Landfall: Tales From the Flood/Ark Universe (5 page)

Following Manda, Xaia, Teif and Chan hiked to the crest of the ridge. Here Manda pointed to a ledge of some blackish rock that protruded from worn, folded strata – and a cluster of lights that grew brighter as the daylight faded.
 

Chan, growing excited, pointed at the black stratum. ‘
That
is the Reef, I think … Is that a fence around it?’

Xaia snatched the spyglass from Manda’s hand to see better. All she saw was that black stripe in the rock. ‘Is that it?’

Manda said, peering at the lights, ‘That’s a village. Not much, just a bunch of shacks and tents. As dusty and rust-coloured as the ground and the rocks. Hard to see in the daylight, until the lamps started glowing in the dusk.’

Xaia, through the glass, saw something suspended over the village, glimmering in the last light of the sun, a square panel on a kind of stalk. ‘I can see where they get their power from.’

Manda nodded. ‘A solar panel.’

‘Founder technology.’ Xaia lowered the glass, looking out over the darkling plain, the huddle of lights. ‘Well, it will keep until morning.’ Which was only a few hours away, so short were the nights this soon after the solstice.

Teif nodded. ‘I’ll post a guard.’

After a few hours’ sleep Xaia prepared to cross the last couple of kilometres to the Reef. She was accompanied by Chen, Manda, Teif, and a dozen warriors. Teif, never trustful, had them watched by scouts positioned behind the ridge by the oasis.

As they neared the village, a man came out to meet them, riding high on a massive, slow-walking horse. Peering beyond him, Xaia saw a few people in the village itself, a woman standing with her arms defiantly folded, ragged-looking children peeking from behind doors. Fields had been cut into the dusty ground, and pigs and scrawny goats wandered, untethered. Judging from the number of shacks and lean-tos there could be no more than a hundred people living here.

Teif said, ‘I wonder how they overwinter. Cellars, I imagine.’ He growled at Chan, ‘Why didn’t you tell us this lot was here?’

‘I didn’t know,’ Chan insisted. ‘I told you. Nobody from Ararat has been here as long as I’ve been alive, longer.’

‘Give thanks for the idleness of Ararat, Teif,’ Xaia said, grinning. ‘If the secrets of this place had been picked bare by generations of scholars, there would be nothing left for us to discover, would there?’

As the villager approached Xaia saw he man wore a uniform of some black cloth laced with silver – but the uniform was shabby and patched, and didn’t quite fit his lanky frame. And the horse, huge though it was, was no warhorse like Xaia’s party’s but a draught animal, heavy-set and plodding. Still he came alone, Xaia noted with some respect, facing a party escorted by several heavily-armed warriors.

The man unrolled a kind of rope ladder and climbed down from his huge horse. He patted its muzzle, reaching up to do it, and left it grazing at a sparse stand of grass. He walked up to Xaia, clearly identifying her as the leader. ‘Welcome. My name is Ossay Lange. I am the leader of this place, this scientific colony devoted to the study of the Reef, which we call Reeftown.’
 

Xaia thought she recognised his accent as a distorted form of the dialect spoken in Ararat. He was perhaps fifty, though his face was so weather-beaten it was hard to tell; he wore his greying hair long and tied back in a bun. He was missing an eye, she saw; a ball of what looked like steel, grey and moist, sat in one ruined socket.
 

Xaia introduced herself as a leader of Zeeland.

Chan challenged Lange. ‘What scientific colony? I’m from Ararat. I work in the Shuttle Shrine. I know the curators, the scholars. There’s no record of such a colony, or even a recent expedition to the Reef.’

‘Boy, my grandfather led that expedition. His name was Heyney Fredrik Lange. Look it up when you go back home. This was his uniform. Surely you recognise it.’

Chan shrugged. ‘Heyney Fredrik was, in fact, the first to discover the Reef, or rather to rediscover it after the Founders’ initial survey with their automatic flying machines.’

‘But he never came back to report it.’

Lange said, ‘He suffered vicissitudes. Several of his companions died before he got here. And when he did reach the Reef he found a small settlement, a forerunner of Reeftown here. The people were drawn here by the aquifer. What they were doing so far north in the first place, nobody knows. He settled with them, intending to stay and survey the Reef for a season or two.’

‘But he never left.’

