Clarke, Arthur C - SSC 04 (10 page)

‘There is only one thing behind the Wall, so
I have heard. And that is madness.’

Then there had been Artex, who was so old
that he could scarcely hear Shervane’s nervous questioning. He gazed at the boy
through eyelids that seemed too tired to open fully, and had replied after a
long time:

‘Kyrone built the Wall in the third day of
the making of the world. What is beyond, we shall discover when we die – for
there go the souls of all the dead.’

Yet Irgan, who lived in the same city, had
flatly contradicted this.

‘Only memory can answer your question, my
son. For behind the Wall is the land in which we lived before our births.’

Whom could he believe? The truth was that no
one knew: if the knowledge had ever been possessed, it had been lost ages
since.

Though this quest was unsuccessful, Shervane
had learned many things in his year of study. With the returning spring he said
farewell to Brayldon and the other friends he had known for such a little
while, and set out along the ancient road that led him back to his own country.
Once again he made the perilous journey through the great pass between the
mountains, where walls of ice hung threatening against the sky. He came to the
place where the road curved down once more toward the world of men, where there
was warmth and running water and the breath no longer laboured in the freezing
air. Here, on the last rise of the road before it descended into the valley,
one could see far out across the land to the distant gleam of the ocean. And
there, almost lost in the mists at the edge of the world, Shervane could see
the line of shadow that was his own country.

He went on down the great ribbon of stone
until he came to the bridge that men had built across the cataract in the
ancient days when the only other way had been destroyed by earthquake. But the
bridge was gone: the storms and avalanches of early spring had swept away one
of the mighty piers, and the beautiful metal rainbow lay a twisted ruin in the
spray and foam a thousand feet below. The summer would have come and gone
before the road could be opened once more: as Shervane sadly returned he knew
that another year must pass ere he would see his home again.

He paused for many minutes on the last curve
of the road, looking back toward the unattainable land that held all the things
he loved. But the mists had closed over it, and he saw it no more. Resolutely
he turned back along the road until the open lands had vanished and the
mountains enfolded him again.

Brayldon was still in the city when Shervane
returned. He was surprised and pleased to see his friend, and together they
discussed what should be done in the year ahead. Shervane’s cousins, who had
grown fond of their guest, were not sorry to see him again, but their kindly
suggestion that he should devote another year to study was not well received.

Shervane’s plan matured slowly, in the face
of considerable opposition. Even Brayldon was not enthusiastic at first, and
much argument was needed before he would co-operate. Thereafter, the agreement
of everyone else who mattered was only a question of time.

Summer was approaching when the two boys set
out toward Brayldon’s country. They rode swiftly, for the journey was a long
one and must be completed before Trilorne began its winter fall. When they
reached the lands that Brayldon knew, they made certain inquiries which caused
much shaking of heads. But the answers they obtained were accurate, and soon
the Shadow Land was all around them, and presently for the second time in his
life Shervane saw the Wall.

It seemed not far away when they first came
upon it, rising from a bleak and lonely plain. Yet they rode endlessly across
that plain before the Wall grew any nearer – and then they had almost reached
its base before they realised how close they were, for there was no way of
judging its distance until one could reach out and touch it.

When Shervane gazed up at the monstrous
ebony sheet that had so troubled his mind, it seemed to be overhanging and about
to crush him beneath its falling weight. With difficulty, he tore his eyes away
from the hypnotic sight, and went nearer to examine the material of which the
Wall was built.

It was true, as Brayldon had told him, that
it felt cold to the touch – colder than it had any right to be even in this
sun-starved land. It felt neither hard nor soft, for its texture eluded the
hand in a way that was difficult to analyse. Shervane had the impression that
something was preventing him from actual contact with the surface, yet he could
see no space between the Wall and his fingers when he forced them against it.
Strangest of all was the uncanny silence of which Brayldon’s uncle had spoken:
every word was deadened and all sounds died away with unnatural swiftness.

Brayldon had unloaded some tools and
instruments from the pack horses, and had begun to examine the Wall’s surface.
He found very quickly that no drills or cutters would mark it in any way, and
presently he came to the conclusion Shervane had already reached. The Wall was
not merely adamant: it was unapproachable.

At last, in disgust, he took a perfectly
straight metal rule and pressed its edge against the wall. While Shervane held
a mirror to reflect the feeble light of Trilorne along the line of contact, Brayldon
peered at the rule from the other side. It was as he had thought: an infinitely
narrow streak of light showed unbroken between the two surfaces.

Brayldon looked thoughtfully at his friend.

‘Shervane,’ he said, ‘I don’t believe the
Wall is made of matter, as we know it.’

‘Then perhaps the legends were right that
said it was never built at all, but created as we see it now.’

‘I think so too,’ said Brayldon. ‘The
engineers of the First Dynasty had such powers. There are some very ancient
buildings in my land that seem to have been made in a single operation from a
substance that shows absolutely no sign of weathering. If it were black instead
of coloured, it would be very much like the material of the Wall.’

He put away his useless tools and began to
set up a simple portable theodolite.

‘If I can do nothing else,’ he said with a
wry smile, ‘at least I can find exactly how high it is!’

When they looked back for their last view of
the Wall, Shervane wondered if he would ever see it again. There was nothing more
he could learn: for the future, he must forget this foolish dream that he might
one day master its secret. Perhaps there was no secret at all – perhaps beyond
the wall the Shadow Land stretched round the curve of the world until it met
that same barrier again. That, surely, seemed the likeliest thing. But if it
were so, then why had the Wall been built, and by what race?

