Beyond the Wall of Time (49 page)

The Falthan queen drifted away, her false hand clasped tightly in the Destroyer’s illusive palm. From behind the lauren tree
Robal watched them go, then melted silently into the night.

The Zizhua came before dawn, brandishing knives and clubs. The party numbered no more than ten, at least to Stella’s bleary
eyes as she rose, stretched over-tired muscles and walked guardedly towards them. Kannwar had spun some kind of magical web
around the camp in which the attackers had become ensnared like so many giant flies.

“I am the Oldest Man, Lord of Bhrudwo,” he said to them without preamble. “I signed your gift many years ago. I have come
to see how you are using it.”

“We still obey the terms, as you can see,” said one of the young men struggling in the web. Like the rest of the Zizhua he
was curiously dressed, wearing a woollen waistcoat and skirt made of grass rather than the ubiquitous Bhrudwan jerkin and
trousers. His face had been pierced with a number of decorations made from what appeared to be bone, lending him an altogether
wild appearance, but he spoke the common Bhrudwan tongue well enough.

“Yes, I can see you still attempt to preserve the integrity of this land,” Kannwar said. “Do you continue to produce cinnamon
and osmanthus?”

“Release us from your snare and we will show you,” the young man replied.

Within the hour the travellers had broken camp and were striding through the grasslands, struggling to keep pace with the
Zizhua. The waist-high grass glowed in the morning sun, giving off a piquant fragrance when crushed underfoot.
Sights and smells to enchant the senses
, Stella thought as they approached one of the steep-sided hills.

“Limestone,” Noetos said, pointing at the forest-cloaked hill before them. “Such hills will be riddled with caves. I suppose
that’s why we see no habitations.”

The nearest Zizhua grunted, the closest these perfunctory people seemed to come to unnecessary conversation.

Kannwar nodded. “A perfect place for civilisation to begin,” he said. “A valley rich in soil and livestock, with an equable
climate and ready-made shelter. I trust you can see why I insist that visitors are kept from this place, even at the cost
of a few incautious lives.”

“And you have brought us here,” Stella said carefully, not wishing to alarm their hosts, “because of the protection such a
valley offers its inhabitants. “

Kannwar nodded again.

“It’s so old,” said Lenares. “Nowhere in the north have I found a place as old as Talamaq, but this valley feels far older.”

The party reached the base of the hill and was guided to a narrow, dark cleft in the rock. “Welcome to our city,” the Zizhua
spokesman said, clearly feeling the need for some small ceremony. “Follow us closely. I do not want our people alarmed.”

Inside, the air was close but not unpleasant, bearing a faint perfume of cinnamon intermingled with wood smoke and some unidentifiable
fragrance.
Perhaps this osmanthus Kannwar mentioned.
The Zizhua lit torches and the darkness gave way to white walls, intricately fluted. The path was narrow and winding, leading
downwards, reminding her of Bandit’s Cave and the Hermit of Firanes who dwelled there. She had thought of neither for many
years. A man, she remembered, who had turned from his calling. Was such rebellion a Falthan characteristic? Were the more
regimented societies of Bhrudwo and Elamaq more likely to be obedient to their gods?

The sounds around them changed and the scent became stronger. A moment later they rounded a corner and stood on a shelf high
above the city of Zizhua. The astonishing sight sent four of Stella’s fingers into her mouth, a habit she thought she’d freed
herself from decades ago.

Far below them hundreds of lamps made patterns on the floor of the vast cave. Streets and houses were illuminated by a yellow
glow uncannily similar to that of the fields outside. Other lights, whiter and brighter, bobbed between the yellow lamps.
There was enough light to illuminate the walls and roof of the cave, much further from them than Stella would have guessed
given the size of the hill. These surfaces were adorned with riotous patterns, clearly carved by no human hand but by indescribably
patient natural forces.

“Glorious,” she breathed, aware that the others had halted too, held in place as involuntarily as she was by the awe-inducing
sight.

“Like something from a fairy tale,” Sauxa said.

“And where do you think fairy tales come from, if not from our earliest civilisation?” Kannwar asked them.

