regarding him coldly.

While the horse's attention was directed upward, the King of the Cats leaped from his back to a nearby aerial root. Being so close to those teeth made him nervous. "What we need now is someone with your great strength to pull the tree over and there will be water enough for all."

The horse snorted scornfully. "Indeed you do need my help. But I don't need yours. All I have to do is push that old trunk over and if you have not lied, and there really is water under there, I shall bring my friends into the forest and, after making a few alterations, like knocking down most of the trees where you foolish cats like to play, we shall take over."

With that, he put his massive shoulder to the trunk of the water tree and began to push. He pushed and he pushed and he pushed. He snorted and he puffed and he pushed again with all the power in his great body and the water tree did not budge.

The horse looked around for the King of the Cats and spied him sitting quietly on an aerial root nearby. "You lied to me, you rotten little worm. As soon as I catch my breath, I am going to stomp you. You have no water and you won't be able to hide in your treetops forever. I can go far longer without water than you. You'll have to come down someday." He rubbed his sweaty itching hide against a tree trunk. "And when you do, I'll stomp you and have a nice warm drink of your blood."

The King of the Cats regarded him coolly. "You're right about the rest of us needing water now if we are to survive. Even as large as you are, you will need it eventually and we can get it if we all work together. The birds can cut vines and creepers. We can weave them into a harness for you. We can tie it to the topmost branches of the water tree so that when you pull, the leverage from the top will bring it right over.

"But if we help you," the King of the Cats said, "you must promise to keep our secret. You must promise not to bring your friends here to destroy our trees, for each tree has its purpose. The forest is like a great woven fabric. If you pull any of the threads out, the rest begin to unravel. Each of the creatures here depends on all the others for its life. If you and your friends come in and change things, many of us will surely die."

The horse laughed. A horse laughing is a terrible thing to hear. "You make me tired, trying to strike bargains with me. Weave your harness and I will pull your tree over. If there is water there, I will bathe in it and then I will bring my friends and we will rule your forest. You will have water now and your children will have to find some place else to live. If you do not weave the harness, I will go on my way and you will all surely die and your children won't have to worry about finding another place to live because you won't have any children. You have a choice. You can die now or your children can die later. It is all the same to me."

"You are right," sighed the King of the Cats. "If we do not help you, the forest will survive but all of us will die of thirst. If we prove to you that there is water here, we will survive but the forest will eventually be destroyed."

He looked around at the other creatures. "It is a difficult choice but I am the King of the Cats and my decision is that we must have water now. We will weave the harness."

The horse smiled. "That is the choice I thought you would make. It's much easier to contemplate the future when your stomach's full of hay."

All the forest creatures worked together to weave a great long harness that fit around the horse's broad shoulders and was tied in dozens of places to the topmost branches of the water tree. The high roots on one side of the trunk were cleared away and the tuskers smoothed a path along which the horse could pull.

When the harness was in place, the King of the Cats asked the horse one last time if he would not reconsider his plan to tell the others the secret of the water tree.

"Foolish cat," he snorted. "You have saved your own miserable lives but you have traded away your children's birthright for all eternity. I need my breath for pulling this tree down, not for talking to the likes of you." He pulled the ropes taut and then gave a mighty heave.

The great trunk trembled. There were cracking noises high in the branches. The horse gave another pull. The ground shook and sounds of ripping rose from beneath the surface. He gave another heave and the tree began to move, slowly at first, then more rapidly. He was surrounded by snapping and tearing noises and the ground trembled and the horse tried to run off to one side but some of the vines in his harness were tied fast to trees beside him. He tried to run to the other side but he was tied by vines there as well.

He tried to run to the far end of the path out of reach of the falling tree but it was coming faster and faster. It landed with a mighty crash that shook of the forest and drowned out the last terrible shriek of the horse.

As the King of the Cats sat cleaning the drops of water from his whiskers, he said to no one in particular, "Sometimes, if you're very careful, it is possible to have your cake and to save it for your children too."

***

"A pretty tale it is, lad." The Commodore poked at the embers of the campfire and watched the sparks drift upward. "And popular with the children, you say? As well it might be, for it tells of how the forest people defeat the invaders. Whether that was the case in real life remains to be seen."

"What do you mean?" Ohan asked.

"Ah ha!" Leahn said triumphantly. "That's what I thought the first time Ohan told us one of these stories. The horse is the intruder. The cat is the forest native, protecting it and keeping its secrets. Ohan's people must have originated these stories. I never heard any of them as a child in the highlands. The cats represent Ohan's people."

"Indeed they do, my dear. And a sneaky, shifty bunch of cats they are too. If Rudyard Kipling and I hear one more story where a poor trusting horse if flummoxed and hoodwinked by a . . . "

"Rudyard who?" Elor asked.

