Earthfall (Homecoming) (23 page)

Now, standing in the temple chamber, the light from the cloak illuminating every corner, Oykib could take a moment to look at the diggers gathered around the walls of the room. Their origin as rats was unmistakable, but so was the fact that the thousands of generations between them and their ancestors had changed them far more than the humans of Basilica had changed. The snout and whiskers were still prominent, but much less so than in their ancestors, and the jaw had changed shape to allow for speech. Oykib was eager to discuss with Shedemei what all the other structural changes were for.

“Oykib,” said Nafai.

That’s right, he had a job to do. A little embarrassed at having allowed himself to daydream at such a tense moment, he stepped up beside Nafai. “Yes?” he said.

But Nafai didn’t answer, just continued to stare at the statue that rested on a pedestal of tiny bones. It was a human head. But not just any human. The face was clearly Nafai’s own.

“When could they have done this?” asked Nafai.

Oykib tried to sort out the many prayers going on in the room, and gradually gleaned a little information. “They didn’t do it,” he said. “They don’t make their gods. The way they tell it, their gods make themselves. They’re praising
you
for having given them such a perfect copy of your head.”

“It
is
perfect,” said Nafai. “Perhaps a little younger.”

“Get this,” said Oykib. “The head is a hundred years old.”

“Impossible.”

“It was fifty years ago when the queen found this statue in that tiny secluded chamber that you—blessed, or whatever it was you were doing.”

“I hope I was blessing it,” said Nafai.

“And it was fifty years old then. Apparently her relationship with that statue was pivotal in her life. It’s because of you that she married the war king. Because you accepted her.”

“Are you sure you’re understanding this?” asked Nafai.

“Not at all,” said Oykib. “But it’s as clear as anything else I’ve understood. There’s plenty of time to figure this all out. But one thing’s sure. The head is older than any living digger. And they definitely claim they didn’t make it themselves, though how their clay gods could make themselves I can’t imagine. They point out how perfectly the features have been preserved. This is because they worshipped you differently from the other gods. They didn’t—this is kind of repulsive—they didn’t rub your head in order to breed.”

“So their other gods are involved in fertility worship.”

“The images I’m getting are pretty nasty,” said Oykib.

“Religion isn’t always pretty,” said Nafai. “Especially viewed from the outside, by an unbeliever. So they use the other statues as part of a mating ritual, but mine they left alone.”

“Because you were so ugly.” Oykib couldn’t keep a bit of laughter out of his voice.

“To them, I’m sure,” said Nafai. “Just imagine what they would have thought if it had been
your
head.”

“Babies would have run screaming from the cave, I’m sure.”

“So what do I do with this sculpture?”

“Invent a ritual, Nafai. You’ve been winging it pretty well so far.”

So Nafai sank to his knees before the statue and improvised a fairly simple and harmless sort of obeisance. When he was done, he got up and smiled at Oykib. “This is kind of embarrassing,” he said. “To have people worshipping me. Though there are those who’ll be bound to say that it’s what I’ve secretly longed for all my life.”

“So don’t tell them that you’re being worshipped.”

“I can’t conceal something like this. My face, carved a hundred years ago. Since I certainly did
not
sculpt it, someone did. And someone knew what I looked like.”

“The Keeper, obviously.”

“Yes, but don’t you understand? It means that the Keeper knew things about us here on Earth at a time when—well, when the information couldn’t possibly have traveled at lightspeed. At the speed of light, the Keeper would have to have seen my face almost eighty years before I was born in order to have this carved a hundred years ago.”

“So we don’t know everything about physics. Hardly a surprise, since the Oversoul was keeping human beings from learning a lot of science and technology.”

“But Oykib, I’ve always assumed that the Keeper was some kind of computer, like the Oversoul. The Oversoul was created by humanity at its technological peak, along with our starship. And at that time they knew nothing about faster-than-light communication.”

“So, somebody learned more.”

“Who, Oykib? The human beings were gone from Earth. Who built the Keeper, if he has powers far beyond what humanity was capable of creating at its peak?”

“Maybe the humans didn’t all leave,” said Oykib.

“Maybe,” said Nafai. “It’s a puzzle. In the meantime, I’d really like to get out of this dark, musty, dirty place. It must be near dawn by now, and I’m exhausted.”

“I wouldn’t mind a nap myself.”

“So how do I extricate myself? I have no clue how to get out of here.”

“Wing it,” said Oykib.

“I’m sure glad I have you along for wise counsel,” said Nafai dryly.

Dawn was breaking when Elemak’s party reached the place where the canyon became a shallow depression and finally just a part of the saddle of the first range of mountains. It had been slow climbing in the darkness, even with the lanterns. Perhaps especially with the lanterns. And it didn’t help that Mebbekew and Obring seemed to be in competition for the longest, vilest string of obscenities whenever they slipped or whenever a passage looked especially forbidding or…whenever.

Zdorab hated listening to them. In fact, he realized now, he simply hated
them
, even when by chance they were silent. He hated the way they treated women. He hated the way they treated men. He hated the way they thought. He hated the way they didn’t think. It was hard to imagine which of them he hated more. On the one hand, Obring was inherently stupid and brutal. It wasn’t a decision he made. It was a chronic condition bordering on the continuous. On the other hand, Mebbekew was actually rather bright; he merely chose to be stupid. He seemed to take pleasure in cruelty, too, but unlike Obring, he didn’t care enough to seek out occasions for it. He simply took whatever opportunity to be stupid and cruel happened to come to hand. Which of them, then, was more detestable? The one who was loathsome by nature, or the one who wanted to be loathsome but hadn’t enough ambition to excel at it?