“It is difficult to imagine my ancestors living in this valley, perhaps in this very city,” Anomer said. “Truly, I am sorry
they ever left.”

“I am not,” said Cylene. “I’d far rather be outside. The view is pretty, but these walls seem as though they are about to
collapse on top of me.”

The Zizhua spokesman grunted again. “Make your visit short,” he told her. “Outsiders often find our cities uncomfortable places.”

“You do entertain visitors then,” Kannwar said, an edge on his voice.

“A few get this far, yes. They are either killed or forcibly escorted out of the valley, depending on who discovers them.
And of course we must entertain your officials when they make their irregular visits to check our production, according to
the terms of the gift. None is allowed to stay.”

“Good,” Kannwar said.

The journey down to the floor of the cave was not unlike that into Corata Pit, excepting of course the canopy of rock overhead
and the never-ending variation of tortured limestone on the wall to their left. The whispers and smells of the city intensified
as they descended.

“Can the god find us here?” Stella asked Kannwar.

“I hope not. I would not be pleased if this place was destroyed.”

“Nor its people,” she prompted.

“Nor its people, of course,” he added.

Its people proved hospitable enough, though they appeared to be acting under duress. They had clearly not forgotten the terms
of their agreement with the Lord of Bhrudwo, and knew he could end their isolationism at any time by flooding the valley with
eager immigrants. So the adults were civil without ever quite approaching pleasantness, and it was only the children who gawked
in open horror at the strangers.

The travellers were met in front of a large building by the city Factor, a tall, cadaverous man without a single hair in evidence
anywhere: not on his head, arms, legs—what Stella could see below his ceremonial robes, anyway—ears or nose. He uttered a
few words of greeting, indifferently phrased and completely insincere, then beckoned them into the interior of the building.

“Huh,” Seren said, his eyes as round as saucers. “These buildings were not built.”

“What d’you mean?” Mustar asked him. “How else did they get here? They didn’t grow them from seeds!”

“No,” said the miner. “They carved out the roads and spaces between the houses, then the spaces within each house. This city
is carven.” He ran his hands over the nearest wall. “The craftsmanship is perfect.”

“Are you a worker of stone?” asked the Factor, the question seemingly torn out of him.

“I am a miner,” Seren said, “as is my friend here. We work in a vast open-air quarry, have done all our adult lives. Nothing
compared to this though; nothing at all.” He stood transfixed. “I can feel the stone here in a way I’ve never felt stone before.
Is that foolish? I’m not a religious man, but such work makes me wish I was.”

As though this praise was only to be expected, the Factor nodded, but Stella could see the corners of his eyes crinkling in
hastily stifled approval. Of course, the dolt Noetos nearly undid all the goodwill generated by his liegeman.

“It’s just stone, for Alkuon’s sake,” he said. “What are you talking about?”

The Factor scowled. One of the men who had come for them cleared his throat, and the Factor nodded to him. The man spoke,
addressing his words to Noetos.

“True builders know the difference between stone cut from the ground and stone still part of the earth. Your companion senses
it without understanding it. You will never know what we mean. This city is the unceasing work of many generations, stretching
back thousands of years. Rather than building something human on the earth, we have cut away what we do not need, revealing
the hidden strength and power of the rock. Thus we have made caves within the cave. This is not cut and dressed stone. It
is the bedrock of the earth.”

Clearly the words impressed Seren and his fellow miner, but they meant little to Stella.
So every man feels about his long-lived-in home: parochialism turns mere quirkiness into something sacred, unique, more to
be prized than that found in other places.

Servants brought food and served it on a long stone table carved out of the floor. Or, better to say the rock had been hollowed
out, leaving a table, immovable chairs and an intricately decorated surface under their feet. The seats were cool but comfortable,
their surfaces polished into comfortableness by the posteriors of thousands of previous feasters, no doubt. The Factor headed
the table, and Kannwar was given the honoured place at his right. To the Factor’s left sat his family: wife, three daughters
of marriageable age and a younger son. The boy looked sufficiently different from the girls, and was at least fifteen years
younger; the Factor’s wife seemed little older than the eldest daughter. A second marriage then. The rest of the places were
taken by the travellers and three of the guards.