The Commodore looked surprised. "Rudyard Kipling. That's my trusty steed. We keep rooting for the horse to stomp that supercilious King of the Cats and we are continually disappointed. We've had about all the horse and cat stories we care to hear."

"I thought they were just stories," Ohan said lamely. "But then who are the horses?"

"In point of fact," Elor interjected, "our horses are not native to this planet. They appear to have been grafted onto local stock sometime within the last thousand years."

"And a good thing too," mumbled the Commodore. "Or we would have had a long walk."

"But if the cats represent Ohan's people," Leahn said impatiently, "who do the horses represent? Who are the ones pushing their way into the forest trying to learn its secrets?"

"Who indeed? Who is represented by the horses in these stories and probably also brought the genes of these same beasts' ancestors with them when they came. Who resides on this planet today but is not of the race of forest people? Who is it that the planet itself showed us as a pillar of flame of the type that spaceships rise upon into the sky? And naturally, you would need a spaceship if your ancestors came here from somewhere else." He threw his stick into the embers and turned to Leahn. "Who, my dear, do the horses represent? I'll give you a hint. We met one of them, or at least his spacesuit, recently inside a pyramid."

She had gone pale in the dying firelight. "But that's ridiculous. We've always lived here."

"Half a millennium does seem like 'always' in human terms."

"You're saying there are only two kinds of people here, Ohan's and mine, smooth-skinned and furred? That's nonsense. Anyone can see that there is every shade in-between."

She thought for a moment. "But that doesn't prove anything does it? Except that we got along well with the natives."

"Perhaps too well," the Commodore said thoughtfully. "There may not be many genuine, full-blooded white warriors left."

"That's another thing. I never heard of any of this white warrior business until I started hanging out with you guys."

"Or until you got that sword and started riding around on horses," the Commodore said. "And started reminding people here in the lowlands of tales from their childhoods."

"There was a picture of one in a book at school," Ohan said. "A warrior dressed in white armor on a great white horse. It said they were legendary figures who fought in battles long ago. I always liked the picture but I never thought it looked much like Leahn."

"Thanks, sport." She turned on the Commodore. "So according to you, I'm either a guy on a horse with a sword or a guy in a spacesuit who got here half a millennium ago and built the pyramids that you yourself said are 1,300 years old and then I climbed into my pillars of fire and flew off into the sky, only I'm still here. And if I'm still here, where's my spaceship? It all makes perfect sense."

"Good," said the Commodore. "I was afraid you were going to ask something hard. First, you didn't build the pyramids. Ohan's people did. I believe the boys have now proved that to their own satisfaction."

"That's true," Elor said. The clans have little need for a written language. At the edge of the forest we saw them using galactic Universal, which Ohan learned at school. But that does not mean the forest people do not have their own indigenous written language. As far as we can tell, it is seldom used today. But when a suitor from one clan travels to another clan to claim a bride, he carries a written document from his headman to his prospective bride's headman. This document introduces him and vouches for his ancestry in the same, very formal terms Ohan used in introducing himself to Vardara."

"I know that," Ohan said in surprise. "It's an old traditional language and only certain members of the clan are allowed to learn it. But I still don't see what it has to do with . . . "

"It's obvious that a relatively recent import like Universal would be inadequate to convey the ritualistic significance of these special occasions," Elor continued. "That is why the forest people's ancient written language has survived. It is, according to the computer, almost the same language as that which we encountered on the pillars of the half arch and in the passageway inside the pyramid at the lost city. The conclusion is inescapable. The descendants of the people who carved those pillars and decorated that passageway live today around the fallen water trees. The computer translated the name of the lost city's ruler as Feathered Shield son of Bluestone Mask son of Nightbird Talon, all Ohan's people."

There was another long silence. Then Leahn said, "So the old man and his father and the Preacher were wrong. The lost city's builders did not climb aboard spaceships and return to the sky."

"No, they didn't," the Commodore said. "It only goes to show how completely the forest people have forgotten their heritage. But there were spaceships and the memory of them has survived. Only they weren't leaving. That was simply a logical way to explain two seemingly illogical events, the memory of the spaceships and the apparent disappearance of the city builders. In fact, the spaceships were arriving and they were filled with Leahn's ancestors, colonists from another world. And as for your last question, my dear, where are the ships now? One of them is right up there." He pointed skyward.

Ohan looked up at the dark branches overhead, no longer illuminated by the dead fire. "The boys and I spotted it while we were making our survey. This place doesn't get much space traffic and the ship is in geosynchronous orbit on the side opposite the spaceport. It's parked up there right above our next stop, a small group of ruins on the coast. We checked it out. The ship is tumbling slowly in space but considering its 500 years old, it's in pretty good shape."