Lange shrugged. ‘He found happiness here. Formed a family. He wasn’t sure he could bring his children back across the wastes to Ararat.’ He glanced across at the broken strata. ‘Besides, the Reef is
here
, not back at Ararat. He was a scholar. He devoted his life to a study of the Reef. And when he died his son continued the work – my father. And when
he
died -’

‘And in all these years,’ Manda said sceptically, ‘nobody came to visit. And none of you tried to get back to Ararat to report on whatever it is you have learned.’

‘Some have come,’ Lange said defiantly. ‘Explorers, merchants blown off course in their ships, wrecked and looking for water – and bandits.’ His face set hard, and that eerie steel eye glinted. ‘Most paid their tolls, however.’

‘Tolls?’ Teif shook his great head. ‘You set tolls? Your grandfather must have had the genes of one of those Shuttle keepers back at Ararat. And, having come here, proved just as grasping and indolent.’

Xaia touched his arm. ‘He’s just a fool, Teif,’ she murmured. ‘Him and his fathers. Look at this place. Perhaps he’s got a heap of obsolete money piled up in some hole in the ground, from all the tolls he’s collected. What can he spend it on? Don’t waste your anger.’

Lange didn’t seem to have noticed Teif’s insults. ‘My grandfather was the first scholar ever to have come here. Even the Founders never set foot here, only sent their flying drones over, and they never travelled further to the north.’
 

Xaia frowned. ‘Are you sure? Does nobody live north of here?’

‘Of course not. The seasons are too harsh. And there is other evidence.’ He glanced over his shoulder at the village. ‘Sometimes we have – disputes. Fallings-out between brothers. You know the sort of thing. Then one or the other will walk off into exile.’ He waved a hand at the dusty panorama. ‘East, west, south – if they go that way, generally we hear from them again, even if it’s just a grovelling apology and a plea to be let back. But of those who went north, no trace has ever been seen again. Nobody lives up there – nobody
can
live there.’

Xaia glared at him. ‘If the Founders never came this way, how can there be stories about a City of the Living Dead to the far north?’

Lange said dismissively, ‘Whatever you’ve heard it’s all a legend – lies spun out for the credulous in inns and taverns. Travellers’ tales.
This
is the farthest north any human can travel. And this,’ he said, waving a hand at the Reef, ‘is the only trace left by the Dead on all this world, save for those ramshackle ruins on Little Jamaica.’

Manda glared at him. ‘He’s the liar. Talking up this place, his own importance.’

Lange watched them, expectant, calculating. ‘You would be welcome in my home, Lady. My wife makes a fine cactus tea which -’
 

‘No,’ Xaia said briskly, growing angry. ‘We came to see yon Reef. The sooner we do that the sooner we can move on.’ She strode that way.

Abandoning his horse, Lange hurried after her. ‘Madam, the question of the toll -’

‘Teif, make him rich beyond his grandfather’s dreams. We can afford it.’

Glowering his reluctance, Teif took fistfuls of Brythonic jewellery from his pouch and ladled them into Lange’s grasping hands.

Lange led them through the straggling wire that fenced off the Reef from non-payers of the toll.
 

The Reef itself was a shelf, protruding from a layered wall of rock that towered above their heads. The day was hot, and it was a relief to step underneath, and into its shade.
 

You could see at a glance that this particular stratum was different from the familiar crimson sandstone above and below it. Maybe a metre thick, it was a mottled black and grey, and seemed to be made of some harder material, for it protruded where the softer sandstone had worn away. And Xaia could see where the sandstone had been purposefully cut away above one part of the black shelf, leaving a kind of shallow cave only maybe half a metre high; a crude wooden ladder led up to it.
 

Some of that protruding black ledge had broken off, and a thin scree of pebbles, flakes and sheets lay at the foot of the cliff. Xaia inspected this rubble. She picked up one fragment, like a slate the size of her palm, with a strange, almost regular pentagonal pattern pressed into it.

Teif looked around, dissatisfied. ‘We busted our balls for this?
This
is a City of the Living Dead?’

Lange, daring or foolhardy, laughed at him. ‘My friend – what did you expect to find after a billion years? Buildings and streets preserved as if frozen in ice? No –
this
is all that time leaves behind, crumpled and crushed and changed, thousands of years of history squashed down as if crushed between the pages of a book. And if not for a fortuitous flood, none of this might have been preserved at all.’

‘A flood?’ Teif glanced around sceptically at the arid sandstone plain. ‘Here?’

‘Oh, yes. My friend, the spot on which you stand has lain deep beneath the surface of a sea – not once, but many times …’

Xaia struggled to follow.
 