The young boy gave the blessing. In a high, sweet voice, and under the proud eye of his father, he thanked the god for keeping
them another day intact, for providing sustenance and—here he hesitated, before extemporising—for bringing their exalted visitors
to share their table. “In the name of El Kuhon,” he finished.

Out of the corner of her eye Stella saw Noetos start violently, while beside him his children raised their heads, as did the
others from the Fisher Coast. She had no idea what had caused this reaction, and as no one passed comment, she let it be.

The food tasted heavenly. Partly, Stella surmised, because of the monotony of the simple fare they had been forced to subsist
on for many weeks; but beyond this explanation there seemed such a delicacy in the blend of spices, now cooling, now firing
her palate, far greater than she had experienced even in the high feasts of Instruere. Oddly, there were no plates: they were
expected to serve themselves, placing the food directly on the table in front of them. Stella supposed it would be sluiced
down once the meal was finished, a most practical idea. The seemingly flat table had slight hollows in its surface and the
juices from the food contained themselves close to each person’s meal.

“Nice grub,” Sauxa said, ladling more food from a delicate stone bowl. His son grunted agreement.

A gentle lassitude began to creep over Stella. So many months in motion, day after day walking until her feet blistered or,
occasionally, bled. Burned by the sun, soaked by the rain, subjected to storms natural and unnatural, witness to violence
and death. It felt good to be somewhere safe, a place where some of the good things of life could be enjoyed. She sighed,
wishing she could stay in this city for a while, not caring for the moment whether she met with the approval of the locals,
able to forget for a time the hole in the world that surely lurked outside.

She desired to throw herself into selfish reflection and ease, but her damnable conscience would not let her. Once, seventy
years ago, she had left her Company because of what she believed was true love, only to be betrayed. Robal had, it seemed,
done a similar thing though in his case he ran from it rather than to pursue it. How could she not wish his return? How could
she think of ease when he no doubt suffered confusion and loss, alone in a strange land? It seemed she was more selfish—

Shouting outside, the raised voices carrying an uncomfortable booming quality in such a confined space. The noise drew closer
and two men burst in on them.

“Factor,” one said, “there’s a man on a wagon. A stranger. Chen brought him in. Says he wants to speak to the Undying Man.”

“Conal,” said Stella, her mouth going dry. Two other voices—Kannwar and Noetos—said the same name. The travellers looked at
each other, horrified.

Stella stared at Kannwar. “I thought we were safe here.”

“As did I.”

The Factor stood. “Who is this man who calls for you, lord, and why does he frighten you so?”

“Not who, but what. He is a dead man, a corpse, made into a host for the Daughter of the Most High, our enemy. Tell your people
to take shelter where they may. I do not know what is about to happen.”

The man hissed. “Had we known you were pursued, we would not have invited you into our secret heart.”

“You had no choice,” Kannwar said tersely. “Send runners. Get your people off the streets. Do it now. I do not wish to be
responsible for their deaths.”

White-faced, the guards vanished in several directions, their swift passage disturbing the yellow glow-globes set into the
walls. Shadows flickered all around the room, giving an ominous cast to every face, then settled again.

In the silence Stella could hear a man crying: “Kannwar! Undying Man! Destroyer! Come outside!”

“She is desperate,” Noetos said, “to risk all in this way.”

“That’s not Umu,” Lenares said.

“Who else could it be?” Kannwar said. “I’m going out there. Stay inside, everyone, until I call for you.”

He rose, easing his long limbs from underneath the table, and strode to the door. As soon as he had gone from sight, everyone
of the travellers stood, united in disobedience, and followed him.

Things had not gone well for Robal since he’d taken the farmer’s life. His sour luck was a punishment of sorts, he supposed;
had he kept the man alive, the farmer might have helped him understand this strange, accursed valley. No roads, no visible
tracks, no houses, just seemingly pristine emptiness. Having spent years on the Central Plains of Faltha, themselves grasslands—though
vaster by far than these—the guardsman could not imagine such a valuable resource as this valley lying fallow.
There must be some explanation
, he told himself, and again wished he’d not yielded to the frightened impulse to shut the farmer up.