With an almost angry effort of will, he put
these thoughts aside and rode forward into the light of Trilorne, thinking of a
future in which the Wall would play no more part than it did in the lives of
other men.

So two years had passed before Shervane
could return to his home. In two years, especially when one is young, much can
be forgotten and even the things nearest to the heart lose their distinctness,
so that they can no longer be clearly recalled. When Shervane came through the
last foothills of the mountains and was again in the country of his childhood,
the joy of his home-coming was mingled with a strange sadness. So many things were
forgotten that he had once thought his mind would hold forever.

The news of his return had gone before him,
and soon he saw far ahead a line of horses galloping along the road. He pressed
forward eagerly, wondering if Sherval would be there to greet him, and was a
little disappointed when he saw that Grayle was leading the procession.

Shervane halted as the old man rode up to
his horse. Then Grayle put his hand upon his shoulder, but for a while he
turned away his head and could not speak.

And presently Shervane learned that the
storms of the year before had destroyed more than the ancient bridge, for the
lightning had brought his own home in ruins to the ground. Years before the
appointed time, all the lands that Sherval had owned had passed into the possession
of his son. Far more, indeed, than these, for the whole family had been
assembled, according to its yearly custom, in the great house when the fire had
come down upon it. In a single moment of time, everything between the mountains
and the sea had passed into his keeping. He was the richest man his land had
known for generations; and all these things he would have given to look again
into the calm grey eyes of the father he would see no more.

Trilorne had risen and fallen in the sky
many times since Shervane took leave of his childhood on the road before the
mountains. The land had flourished in the passing years, and the possessions
that had so suddenly become his had steadily increased their value. He had
husbanded them well, and now he had time once more in which to dream. More than
that – he had the wealth to make his dreams come true.

Often stories had come across the mountains
of the work Brayldon was doing in the east, and although the two friends had
never met since their youth they had exchanged messages regularly. Brayldon had
achieved his ambitions: not only had he designed the two largest buildings
erected since the ancient days, but a whole new city had been planned by him,
though it would not be completed in his lifetime. Hearing of these things,
Shervane remembered the aspirations of his own youth, and his mind went back
across the years to the day when they had stood together beneath the majesty of
the Wall. For a long time he wrestled with his thoughts, fearing to revive old
longings that might not be assuaged. But at last he made his decision and wrote
to Brayldon – for what was the use of wealth and power unless they could be
used to shape one’s dreams?

Then Shervane waited, wondering if Brayldon
had forgotten the past in the years that had brought him fame. He had not long
to wait: Brayldon could not come at once, for he had great works to carry to
their completion, but when they were finished he would join his old friend.
Shervane had thrown him a challenge that was worthy of his skill – one which if
he could meet would bring him more satisfaction than anything he had yet done.

Early the next summer he came, and Shervane
met him on the road below the bridge. They had been boys when they last parted,
and now they were nearing middle age, yet as they greeted one another the years
seemed to fall away and each was secretly glad to see how lightly Time had
touched the friend he remembered.

They spent many days in conference together,
considering the plans that Brayldon had drawn up. The work was an immense one,
and would take many years to complete, but it was possible to a man of
Shervane’s wealth. Before he gave his final assent, he took his friend to see
Grayle.

The old man had been living for some years
in the little house that Shervane had built him. For a long time he had played
no active part in the life of the great estates, but his advice was always
ready when it was needed, and it was invariably wise.

Grayle knew why Brayldon had come to this
land, and he expressed no surprise when the architect unrolled his sketches.
The largest drawing showed the elevation of the Wall, with a great stairway
rising along its side from the plain beneath. At six equally spaced intervals
the slowly ascending ramp levered out into wide platforms, the last of which
was only a short distance below the summit of the Wall. Springing from the
stairway at a score of places along its length were flying buttresses which to
Grayle’s eye seemed very frail and slender for the work they had to do. Then he
realised that the great ramp would be largely self-supporting, and on one side
all the lateral thrust would be taken by the Wall itself.

He looked at the drawing in silence for a
while, and then remarked quietly:

‘You always managed to have your way,
Shervane. I might have guessed that this would happen in the end.’

‘Then you think it a good idea?’ Shervane
asked. He had never gone against the old man’s advice, and was anxious to have
it now. As usual Grayle came straight to the point.

‘How much will it cost?’ he said.

Brayldon told him, and for a moment there
was a shocked silence.

‘That includes,’ the architect said hastily,
‘the building of a good road across the Shadow Land, and the construction of a
small town for the workmen. The stairway itself is made from about a million
identical blocks which can be dovetailed together to form a rigid structure. We
shall make these, I hope, from the minerals we find in the Shadow Land.’

He sighed a little.

‘I should have liked to have built it from
metal rods, jointed together, but that would have cost even more, for all the
material would have to be brought over the mountains.’

Grayle examined the drawing more closely.

‘Why have you stopped short of the top?’ he
asked.

Brayldon looked at Shervane, who answered
the question with a trace of embarrassment.

‘I want to be the only one to make the final
ascent,’ be replied. ‘The last stage will be by a lifting machine on the
highest platform. There may be danger: that is why I am going alone.’

That was not the only reason, but it was a
good one. Behind the Wall, so Grayle had once said, lay madness. If that were
true, no one else need face it.