How did I come to be here this morning, Zdorab wondered, greeting dawn on a mountain range on Earth, in hot pursuit of a flying creature that left no trail and might not be anywhere near us? Why am I not asleep in a soft chair in a library in Basilica? Why am I now sharing such strenuous activity in the company of exactly the kind of men I most hated back in civilization? And, worse, taking orders from them?

Zdorab knew that most of the others were thinking similar thoughts. Well, not dreaming of soft beds in Basilica. The younger men had never seen the city—or any city, for that matter. Nevertheless, they were filled with resentment, knowing that there was no hope of accomplishing anything. Wherever these flying creatures lived, it would probably be very high. Out of reach. And if in fact they had taken Elemak’s daughter, how was this group of men going to save her? With their motley assortment of farming tools, what would they do? Hand over our little girl, you villains, or we’ll
plant a garden
!

At this little bit of whimsy Zdorab couldn’t help but smile. But at that moment he crested the rise to find Elemak glaring at him.

“What’s the smile about, Zdorab?”

“I was off in another world,” said Zdorab, ducking his head obsequiously. It was a posture he had learned long ago. It generally deflected the wrath of bullies. “I’m so sorry.”

“You shouldn’t be,” said Elemak. “Better any world than this.”

So he, too, resented it. As if he hadn’t been part of the cause of it, with his plotting and conniving back on Basilica.

But Zdorab said nothing more. Instead he turned and surveyed the terrain that dawn was revealing. At this altitude the air was noticeably cooler, and the undergrowth wasn’t quite as thick. A thin mist had formed in the valley behind the saddle, like a river flowing among the trees. The next row of peaks was astonishing in its craggy beauty, and behind that he could see the very tops of a couple of mountains so high that even at these latitudes they had snow. It had snowed several times during the years he lived in Basilica, but it was never more than an inch or two on the ground, and it always melted within a day. But the snow must never melt up there. What had Shedemei said? Mountains so new and high that it was a miracle the mantle of Earth could sustain the weight of them. Eleven thousand meters. The Oversoul said that there were no mountains so high on Harmony, and as far as his records showed there had never been such high mountains on Earth before, either. These were new, pushed up by an ocean plate being subducted under what had once been a narrow isthmus connecting two continents. Now it was a great massif, the highest spot on Earth, and every climate and terrain existed on its perimeter. On the western coast the mountains were so high their rain shadow caused an utter desert. On the east, there was a place where rain fell almost continuously, day and night, summer and winter, so that it was bare rock, except for a few hardy mosses that could live with perpetual cloud cover.

Why can’t Shedemei and I leave this village, simply explore this new planet? They don’t need us. We don’t want to be with them. Our son and daughter are grown up and married now. It would be nice to visit with them from time to time, but parenting they don’t need. When they have children, I can sing them silly songs and dandle them on my knee. Twice a year.

But thinking of little children made him remember why they were there. Why they had spent tonight with no sleep, climbing a canyon in the dark. And now he looked out over the valley and saw that in the first light of dawn, the trees were jumping with life. Flying creatures bounding into the air, flying a short distance, and then dropping back down into the leaves. Each of them seemed to be carrying something in its feet as it flew.

“They’re terrified of us,” said Elemak softly.

“How can you tell
that
?” asked Mebbekew.

“Because they’re evacuating their village. Look—those are their own children they’re carrying.”

“Look,” said Zdorab. “When the children are a little larger, it takes two adults to carry them.”

“Good eyes,” said Elemak. “It took four of them to lift Zhivya. And if they think they can get away from me by carrying their children to—”

“They
can
,” said Vas scornfully. “They can get away from us any time they want, precisely by carrying their children to safety. What are you going to do, dance along the treetops till you catch up with them?”

Elemak turned slowly. “Go back down the mountain, then, if you don’t care about this errand.”

Vas immediately apologized. “I’m tired, Elemak. I’m too tired to know what I’m saying.”

“Then keep your mouth shut,” said Elemak. “And your eyes open.”

Zdorab sighed and turned away from this touching scene of true friendship. The only people who hated Elemak worse than his enemies were his friends. And yet they followed him, because they knew he needed them so much he couldn’t ignore them, as Nafai certainly would have. That’s probably how a lot of vile men get others to follow them, thought Zdorab. They can’t get good men to follow them, and they need somebody, so they have to take the kind of men who can’t find a good man interested in taking them on. The miracle was that evil persisted in the world, since the only people who took part in it generally couldn’t stand each other, and for good reason.

Zdorab’s attention was caught by a movement in a tree just down from the crest. A single bat-thing was sitting on a branch. “Look,” said Zdorab.

“I see him,” said Elemak.

“What’s he doing?” asked Yasai.

“We all have the same number of eyes,” said Elemak scornfully. “Watch and we’ll see together.”

The angel abruptly dropped from the tree, fluttering down to the ground in a small clearing that led up to where the humans stood. Zdorab got a chance to see it clearly then, its wings extended. The face was hideously ugly, but that was hardly a surprise. After all, it had descended from some wizen-snouted species of bat, hadn’t it? The real surprise was the fascinating compromise that evolution had reached. Its arms and legs were almost mockingly thin. From wrist to ankle on each side of his body, the wings fanned out, held rigid by two distorted fingers of each hand. The other three fingers on each side, however, were of normal size, giving the creature good hands for grasping. And the head was very large for the size of the body. The miracle was that it could fly at all. It was surely at the outside limit of its growth—any larger, and it would lose the power of flight.

At this moment, however, it was walking toward them. It wasn’t without grace when it walked, but it was clear that it was more at ease on branches or in the air. A long-distance hiker it would never be, not on those feet.