On Earth II, as on Earth, if rock was above water it eroded away, turning to pebbles and sand that washed down the sluggish rivers. But below water rock formed. On the beds of seas and lakes, all that eroded silt piled up, compressing under its own weight until the sand solidified to sandstone. Layers set down in different epochs showed as strata, subtly different bands in the depth of the rock.

‘The sedimentary rocks are laid down as flat as the oceans that bear them,’ Lange said. ‘But with time there are quakes and volcanic uplifts, and even the shifting of continents, though that’s not a significant factor on Earth II. The layers may be raised up above the air again, broken, buckled and bent.’ Lange walked around, miming these processes. Xaia imagined he waited all this life for such moments, a chance to show off the family knowledge to passing strangers.
 

‘And somewhere in that process,’ Xaia said, studying the sample in her hand, ‘between the setting down of one sandstone layer and the next –
this
occurred.’

‘We think there was a river delta,’ Lange said. ‘Right here. Oh, the river itself has long since shifted its course, but you can still see traces of its valley in the oldest rocks. And on that delta, in its fertile soils,
they
built a city. We can’t imagine how it looked. But it was a city of buildings of stone and metal, and must have been not entirely unlike human cities on Earth II, or Earth. All this in a flash – geologically speaking, in just millennia, after aeons of emptiness.
 

‘But the city was flooded. Inundated, suddenly.’

‘How?’ Manda snapped. ‘By its river?’

‘No,’ Lange said. ‘By the sea. Just as on Earth – the sea level rose, suddenly and catastrophically, and covered the tallest buildings. Whoever lived here had to flee or die. But, thanks to the sudden flooding, the city was more or less preserved, sitting there on what had suddenly become a sea bed. The river silt still sifted down, covering the streets and buildings, piling up until it caved in roofs and collapsed cellars. But the city was entombed, you see. And when in the aeons that followed more sandstone formed above, billions and billions of tonnes of it pressing down, the city layer was compressed, from hundreds of metres thick, perhaps, to – well, to what you see today. Millions of years are recorded in these mighty layers – and a mere few millennia compresses to less than the height of a human child. As the planet convulsed in later ages, that vast coffin was lifted up into the light and broken open.’

Manda, to Xaia’s surprise, seemed to be imaginatively caught by this. ‘And yet you can still see what it was like, can you?’

He winked at her, with his one good eye. ‘Come and see for yourself.’

He led the way up the ladder, to the cave cut on the sandstone above the city stratum. They had to crawl to get inside. Xaia could see pick marks in the roof above her – and small pockmarks, deeper than the rest, where something appeared to be lodged. Lamps, perhaps? But if they were lamps they weren’t lit.

Lange let them explore with hands and eyes, their sight adjusting to the cave’s shadows. ‘We’ve found modified landscapes in other locations nearby. “Modified landscapes” - that was my grandfather’s term for it. We think there are traces of something like farms, marked by something like ploughing, but in a kind of cross-cross pattern. But this was the heart of the city itself ...’

The black stone had been chipped away to leave big chunks of a brownish rock set in a rough square, and more massive pieces of rubble further away – all this trapped in the lower stratum, an ossified ruin. It was obviously the remains of a wall. And Teif swore softly. He had found what looked like the mouth of a pipe, neatly circular – or the remains of it; it was a rusted trace in the rock.

Lange was grinning at them. ‘Can you see? This was once a substantial building. My grandfather found it by tracing foundations dug deep into the rock layers below – that’s how to build on the soft ground of a delta, you know, by setting concrete rafts on deep foundations. When it came down it scattered big blocks of rubble all around. Dig up one of these blocks and it would crumble in your hand. With enough time the concrete rots, the cement leached away by acid in the water, but leaving the sand and gravel in place. You see the pipework? We’ve also found what look like wires and cables. Road surfaces. Rusted lumps that could be the remains of crushed iron vehicles. And so on.

‘Here are the real treasures.’ From the shelves in the wall behind him, he produced artefacts that he passed from hand to hand. Xaia became fascinated as she handled these things. A disc of what was clearly glass might have been the bottom of a bottle; it was opaque, milky. A light sheet felt like plastic, but it was discoloured as if burned. Lange said that most plastics would have turned into blobs of oil, and seeped away. Most precious of all was an intricate artefact like a mechanical clock, but wrought in a glittering yellow metal.